So what if George Dubya Bush couldn’t name the leaders of India, Pakistan, Taiwan, and Chechnya last week? I can’t even remember the names of the parents of all my daughter’s friends, and we expect him to know the names of every leader of every nation on the globe, just off the top of his head?
This reminds me of when every presidential candidate has been asked how much a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk cost. The subtext of the question is that if they don’t know the answer, then they must not be able to relate to the average American. As if these politicians who are spending their days and nights campaigning for the highest office in the land ever have time to do their own food shopping. “Excuse me, but between the debate in one city, and the fundraiser in another city, and the America Is Great rally in yet another city, all in the same afternoon, can we stop off to pick up a couple of dairy items and some Wonder bread?”
Put aside the question of whether or not the reporter ambushed him, and ask the bigger question: are we looking for a President, or a contestant on “Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?”
By the way, if Fox can do that lousy ripoff, “Greed,” I’m thinking about borrowing the concept to do my own show, with contestants Donald Trump, Warren Buffett, Steve Forbes, and Bill Gates. I’ll call it “Who Wants To Lose So Much Money That You’ll Only Be A Millionaire?” I’m sure Robin Leach would host it for me.
If only Dubya had used one of his lifelines to phone a friend.
You see, whether it’s him or someone else who ends up the next occupant of the Oval Office, he’ll have plenty of staff members around who will have -- or can get -- any information he wants whenever he wants it. At the very least, they can go to that new no-charge Encyclopedia Brittanica website, where all the world’s knowledge is now stored on one big server.
They haven’t used that site lately in the current White House, because the President has been tying up the internet connection day and night trying to look at that site with the models sellling their eggs.
And wasn’t THAT story blown out of proportion?
After all, if some sucker wants to pony up big dough for the genetic goo of some attractive woman, why should anyone try to stop them? It’s perfectly legal for a sperm bank to promote the fact that the donor of some sample was a genius, so what’s the difference here?
If they truly believe that they can buy genetic beauty like that, they should take a look at photos of the model’s parents first! For reference, may I suggest a glance at some pictures of Brooke Shields’ mom?
Naturally, it’s only the genes of thin, attractive women that are being sold this way, because anyone can make a kid that looks like Camryn Manheim. You don’t need to buy a model’s eggs to get that; you need to buy Chips Ahoy and Haagen Dasz.
Of course, you’re putting a lot of pressure on your kid if she’s conceived with one of these model’s eggs. It's gotta be tough having to live up to the chromosomal standard from which you were sprung, not to mention the relentless nagging: “Honey, don’t eat that entire sprig of parsley for lunch, you’ll balloon up and never make that cover of Vogue! Wipe that smile off your face! No one wants a model who looks happy, so pout, pout, pout! Now, hurry up and purge so we can get to your fashion show walkway class!”
WAIT -- inspiration strikes!! Instead of extracting an egg from some unknown Cindy Crawford wannabe, let’s take one from Madelyn Albright! Sure the kid might not grow up to be named People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, but we might be able to create a Presidential candidate who can answer that world leaders question.
Yes, Reege, that’s my final answer.