“If I were as famous as some of those kids who are on the magazines right now at 21 years old, I’d be shooting crack under my eyeball.”
–George Clooney

“They tried to make me go to rehab: I said, No, no, no.”
— Amy Winehouse

Bye Bye, Rove! Bye Bye, Happiness. Bye Bye, Mr. Permanent Republican Hegemony and Wonkiest of All Domestic Policy Czars.
The boyish, ruddy-faced political advisor nicknamed the “blossom-boy” or “genius turd architect” has abruptly resigned, before anyone in the Senate Judiciary Committee could make anything legally stick to him that might compel him to resign. It was a classic dine & dash; a perfect Rovian dirty trick, begging the old joke-question:
Q. How many Executive Privileges does it take to screw up the entire justice system?
A. Just one!
(Aww, that joke isn’t funny. It’s sad. )
Nobody showed up to that pathetic little party the SJC threw, when they hoped people would dress up and get all excited about testifying about their roles in the U.S. attorney dismissals. Harriet Miers decided to wash her acrylic hair that day. Karl Rove had to go wash his hard-drive, and then buy a pitchfork so he could hurl sacrificial protégés Sara Taylor and J. Scott Jennings into the jaws of Chuck Schumer (D-NY).
(Scooter Libby, who is currently residing in Dick Cheney’s refrigerator, has indicated that he is nice and warm in there and that his friends can visit any time they want.)
The prevailing belief is that Karl Rove will now cash in, sultan-style, by writing his own surreal, Judith Regan-cum- OJ memoir, How He Didn’t Do It. It will no doubt wholly vindicate the Bush presidency by proving that everyone in the world except for Karl Rove is completely stupid.
The Dregulator would like to officially posit the theory, however, that Karl could send shock-waves throughout the free world by replacing Drew Carey as the successor to Bob Barker, as the host of The Price is Right.
Think about it: Drew Carey simply doesn’t have the cut-throat, Barkerian huevos to host this legendary game show. Infamous womanizer Bob Barker, according to the Globe, “holds a black belt in karate and a red belt in Tang Soo Do karate under Chuck Norris.”
Everyone knows that in a fight between Batman and Darth Vader, the winner would be Chuck Norris.
Drew Carey may have a nipple-ring, and that is pretty cool – if you’re the type of grown man who likes to wear pretty body jewelry. But if, by some incredible space-time paradox, Bob Barker, as a student of Chuck Norris, ever had to fight himself, he’d win. Period.
Conclusion: to replace Barker? The Price is ROVE. Obviously.
Nobody would ever even get to Door Number One. Nobody would even get to Come On Down. Like Chuck Norris, Rove could mentally roundhouse-kick the entire game show system until it was so frightened and corrupt, the contestants would all just apologize and give him money.
Speaking of maiming the system for personal gain, we must thank Attorney General Alberto Gonzales in part for enabling Oxycontin, young Hollywood’s favorite food. (Deputy Attorney General Paul McNulty’s Chief of Staff called U.S. attorney John Brownlee to ask him to “slow down” the case against the drug’s manufacturer, Purdue Pharma. Brownlee refused….and got his ass cold FIRED. Booyah. Because Oxycontin is ballin’ like that.)
Thanks to Oxycontin, we are completely distracted by the crimes of Lindsay Lohan ( “It’s no longer a question of IF Lindsay will kill herself, it’s a question of when,” one of her friends told The National Enquirer), Winona Ryder during her heady crime-spree phase (according to VOGUE), and Britney Spears, who, according to the National Enquirer, has graduated from various gateway drug-habits all the way to FDA-approved, “potentially lethal ‘lollipops’ laced with a narcotic that can be 80 times more potent than morphine,” originally developed for cancer patients. The ‘Qui claims Britney has been carrying fentanyl citrate pops around in her purse and sucking them regularly “for the past three years.”
Well, there are obviously things that are more painful than having cancer.
Fame, for example.
Or being Alberto Gonzales with that horrible, greazy, fatuous smirk on his face that makes him look like his soul has been invaded, Body Snatchers-style, by the President’s Bush-tics.
There is endless debate about the existence of the human soul.
But it does exist. Chuck Norris and Karl Rove find it delicious.
Nevertheless: hang on to yours, fiends. It might come in handy someday.