Ah, GW Bush in Salt Lac Siddy and the smell of distant fingers. His big brown eyes were looking at big brown turds witch he stepp't oer as upon the lawn he tread as toward the door he meandered where his speech he was to give to the multitudes there assembled for the convention of the Amerrikkkan lesions. And then the lesion airs he begun to regail, instructing them how to roll the perfect joint, the recipe for peach pit pie he recounted, and memories of his fabled boyhood on the sere, bovine clad plains of Main. And a good time wass had by all.
