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Faithful husband, soccer dad,
basset owner, and former cowboy
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Friday, May 30, 2003
Stuff to read this weekend
I haven't linked to anything from whitehouse.org this week.....so let's get caught up:
Ask Condoleeza:
Peg, from Newport News, VA writes:
Is President Bush (or as we like to call him around here "President Hunk") really as dreamy in real-life as he seems to be on Fox News? Please say he is! *swoon*
Dr. Condoleezza Rice:
You know, it's interesting how often I find myself fielding this question these days. Back when I first started working in the White House, all anyone wanted to know was how I could tell the difference between the President and his mother. But now, with two wars under his belt and who-knows-how-many more to come, Southern ladies such as yourself seem to find the President's humpability quotient to be directly proportional to the number of Arabiacs he orders killed. At this rate, I figure we only need to annihilate another 50,000 or so Muslims before People magazine declares him the "SEXIEST MAN ALIVE!"
As for me, I don't really notice such things. Why, even when I was elbow-deep in that flight suit arranging wadded-up tube socks around the First Giblets, the President was still little more than a meal ticket for me. Besides, for me to do my job right, it's necessary to maintain the kind of mental discipline that keeps my honey pot as arid as the hardscrabble patch of fire ant-infested prairie behind the President's Crawford stables where Mrs. Bush insists I sleep whenever I visit.
Yale Reunion Itinerary
THE PRESIDENT: That's right! How the hell are you boys? It's great to see you. Make yourselves comfy. Mi Casa Blanca es tu Casa Blanca. And I don't mean that figuratively either. Because without your vast personal fortunes earned off the stooped backs of state-schooled, luggage-hued insect people, the humble "C" student you see standing before you would still be slumming it with those sorry-assed rodeo monkeys back in Texas. (Applause.)
I really appreciate you boys coming down here and saving me the trip up to New Haven. Sorry for the inconvenience, but because Karl has invested a boatload of time in passing me off as coming from the heartland, he won't - excuse me, don't - let me be photographed in my blue-blooded Connecticut birthplace. True, I know today won't be the same without group projectile vomiting in the trough urinal at Mory's Temple Bar, but I've cooked up a little reunion itinerary that I think y'all are gonna enjoy anyhoo. So let's hit it!
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