George and Dick

Reservations
by Sherman Alexie

George and Dick:

I hate George W. Bush.

Oh, Lord, it feels good to type that. But I feel guilty about it, too. A patriotic United States citizen probably shouldn't hate his president. But I don't hate W. as passionately as many conservatives hate Bill Clinton. Heck, some conservatives hate Clinton more than they hate Hitler or Ted Bundy. And I'm sure a few liberals hate W. more than they hate Saddam Hussein or Osama bin Laden. But I just can't work up that large volume of rabid-dog lather.

Today, I feel more sadness than hatred for W, especially after watching last week's childish performance aboard the USS Abraham Lincoln. And by childish, I don't mean stupid or pointless. Instead, I think a frightened boy was pretending to be an admirable man. Like W. and all other men, I've often been a frightened child pretending to be an admirable adult. So as W. stepped off that jet in his flight suit and strutted across the aircraft carrier's deck while unsuccessfully hiding his dualistic smirk of arrogance and doubt, I roared with laughter, envy, and frank male recognition.

"Holy shit," I said to my wife. "That amazing, audacious asshole has never fought in any battle, let alone this particular one, and he gets to be John Wayne. Man, I hope he suffered at least a paper cut when he signed the orders for war."

W's performance was brilliantly orchestrated. Real soldiers were cheering for a paper soldier! How in the hell did that happen? It was the poetic work of some Republican genius, most likely Karl Rove, and it was also the first campaign commercial for the 2004 presidential election: "Reelect George W. Bush! He's got the biggest dick!"

Is there any object more phallic than a jet plane? And is there any human more phallic than a jet pilot? And is there any politician more phallic than the president of the United States is? In order to measure W's presidential timber, we're going to have to use scientific notation. Aboard the Lincoln, W. was phallic to the third power!

"Dang," I said to my wife. "I'm sure presidents have had public erections. Clinton was probably sporting wood half the time. But this must be the first confirmed public sighting of a Chief Executive boner. That's a National Guard dropout being cheered by the finest military pilots in the history of the world. Right now, at this very moment, in this historic place and time, W. could cut diamonds with the Air Force One in his front pocket."

Later that night, in bed, I'm sure W. tapped his wife on the shoulder.

"Hey, Laura, do you want to do it with a war hero?"

"Oh, yes, yes, yes, Georgie."

"Call me Red Baron."

"Okay, Red Baron, bomb me, bomb me now!"

And don't think I'm making fun of the first couple's sex life. They've been married for a long time, and I know from personal experience that any long-term romantic relationship benefits from sexual play-acting. But did W. really need to put on the flight suit in public? Did he need to depose Saddam to fully enjoy the aphrodisiac that is war? After all, I like to wear white pantyhose and pretend to be a candy striper, but I'm not going to base my entire political philosophy on only one of my carnal kinks.

Until he was (s)elected president, W. had failed at every endeavor. He was a lousy student, crappy oilman, and useless baseball owner. He was a damn cheerleader! And who wants to sleep with the boy cheerleader? Nobody! But who wants to sleep with the most powerful man in the world? Everybody!

"Sherman," you might argue, "you can't be serious. Not everything is about sex. Not everything is a dick contest."

"Reader," I would counter, "I am completely serious. Everything is about sex. Everything is a dick contest."

Two weeks ago, in a restaurant bathroom, while I helped my five-year-old son use the big-boy urinal, he looked up at me and said, "Daddy, someday my penis is going to be bigger than your penis."

Last week, on an aircraft carrier, President W. declared victory in Iraq, and said, "Now I've got absolute and rock-hard proof that my dick is bigger than my daddy's dick."

Yes, the United States went to war because a son was lovingly and desperately trying to impress his father--a man who actually was a fighter pilot during World War II. And isn't that fucking adorable?

Sherman Alexie May 2003


reservations@thestranger.com