Happy Birthday, Mr. President

So it's our idiot President's sixty-first birthday. Yay.

To celebrate, I suggest you do something George W. Bush would never do, namely read a book. Specifically, this book, which I finally pulled off my stack and which has been cracking me up ever since.

It's going to be hot this weekend virtually everywhere, and while I don't directly blame The Chimp for global warming, you have to admit that he and his acolytes and apparatchiks and assorted asslickers have blown enough hot air these past years to cause Juneau to spontaneously combust.

So do what George W. Bush would never do: find yourself a pool or a lake or a river or an ocean, pour yourself a tall, cool, non-alcoholic beverage (I suggest seltzer with a splash of cranberry juice and a twist of lime), and read Absurdistan. Because even though Shteyngart's writing about eastern Europe, he could just as easily written a book called Absurdistan about America in the era of the Boy King and his Evil Henchman.