AN AMERICAN PRESIDENT IN EUROPE: IT'S JUST NOT BUSH'S KIND OF PLACE
DETROIT -- Feel our president's pain. He's in Europe on a diplomatic mission and he's squirming, mechanically going through his duties, checking his watch and dreaming of the flight back home and a return to his Texas dacha. For George W. Bush, this is an ordeal he'd love to avoid, but he must, at least, show the world he's trying, however disingenuously, to improve U.S. relations with Europe.
Bush loves any visit to a military base or aircraft carrier, where he can address the folks in uniform. The cheers and adoration are guaranteed. He craves those opportunities. His eyes light up and he struts around like a bantam rooster.
For Bush, a visit to Europe rates below even news conferences or an actual conversation with a real, unscreened American not used for political prop purposes.
For Bush, Europe is torture. Imagine him locked in a cell for a week. No satellite for 24-hour sports on TV. The only station is PBS. There are video games available, but the controller won't work. The only music blasting into the cell is one of Barbra Streisand's greatest hits, U2's "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb" and Beethoven's "Missa Solemnis." No Bible in the cell. There are just two books: John Steinbeck's "The Grapes of Wrath" and Sister Helen Prejean's new book, "The Death of Innocents." The cell food is continental. No lemonade, just cases of Perrier. A few days of that and our brave commander in chief would be turning over state secrets Cheney let him in on to get out.
He had worked at the White House for 11 years. Scheib said he got fired because he failed to meet "the first lady's stylistic requirements." There are reports that Scheib chaffed at White House orders to create an inaugural menu that honored brand names representing food companies of top Bush campaign donors. The chef had to whip up entrees using choice ingredients that included Krispy Kreme doughnuts, Coca-Cola and Pilgrims Pride butter-basted turkeys. Yummy! At least the Busheviks are consistent. Integrity means nothing, from the kitchen to the cabinet.
http://www.niagarafallsreporter.com/gallagher203.html
Suck it, Yankee waterboy. No one cares what you have to say.
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About me: “'But I don’t want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. 'Oh, you can’t help that,' said the Cat. 'We’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.' 'How do you know I’m mad?' said Alice. 'You must be,” said the Cat, 'or you wouldn’t have come here.'” -Lewis Carroll