Any day a Bush White House figure resigns in disgrace is a good day. Today we say adios to Scotty "Boy" McLellan (did I get it right or what?) who has grown noticibly fatter since he joined the Bush team - must be all those pork pies.
It's all cosmetic, of course. Josh Marshall says the latest White House 'shake-up' has yet to see anyone actually penetrate the Bush White House bubble:
I have to imagine they'll pick someone from the outside for press secretary. But two of the three mentioned for the job are former administration press secretaries -- Dan Senor and Victoria Clark. The third, Tony Snow, is also a White House communications hand, only he's seconded to Fox News.Yeah, things are bad at the White House allright.
In all seriousness, I think the real story here continues to be that things are so bad at the White House, the level of denial and secrets to be kept, the self-bamboozlement and bad-faith so profound, that they just can't manage to bring in any new blood.
With Rumsfeld, or any other cabinet secretary, there's a related problem -- the importance of which has, I think, not been fully appreciated or aired. If Rumsfeld goes, you need to nominate someone else and get them through a senate confirmation. That means an open airing of the disaster of this administration's national security policy. Every particular; all about Iraq. Think how much they don't want that ...
Finally, can they find anyone on the outside who wants in? This, remember, seems to be the problem with Treasury Secretary Snow. He has already, in essence, been fired. But they can't come up with anyone crazy enough to take the job.
It must really suck being George Dubya these days. You take the job of President so you can show Daddy and Mommy how clever you are, then you blow it completely and end up being the worst President in US history. You take the wheel at the helm of the "world's only superpower" then drive the ship of state straight onto the rocks. You throw international and domestic US law out the window, only to find yourself squirming under a Special Prosecutor's microscope.
George is now reading front pages, so maybe he will take a look at the latest Rolling Stone cover:
Here's the opening para:
George W. Bush's presidency appears headed for colossal historical disgrace. Barring a cataclysmic event on the order of the terrorist attacks of September 11th, after which the public might rally around the White House once again, there seems to be little the administration can do to avoid being ranked on the lowest tier of U.S. presidents. And that may be the best-case scenario. Many historians are now wondering whether Bush, in fact, will be remembered as the very worst president in all of American history...If you think that's bad, Mark Morford in the SF Chronicle is even more scathing:
Now, here he is, sitting right next to all the other countries at the Big Table, representing America, it's little Dubya Bush, stewing in his own juices, his poll numbers hovering right near Nixon levels, mumbling to himself, smelling vaguely of sawdust and horse manure and dead Social Security overhaul plans.Josh Bolton is calling for White House resignations, George. Might be time to put your hand up?
He is pockmarked by scandal, buffeted by storms of disapproval and infighting and nascent impeachment. He authorized the leak of classified security information merely to smear an Iraq war critic, he lied about WMD and lied about Saddam and lied about making the United States safer and lied about, well, just about everything, on top of launching the worst and most violent and most expensive, unwinnable war since Vietnam.
His pile of betting capital is down to a tiny lump, nothing like back when he had the table rigged and all the pit bosses worked for him and the pile was as big as a roomful of Texas cow pies. But now, fortune is frowning. In fact, fortune is white-hot furious at being so viciously molested, spit upon, raped lo these many years. The truth is coming out: Bush has now lost far, far more bets than he ever won.
What's to be done? Why, do what any grumbling, furious, confused, underqualified alcoholic gambler does: reach down deep and say, "To hell with the nation and to hell with the odds and to hell with the rest of the planet," and pull out one more desperate, crumpled war from deep in your pants, slap it on the table and hear the world moan.
"It's going to be hard to replace Scott, but nevertheless he made the decision and I accepted it. One of these days, he and I are going to be rocking in chairs in Texas and talking about the good old days."Actually, George, you and Scotty might end up strapped to chairs in Texas.
UPDATE: A farewell song from Al Franken.