Dear Mr. Bush: You're A Punk

Reporters scrambled for cover and even the Secret Service was dashing about trying to keep the president from committing vehicular manslaughter. After driving the tractor a short distance, Bush stopped.

Right on the spot where, moments ago, the press had been standing.

Bush was laughing throughout his little test drive.

Consider that if a civilian had done as much in the general direction of the president, he'd be shot full of lead by the Secret Service. Heavy, construction-grade machinery is not a toy, Mr. President, and you should be ashamed of yourself.

You have, on this day, proven that you truly do not belong in the Oval Office. You're an irresponsible, immature little snot. And if you can't handle the simple responsibility of safe operation of a tractor, how can we possibly believe that you are handling the far more serious and grave responsibilities of leading a nation?

While enjoying a dinner out in San Francisco, I noticed the names of several children at the next table: Sterling, Kendall, and Hayden.

Cute names, right?

They're also the names of wineries. Sterling Vineyards, Kendall Jackson Vineyards, and Van Der Heyden Vineyards. (And, gods above, I dearly hope young Kendall's middle or last name isn't Jackson.)

Methinks Mommy & Daddy love their wine a little too much. But I suppose it's better than naming your kids Miller, Bud, and Olympia.

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