"You are called by God. You believe you are the chosen one. The Lord Himself has happily green-lighted your decisions to bomb the living crap out of pip-squeak and nearly defenseless nations for decreasingly justifiable reasons. You are born-again, re-sobered, a former hardcore binge drinker and rumored huge fan of various illegal substances back in college, and you had at least one DUI arrest and went AWOL from the National Guard, and you've stashed away from public view all records of both your tenure as Texas governor, and those SEC investigations into your alleged insider trading. You are a failed oilman and a failed businessman and have been spoon-fed your entire career.
So then: Do you sleep peacefully at night, or do your dreams involve small armies of angry sharp-toothed fairies, tearing you limb from limb and sucking the pith from your withered soul while they casually erase your entire portfolio as you scream, silently, unable to move due to all the leeches? Don't bother answering. Your expression says it all.
Nearly 1 million radiant women marched and sang and chanted in front of your very own office in Washington, D.C., just recently, angrily protesting your ongoing antichoice efforts to hack away at women's reproductive rights. This was so important to you that you were, meanwhile, up to your cute monkey ears in pink bubbles in your favorite bathtub at Camp David, taking yourself yet another completely undeserved mini retreat and shrugging off the protest as you further locked in your ranking as the most-vacationed president in U.S. history.
Now, then: Would you, or would you not, allow your famed party-girl daughter Jenna to take RU-486 were she to "make a mistake" with one of the Young Republicans at an all-night beer-bong bash at Sigma Alpha Delta?
Why, Dubya, are you so obviously, painfully detached from modern culture and society? Why are you such an intellectual and spiritual alien, unreachable by the countless millions who find nourishment in art and music and sex and creative juice?"