mid rampant speculation that either Vice President Dick "Dick" Cheney or presidential brother and hick-state governor Jeb Bush might run for the Republican presidential nomination in '08, current president and term-limit victim George W. Bush has shocked a sleepy and dispassionate nation with the news that he plans to run again in 2008. Though Constitutional scholars and small children both agree that this should be impossible, Bush assured a gaggle of reporters on Sunday that he does indeed have a plan.

"You guys worry too much! Relax, take a nap, I've got it all worked out. Sure, the George Bush you know and have elected to president some number of times is running up against that tired old 'term limits' bugaboo. But under a different name, or after just changing a few letters in my old one, I think I should be able to sail right through the system just fine. Wink, wink."

(The president actually said "wink, wink" here, rather than actually winking. We don't know what the fuck that was about.
-Ed)

"I used this same idea to sign up for the BMG CD club seven or eight times," continued the president. "Trust me, it works. Whether you're voting for Georgie W. Bush or G. Walker Busher in 2008, you'll know the score. Sure, George Bush is a name you've come to know and trust over the three terms that a president has had that name. But why not give Jorge Bosh a chance? He's got some familiar policies, he looks like a president, and he's got the taste adults have grown to love. He's grreeeeeeat!"

At the end of his statement, Bush punched the air like a famous cartoon tiger, greatly worrying most everyone in the room. The president's remarks were met by a stunned silence from the crowd, and a lone, confused request for "Freebird."

When asked what he thought of the president's chances of pulling off such a daring standing broad jump over the U.S. Constitution, Constitutional scholar and commune vending machine restocker Dennis Kurd refused to change the subject away from who had been using a glass cutter to steal Baby Ruths off the bottom row.

commune Answerbot Griswald Dreck was more helpful, taking a break from an intense Joust battle with mail clerk Lefty Gomez to address the legal ramifications of Bush wiping his ass on the Constitution.

"This is a classic case of seniority, open and shut," explained Dreck. "The 22nd Amendment to the Constitution has been going strong since it was ratified in 1951 to finally get rid of FDR, who had been elected sixteen times in a row, four of those after he died. Voters were also concerned about being bored by presidents who might keep un-retiring hundreds of times like Michael Jordan, except they didn't know who Michael Jordon was back then, so they said Wilt Chamberlain. Most think this Amendment to be unstoppable, but one must also consider the other hand, which can fill up with shit fast. George Bush has been doing whatever the hell he wanted to since 1946, a full five years before the 22nd Amendment was even suckling at its mother's paper titty. Fate, gross incompetence, and common sense all appear powerless to end his streak, so I say he takes the Constitution in four rounds. Place your bets now and avoid the lines."

Analysts remain undecided about what effect a third Bush term might have on the nation's fragile liberal population, thought to be currently living in denial, or caves. The nation's humorists, however, have already begun gathering support for a new anti-term-limits Constitutional Amendment to protect their precious golden egg-shitting goose.

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Help me! Good people, this is not a lark, I'm serious—I've fallen and I can't get up.

I can excuse the snickering and guffaws from the peanut gallery. I, too, have witnessed those B-grade commercials for elderly alarm devices in which pathetic crones are horizontal in embarrassing positions, crying and screaming in weak cinema pathos about their inability to get up. I, too, have lampooned such advertisements—but this is serious! I really can't get up!

Ow… ooo… I think I landed on my keys, too, to make it worse. Yikes, that smarts! This is no longer amusing. At first it held a bit of self-deprecating charm, but now I'm terrified I'll never be able to get up. Help me!

This just isn't funny. I can't even move and nobody's helping me. I wish I had one of those damned alert devices now, I can see the wisdom of one now that I'm in this situation. ARRRRGH! I just moved a little and it really hurts! I'm not doing this for comic effect! I'm in serious agony!

