These are mad times, when heroic leaders like George Bush are forced to forgo golf as a sop to the masses who don't appreciate being given the opportunity to send their sons and daughters off to far flung lands in order to be blown to bits for the greater glory of the empire. Why, do you think my Queenie Poo, Victoria, would ever deign to give up her afternoon tea, or her morning tea, or any of her hourly respites and leisure beverages out of solidarity with some wench from Wentworth whose child had the honor of getting speared to death for the good of England? Of course not.
To think that George gave up golf because he didn't want mothers who had lost sons in Iraq to see him, the Commander-in-Chief, playing a game, while the country was at war. Is that not what commander's do? Why, when I led my regiment of fusiliers against the backward tribesmen of Burma, I made sure to set a shining example of leadership by commanding them from hundreds of miles away, engaging my favorite Calcutta prostitute in a private game of cricket, while they sallied forth into the jungle to face their frenzied foe. That is supreme leadership mind you! What a display of confidence! One can only imagine the fright running through the little heads of the enemy as they pondered the forces coming at them. Surely the British must be mighty, for if, on the morning of battle, their commander can comfortably idle away the hours as the fight rages, gently paddling the brown bottom of his favorite Indian harlot with a cricket bat, what hope could we have?
Of course my fusiliers soundly routed the Burmese brigands, with casualties of only 90%, and victory was achieved. Sadly today it appears as if my wonderful precedent goes ignored! George should be leading the men he sent to war with a 3 wood in hand, patrolling the greens with stern gaze and wielding his putter like a strong sword. Would that not send shudders through the bones of the Mohammedan? I am quite certain that when the ignorant masses who make up the bulk of the dispensable armed forces drive through the streets of Baghdad hoping not to get blown apart, maimed and killed, they think of their fearless leader scooting around the manicured greens of the golf course, and it comforts them. And when an infidel bomb crashes through their Humvee and sends them flying to their deaths, no doubt they spend their last moments with breath smiling in the knowledge that their commander is safe, and himself blasting his ball out of the rough, sending it flying skyward on his way to a birdie!
Ho ho! It is no wonder the American armed forces are so adept at conquest. My only fear is that the leadership of this great land one day succumbs to the unwashed wishes of the idiot populace and makes further sacrifices. I dare say I have even heard rumblings that the President should not have time for golf at all, or hunting, or fishing, or clearing brush from his ranch, or attending parties, and so on, ...their list of complaints is truly endless and goes on for an interminable length. In short these fools think Mr Bush should be working! Imagine! What a crock of poppycock! One does not become Commander-in-Chief in order to sully his delicate hands with labor. Let some drone figure out a way to provide the troops with armor, the great leaders must set an example of leisure for the world to admire and aspire to. I say let George golf, and when a trooper has the glory of having his body torn apart by shrapnel, let his mother find consolation in seeing the intact torso of the tanned and rested leader, unaffected by the turmoil in that far away place, putting his stamp on history with his putter.
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