Dispatches from a rotting empire

"Bush in person always strikes me as the kind of guy who would ask a women for a hand job at the end of a first date. He has days where he looks like she said yes, and days where the answer is no. Today was one of his no days. He frowned, looking wronged, and grabbed the microphone. I pulled out my notebook.... A few minutes later I felt like a hooker who's just blinked under a blanket with a prep-school virgin. Was that it? Is it over? It seemed to be; Bush was off the podium and slipping down the first line of the crowd, pumping hands for a minute and then promptly snagglepussing toward the left exit. By the time I made it five rows into the crowd he had vanished into a sea of Secret Servicemen, who whisked him away, presumably to return him posthaste to his formaldehyde tank."


From Matt Taibbi's book, Smells like Dead Elephants