There once was a boy who was eternally optimistic. He could always find something good in everything. He never saw the negative.
His parents, concerned that he would grow up naive about the ways of the world and thus leave himself vulnerable to exploitation by the unscrupulous, decided that they needed to teach him a lesson about the bad side of life.
So on Christmas Eve, after he had gone to bed, in lieu of the usual gift giving bonanza, they left him a large pile of manure right next to the Christmas tree.
They were woken the next morning by shouts of joy coming from the living room. They rushed downstairs to find the boy digging into the pile of manure, covered in shit, with a huge grin on his face.
"What are you doing boy? Why are you making a mess of yourself? Don't you know you are digging in crap?" They asked.
"Yes," he replied. "But I figured there had to be a pony under here somewhere!"
I used to think that George W. Bush was the boy. Always looking for what he was sure had to be there (WMD in Iraq, then in Iran, etc.) Always sure about the way the world had to be. Always twisting reality in order to make the world match his vision.
Not any more.
Bush is not the boy looking for the pony.
Bush is the creator of the manure.
He is the author of the poop.
His is the administration of shit.
He is the commander-in-chief of caca.
It's the press that is the boy.
For eight years they have repeatedly told themselves that Bush really couldn't be as bad as he seems. There has to be something worthwhile there. He couldn't have made it where he is without having some positive quality.
There has to be a pony somewhere under all that shit.
There just has to be.