Whether the weather is icky (as it is here), or the holiday falling in the middle of the week has screwed up any fun plans you have had, or you're just not in the Fourth of July spirit, you can still celebrate the fact that you're not George W. Bush, because save for the mouth-breathing, brain-addled, bed-wetting twenty-seven-percenters, his dog, and Scooter Libby, the entire world hates his guts.
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