Its always made me laugh how the western media call summer the silly season.
If the summer is silly, I say, then what the hell was that crap I was reading last winter?
Perhaps I shouldnt get so worked up. Everyone knows how the once glorious fourth estate has dumbed-down to such a nadir that even Im getting regular work these days.
The fact is the press will use any excuse to excuse themselves for being silly.
Personally, I dont need an excuse.
My daddy aint rich and my ma aint good-lookin, but my livin is easy as cherry pie.
It doesnt trouble me that no WMDs have been found in Iraq. I couldnt care less that North Korea is developing nukes. And when it comes to Charles Taylor and Liberia, Im easy either way.
As long as the sun is shining and Ive got some cold ones in my cool box, Im happy to read whatever celebrity junk you care to throw at me.
After all, even the most sophisticated and intellectually astute among us have to chill-out on the odd occasion.
Sure, we may look like Supermen, but underneath the red knickers were just as slobbish as the next mortal.
Summertime provides the perfect opportunity to relax those brain cells, to stop worrying so much about the state of this sorry world some of us live and all of us die in.
Summertime is for sandcastles, frisbee-throwing and staining your new shirt with additive-riddled ice-lollies.
Just ask George W. Bush.
Leader of the free world he may be, but Dubya knows when to pull his Stetson down over his sleepy eyes, disengage his mind, put up his cowboy boots and snooze away the lazy afternoons.
The Washington Post just ran a story under the headline Bush Aces Physical, Begins a Month at Ranch.
(Jealousy, remember, is a sin although, as the President recently reminded us, were all sinners in one way or another, preferably the other.)
If anyone deserves to quit caring so much, its our George. Hes had a hell of a year thats hell, as in notable, busy, big, not hell, as in hell.
But has it shown? Hell, no.
Dubyas doctors declared their patient to be made of superior stuff. Superior, that is, to other men of his age 57. Superior, that is, to other American men of his age.
Bush is six feet (1.83 metres) tall and weighs in at 194 pounds (88 kilograms), which in the US is considered a miracle.
Maybe God is on his side ...
Anyway, check out the stats: Bush has 14.5% body fat, and, to quote the liberal Post, his resting heart rate is 45 beats per minute, that of a top athlete.
Id like to see a Frenchman whose figure matched those figures.
President Jacques ChIraq was caught pacing up and down the lush corridors of the Elysée Palace reciting Groucho Marxs medical assessment of his brother Harpo: Hes got about a 15% metabolism with an overactive thyroid and a glandular affectation of about 3%. With a 1% mentality. Hes what we designate as the Crummy Moronic type.
Of course, ChIraq should note that Groucho had accidentally got the looking glass turned the wrong way, and was examining himself the whole time.
The truth is, Bush puts us all too shame. The fact is, because of him, we are all ashamed.
The Prez runs three miles three times a week. He jogs in water once a week (although no-one knows why). He uses an elliptical trainer for 25 minutes three times weekly, whatever that means. Twice a week, he lifts weights. Five times a week, he stretches our patience.
But hes no puritanical bore either. The report says Dubya enjoys the occasional cigar, glugs lots of coffee, and, of course, has a thing for pretzels.
The Presidents opponents (most of the world) are furious. Is there nothing this guy cant do? they say. Hes born rich. He dodges Nam. He gets all the booze, coke and broads he wants. He finds Jesus. He owns a baseball team. He gets to be President of the United States. He flies a jet fighter à la Tom Cruise and all the women want him. Hes got his hair, his health. He cracks jokes at international summits. He kicks his opponents ass. He charms the pants off of everybody. He pitches a decent curveball. And now, he gets to lounge around on his private ranch for a month while the world goes to shit.
CBS calculated that Dubya has spent 27% of his presidency on holiday.
A French TV station put the figure at 100%.
I spoke with one of Bushs bottom advisers (his top advisers were all on holiday). He defended the phenomenon as so:
The President needs a holiday as much as anyone else more, in fact. Ask yourself this: what have you done with your sorry ass over the last six months? Not much, I bet. While youve been lounging around that over-valued property of yours, burdening the tax payer, listening to your forehead wrinkle, the President has been running the worlds richest country, liberating Iraq, saving Africa, and amassing a re-election campaign trough that makes the Sultan of Brunei look like a used rickshaw salesman. And now youre saying he dont deserve a holiday? You should be ashamed of yourself!
Actually, I wasnt saying anything, but the guys got a point I should be ashamed of myself.
We should all be ashamed of ourselves.
After all, were all sinners.
Every last damned one of us.
