Star - Comet - Meteor - Crater

Hey, POTUS ? This one's for you.

Last month I missed my numbers. And the prime-mover domino has been tipped, meaning, I may be on my way out because numbers are cumulative. It's been God's grace, a little science and a little magic (sorry Buick or from whomever I've borrowed the phrase) that I've made my quota thru these rough times. Repeat and referral business, and just plum, dumb luck has eeked me thru. Til now. Thank you Mr Happy Face. Oops, President Happy Face.

Your facial expression, here, doesn't belong to the slick-tongued, high-hoped, inexperienced congressman a portion of the electorate exalted. It looks, here, as if you've had a head-on collision with the reality that you're a dismal failure. Even your Dem-cronies are now realizing that their own grins are stuck there from the egg-on-yer-face fried by the drying and rising heat of public opinion that you are inept.

Some of us knew how things would go before we cast our votes. But you've skated thru a year, gotten your giggles from playing with Air Force One. Spoken with great passion and conviction only to produce ill winds and rancor in the America most of us love and for whom some of us bled. And died.

Your handlers convinced some that you had brains and leadership. Regardless of whether or to what degree I continue to wonder that whether or not you posess those resources, I wonder if you could recognize any in your surrounds.

I heard a phrase, Mr President, I'll share with you: "Talent is the ability to recognize genius." Ponder that. Write it on your shaving mirror. Maybe, just maybe I'm giving you too much credit, here, but you might just posess the faculty to-- just once, and maybe in the nick of time to help our country--recognize someone in your peeps with talent; someone who can recognize the genius it'll take to engineer a recovery that's spiritual, emotional, patriotic and wholesome enough for us to bounce back.

You sure ain't got it, can't do it. And those who have your ear need to be replaced with better minds, folks with vision beyond the hood ornament of your limo.

Ouch, you've just appeared on my TV screen. Here you go, again. You're on e-span grinning holding a Lakers' jersey, with a Coach Phil Jackson sound bite, kibitzing with Magic Johnson. Where are your priorities? What the fuck are you thinking?

Or keep playing with cameos and sports stars and Air Force One and going down in history as the era's Nero serenading our downfall.