Baby, don't fear the Decider

Where do I begin on this one?

I haven't posted much lately, in part because my head has been elsewhere (and not entirely up my posterior, smartypants); in part because I found I was writing a lot about sex (those who can't seem to do, tend to write about it--this is why Bill Clinton has never written a trashy erotic thriller set in Japan and Lewis "Scooter" Libby has); but mainly because everytime I sit down to write, I end up with 10,000-word (OK, OK, OK, have it your way--20,000-word) essays on The Meaning of My Life, rather than just my usual sarky, snarky jibs and jabs at the world in which we live and vaguely tolerate. Yes, The World's Longest Midlife Crisis continues, but in a good way at the moment.

Which is better for you? Which is better for me? Would you prefer el verdadero mío, emotional war(t)s and all? Or more from the goyishe Henny Youngman of our time? I may have to start giving voice to All My Inner Sybils, including not just the Schecky Raplicious, but also the Unfiltered, Unadulterated, Unexpurgated Raplicious--or more simply, the Russian Cigarette Raplicious. Then you can decide for yourself.

Speaking of deciding, Our Fearless Leader held a press conference yesterday during which he defended one of his handlers, La Rummy. Maybe it's a case of Stockholm Syndrome, where, after a time, you start praising your captors--or maybe your captors know where all your drug paraphernalia, tax returns, and Alabama National Guard records are buried, and you decide to save yourself and go along with whatever they say. It was a rather impassioned defense, no?

My favorite part was the Georgina Bush Drama Queen Moment. We haven't had one for a while, and this was worth the wait:

I hear the voices, and I read the front page, and I know the speculation. But I'm the decider, and I decide what is best. And what's best is for Don Rumsfeld to remain as the secretary of defense.

And then La Bush promptly ended the press conference. I half-expected him to do a series of "snaps" in the shape of a "Z," flip his invisible hair, and sashay, chantay right out of the room.

Miss Thang! Tear it up! Girrrrrrllllllllllllllllllll, you go on with your bad self.

I had to look up "decider" in Webster's to make sure it was a real word--and it is. We know how Our Righteous Anger Mouse likes to improvise.

What should give everyone pause is Our Constipated Jefe's admission to "hearing voices." What gives, Oh Medium One in an XXL Disaster Caftan? Were you watching Angels in America on Logo over the weekend? Or have you been sharing a soda down at the Malt Shop with the Captain of the Nutball Team, Zacarias Moussaoui, The Class of '06's Most Likely to Be Schizo?

"Oh, Zackie, you're so dreamy!"

"Death to the infidel and all this American bullshit! By the way, Georgina, do you think you could free me when this trial is over?"

What should be a cause for celebration is that Our Blinky-Eyed Potentate finally admits to reading the papers, even if only the front page. At least he's not confessing his lifelong fascination with Snuffy Smith and Barney Google or Kathy. He probably should be reading Funky Winkerbean, though. The strips on the family separated over and over again by the war in Iraq are compelling.

What's the most maddening aspect of this for me is that now I keep replaying an old ABBA song in my head, "The Tiger," referring to it as "The Decider" and changing the chorus like so:

I am behind you, I'll always find you, I am the Decider
People who fear me never go near me, I am the Decider
And if I meet you, what if I eat you, I am the Decider
I am behind you, I'll always find you, I am the Decider
Decider, Decider, Decider!

Someone, anyone, please make it stop.

It does give me an idea, though. As if there weren't enough ABBA tribute and cover bands in the world already, what if we took the concept one step beyond and created the world's first ABBA tribute-cum-Political-Commentary band? Sort of a Svenska Capitol Steps. We could start out with the following playlist:

• "Super Trouper" becomes "Super Blooper"
• "My Love, My Life" becomes "My Loss of Life"
• "Arrival" becomes "Departure"
• "The Name of the Game" becomes "The Shame and the Blame"
• "Another Town, Another Train" becomes "Another Town, Another Unexpected Insurgency"
• "The Day Before You Came" becomes "The Day Before You Laid Waste to Our Constitution and Bill of Rights"
• "Does Your Mother Know" becomes "Does Your Father (the Former President) Know" or maybe "Does Dick Cheney Know"
• "Gimme! Gimme! Gimme (A Man after Midnight)"--recently sampled heavily and successfully by Madonna in "Hung Up"--becomes "Gitmo! Gitmo! Gitmo! (Flush the Qu'ran after Midnight)"
• "Money, Money, Money," "Soldiers," "Under Attack," "S.O.S.," "The King Has Lost His Crown," and "On and On and On" remain essentially unchanged

Yep, ol' Schecky-licious is back in town.