I just stepped into the bathroom to change a light bulb, climbed up on the toilet—without having the foresight to close the lid first—and then my foot slipped right into the mouth of the toilet and I fell backwards with severe impact against the bathtub. Ouch! It hurts even more when I recall the incident, still fresh in my quickly-fading consciousness. I don't even know where the light bulb went… I heard a glassy smash when I hit, but I worry that could've been my own spine. I certainly don't feel much pain below the neck. Surely, if I could feel intense pain I could likewise move, but both seem just fond memories to me now.

I hope my wife comes home soon. She stepped out for more light bulbs, ironically. Maybe I'd find that more amusing if I wasn't broken into pieces with my foot in a toilet, pain gnawing at me like a rat on my nerves.

Christ, almighty, how long does it take that woman to buy light bulbs? Is she making them from scratch?!? And what's with you people? I'm in pain and you sons of bitches are sitting there reading the commune like it holds the meaning of life! I'm just asking for a goddamn ambulance or something! Shit on fire, help me!

Next column I hope to tackle the touchy subject of teenage pregnancy. If I'm not fucking dead by then, which seems like a blissful alternative at this point.

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You see, George? I told you the name of that movie was Deep Blue Sea, the one where the sharks eat the people. I should know, it's probably one of the best movies I've ever seen. Yet you doubted me. Well, tonight I dine on victory.

Lake Placid? How you could get a movie about a giant alligator in a small town confused with a movie about hyper-intelligent sharks eating all the people at a floating sea lab? No victory for you, George. You clearly don't keep good inventory on your mutated-creature-attacks-people movies. I, on the other hand, who do keep good inventory on my mutated-creature-attacks-people movies, will be eating big fat slabs of victory tonight, right off the bone.

Not that Lake Placid is a bad film, George—that's not my argument at all. Bill Pullman, Bridget Fonda, Oliver Platt, a great cast all around. But are you honestly telling me you mixed up Oliver Platt with Samuel L. Jackson? An incalculable error on your part, George, which is why I munch victory chips and you get crow. Enjoying your crow, George? I've had to eat crow far too many times to feel sorry for you. I've eaten enough crow for the population of India in my years. And they're practically starving, George, so you know they would eat a lot of crow. But tonight my soup is filled with chunks of victory.

What about the sheriff? There's not even a sheriff in Deep Blue Sea. Not that I'm not enjoying delicious victory-chip cookies over my win, but I don't understand how you could so clearly confuse a small town with a partially submerged sea lab. Did the diving suits not give it away at all? When the fellow at the party asked what was the movie with Samuel L. Jackson where the sharks are trying to kill him, and you said, "Oh, Lake Placid!" did it not seem at all possible that sharks in a movie about a lake was a major blunder?

The more I think about it, the victory isn't all that sweet. Sure, it's good, especially for a change since I've so often had big fat crow while you chomped victory, but I didn't want to win this way. It takes some of the fun out of it. Did you let me win on purpose? Is it possible you fouled up the movie title so completely hoping that I would pick up the ball and run the touchdown? Seriously, George, it's starting to bother me—are you retarded? Not that it's a problem if you are, but if you have suddenly become retarded during the course of the party last night, I need to know. I sure didn't want to win this way.

I'm starting to see you in a whole new light, George. Sitting here, cutting my victory into small pieces and eating it quietly… you're not at all the impenetrable fortress of knowledge I once thought you to be. You're truly fallible, aren't you? Especially where your weak knowledge of modern giant creature movies comes in.

It was bound to happen, I guess. Maybe before I was too awestruck by your ability to recall most movies without failure, to beat me to an answer and make me look like a jackass. I imagine those days are over, and I'm a little sad. I won't be eating crow anymore, just sweet, sweet victory, but still, it changes the way I see things now. The rosy-colored glasses are off and I see you for what you are—a buffoon, I dare say, when it comes to telling the difference between giant shark and giant alligator movies. God forbid someone ever asks you about Gator or Jaws—you're liable to burst a blood vessel and drool all over yourself and become a complete vegetable.

Let's hope it was a one-time thing, for both of us, and never speak of it again. Here—share my victory. Just this one time.

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