Four Star General David Petraeus spoke of George Bush's vaunted troop surge as having unintended consequences, i.e., the squirts. And no, I'm not kidding. By putting pressure on targeted segments of the bad guys, we have caused them to, and I quote, "squirt out of Baghdad." That's right. We squeeze. They squirt. Those darn squirters. Clever little squirters they. Wonder if they dart as well. Darting squirters; that would be something to see. Definitely worth a two-drink minimum.

We members of the CCJU; the Comics, Clowns & Jesters Union, can currently be found moping around, wearing an excess of black, plunged into a state of funk that can only be called "pre-mourning" as we anticipate the end of what will surely be known as the Golden Era of political humor. The reign of George W Bush is nearing an end. Destined to go down in history as the worst President EVER, and that includes William Henry Harrison, the guy who gave a three-hour inaugural speech in the rain, caught pneumonia, and served 30 days supine in a sick bed until becoming the first president to die in office.

When a ton of crap is dumped from way high above into the lake of our lives, we rarely worry about the tiny arcing droplets splashing on our face mainly because we're too busy keeping our boats afloat and our breathing apparatuses above water, but I would like to spotlight a seemingly insignificant drop of moisture pooling at the end of our nose that is destined to affect us for the rest of our natural born days. Namely: the name George. Which is getting such a bad rap these days, it will soon qualify for 12 step status. "Hi, my name's George and I'm a George." "Hi George."

I'm a little worried about the Republicans. I am. My job is to mock and scoff and taunt; these days it's almost too easy. I was taught you don't kick people when they're down, which probably qualifies me as a weenie or a wuss in their book. Hence the famous retractable 8 penny serrated hobnails in the toes of Karl Rove's boots. But lately to imply they're a tad disorganized is like musing Don Imus might not be first choice to play Santa at the 2007 CBS Christmas Party. Not only isn't this your father's Republican Party, but also it's not even George Bush's father's Republican Party any more. You could go so far as to say that this Republican Party is mighty disconnected from the Republic and it sure ain't no party.

The World Series of Presidential politics may be 19 months down the road, but the players are already lacing up their cleats and playing pepper with fungo bats on the sandlots of Iowa and New Hampshire.

Strap on your seat belts and nuke some popcorn because we got ourselves a Battle Royale between the two gnarliest branches of government that a tree has ever seen. In the left hand corner, back from wandering in the wilderness, the Democrats are just itching to exercise their rediscovered clout. Over in the right hand corner, after six years of unchallenged rule, the Executive branch is not taking kindly having to answer to mere mortals. It's Countdown to a Crisis! The stoppable force versus the movable object.