12 August 2007

What, no French fries?

Once again, I’m ... sputtering. Indignant. Embarrassed for my country and my president’s lack of statesmanship, honor or even a sense of decorum.

The brand-new president of France dropped by to visit Dubya at the Bush Family Enclosure in Kennebunkport, Maine yesterday, and all 41 and 43 bothered to rustle up for lunch was a choice of a hamburger or a hot dog.

That’s right. ”Hey Frenchie! Whatcha want, Mickey D’s or Weinerschnitzel?!”

French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s wife and two children didn’t accompany him to the Bush’s, pleading sore throats. In reality, I think someone leaked the lunch menu to Madame Sarkozy and she instantly recognized the insult. It probably gave her a terrible headache, and would you let your kids get anywhere near Codpiece?

I thought not.

I hope the hot dog was at least a decent-tasting brand. As for the hamburger, well ... let’s just say pre-formed patties suck. Was it Angus beef, George? A top cut? Was the hamburger thoroughly screened, in spite of the expense, for mad cow disease? I sure hope so. Americans aren’t worth the expenditure but Monsieur Sarkozy is sort of an important person.

Also served on soggy paper plates at the Kennebunkport picanick tables were corn-on-the-cob, baked beans and fresh blueberry pie.

What, no apple? What the hell? Yeah, I know blueberries are in season right now. So? I want to know why they weren’t serving All-American apple pie to go with the friggin’ hamburgers and hot dogs at the Bush family mausoleum-by-the-sea. The baking apples in my garden are ripe and ready to go.

The lunch menu was pretty much the same when the new British Prime Minister, Gordon Brown, visited for an official “bonding” with Dubya for the first time on July 30. Topping the menu was a hamburger. That meeting, held at Camp David, was hailed by the press as “hamburger diplomacy.”

Imagine the honor. It just makes me all fluttery inside.

It wouldn’t have been hard to serve these world leaders a decent lunch. The military does it at officer’s clubs on the cheap all the time, all over the world. What’s wrong with a nice barbecued tri-tip, a baked potato with butter, sour cream and chives, a side of sliced tomatoes and a glass of California cabernet sauv, ruby red and tannic as hell, if you’re trying for true-blue American cuisine? Even I could have managed that. Dubya didn’t have to serve that distastefully named French bread or anything with it, either. That gawdawful, thick-sliced, doughy white Texas toast is available in grocery stores all over the country, even in Maine.

Does anyone else out there find this latest Bush fiasco as embarrassing as I do? Maybe what heads of state serve each other for lunch doesn’t matter that much, and I’m just overreacting. Still, I’m trying to think of equally tasteless meals that Brown and Sarkozy could serve to that crowing idiot Codpiece next time he visits France or England.

President Sarkozy should serve up a simple choice of badly undercooked garden snails or mushed chicken livers, with a side of cardboard pommes frites fried in canola oil and store-bought crème de brulees in little six-packs. Someone might have to peel the foil off the top of George’s for him, though. He’s not real bright.

Prime Minister Brown, I think you should offer President Bush a longish luncheon of soggy boiled mutton, watery potatoes, three-veg and a nice slice of preserved fruitcake left over from three Christmases back. You know you have a stack of them in the hall closet. We all do. If he won’t eat it, bean him with it and save us all a lot of trouble.

If yesterday’s classy meal weren’t enough, Poppy and Dubya demonstrated their high regard for the new French president by dressing down in shirt sleeves and White House baseball caps. Talk about presidential, ooh-la-la! Sexy Sarkozy did them one better though by showing up in a white, button-down shirt, faded blue jeans and a what looked like a suit jacket. Go figure. No cap of any sort, not even a beret. En garde! Touchez! Vive la Nic!

Laura Bush wore a lumpy white pants-suit and her all-purpose, paste-on Stepford-wife smile. Wonder what she’s thinking? Don’t worry – she’s not. There’s no one home upstairs. Babs wore old-lady clothes, as usual. I couldn’t tell if she was wearing her trademark pearls or not, but it’s wise to remember that beneath the scented talcum powder, fluffy white curls and waxy lipstick there are shark's teeth continually growing in pop-up rows.

GB Senior showed he still had it by taking everyone on a 30-minute bounce over the ocean waves in his way cool speedboat. Woo-hoo. He’s got that trick down, and when it’s over, he takes a nap like a good, medicated Father of the Emperor.

Still, I bet Brown is jealous – all he got was a ride in Golf Cart One around Camp David with the Dummy-in-Chief behind the wheel. Talk about fear. He’ll have nightmares for years to come. And President Vladi Putin of Russia, that smirking little weasel, he got the class treatment too, meeting Dubya in Kennebunkport on July 3 and eating lobster while letting Gee-dub gaze into his eyes and take another deep look at his heart. The media called it the “lobster summit.”

I wish, just once, that one of these powerful men would call Bush on his uncouth, idiotic behavior and refuse to show up unless he cleans up his act.

I mean, really. What's the world coming to?

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