ALL right. I admit it. I've been feeling a little cranky lately. But I feel better now. I just got a personal note from former President George Bush. Art of letter writing
not lost on top dogsAll the newsroom's liberal milksop apologists for Bill Clinton questioned whether it was a real personal note or not. They fingered the paper and held the signature up to the light to see if it actually was signed or whether it was part of a conspiracy by the Trilateral Commission and the New World Order to issue sophisticated computer-signed notes from former presidents.
Of course, they didn't put the note I received last year from Bill Clinton through the same vigorous forensic investigation. And I have to admit, the ketchup stain on the bottom of the Clinton missive added a certain air of authenticity. No doubt, Henry Lee, the super investigator from the O.J. Simpson case, could have determined whether the red splotch was actually ketchup and which McDonald's it came from or whether it was just a computer-generated ketchup font or, I suppose, whether it actually was blood, say, from Vince Foster.
I didn't care. I assumed the Clinton letter thanking me for the copy of my book I sent him was real just like I assumed the Bush letter from Kennebunkport was real. If tax money must be wasted, I'm happy that it is being wasted on me personally.
The liberal pantywaists also questioned my sincerity in sending the Bushes a letter of condolence for the passing of their dog Millie in May.
"A shameless publicity ploy," groused one milquetoast.
"You'll do anything for a column," whined another milksop.
I was not bothered because I knew this was not a shameless publicity ploy. Spending two days in a cage at the zoo beginning next Friday is a shameless publicity ploy. (More coming on that next week.)
And as for doing anything for a column, that's water under the unabridged dictionary. I've admitted that sometimes I think I'd take a life for a column, or at least beat up someone smaller than me.
AS a dog owner, I felt bad that Millie bit the big one. I know how bad I'd feel if Boomer slobbered off to the great unknown. And how much trouble is it to be a human being and jot down a short condolence note to someone who has lost a beloved pet and family member, even if that pet happened to have lived in the White House? The world would be better off, by God, if more people wrote notes about dead pets.
And besides, Millie wasn't just any dog. She was a fellow writer. "Millie's Book," an insider's look at the White House, sold more than 500,000 copies. Am I jealous that a dog's book outsold mine by several copies? I resent the tone of that question, Senator.
Did you notice how quickly the liberal weenies tried to turn the whole thing into Milliegate, questioning the authorship of the book? Sure, Hillary can channel the ghosts of dead First Ladies while slugging back shots of Ouzo, but Millie couldn't dictate a simple book to Barbara Bush. You notice the Republicans didn't suggest that "It Takes A Village" actually was dictated to Hillary by Socks the cat.
Republicans have bigger political fish to fry, like trying to find out how a mindless bimbo with big hair could possibly believe that the governor of Arkansas asked her up to his hotel room for anything other than sex. Paula, the Astroturf on the bed should have been a clue, babe.
So, I thank the Bushes for taking time out of their busy schedule of whatever it is ex-presidents and their wives do to send me a personal note thanking me for my heartfelt condolences on the passing of Millie. I heard that Jimmy Carter recently hit his thumb with a hammer. Poor baby. Perhaps a brief e-mail will cheer him up.