So, the President was in town yesterday, putting in an appearance at some supporter’s house in Beverly Hills. And, seeing how the residents of Beverly Hills are the bestest, most thoughtfully considerate people in the whole Universe, the hosts threw this ten-thousand-dollar-a-plate bash right around rush hour. Which meant that the LAPD, the Secret Service and the Homeland Security Sardaukar shut down the 405 so the motorcade could zip unimpeded into 90210.
For those of you not familiar with Los Angeles, cutting off the 405 is like sticking a machete into one’s jugular. Bad things happen.
Later on, the President decided it would better to take a helicoptor to the event. How very thoughtful of you, sir. I wish you’d thought of it earlier before the entire commuting population of the Westside was turned on its ear and sent into the side streets so they could get home. So, as I sat on Olympic Boulevard, crawling along a street that’s normally as free-flowing as a lobbyists’ expense account at Pork Barrel Time, I realized that this is the first time that George W. Bush has personally put me out. I can think of all the abstract ways he’s chapped my hide, but last night’s traffic fuckup was quite real. I know it’s small and petty and nothing compared to the real ways he’s fucked up other people’s lives, but I’m a small and petty man.
So, please, go on with meeting more of your wealthy supporters, Mr. President. Keep tying up traffic for the rest of us. Hell, why not go for a jog down the 110 interchange tonight? There’s nothing you can do to make Los Angeles love you, so you might as well bask in the power and glory while you’ve got it. You’re a lame duck, and Fitzmas is right around the corner.