George W. Bush looked happier with Jason McElwain than I've seen him in all his years of office. Truly. He looked simple with bliss, his arm roping the autistic boy close to his Old Spice hide, sweetly murmuring things like "Can I call you J-Mac?" and then "You can call me Dubya." Finally, he surreally turned to the camera, grinning goofily, and seemingly being reduced to baby-speak, the President of these United States says "He call me Dubya! I call him J-Mac!" I whipped my head around, scanning for Tarzan, who I was sure would be next in the mindbending introduction. Luckily, Tarzan was a no-show, because I was about to wet my pants.

Seriously. Mister Bush was so happy and childlike that I almost wanted to weep...and then immediately place him in charge of a class of autistic tarmac-bound basket-shooting children. Because, you know? Maybe he could actually do some good there. I know he sure is making a nasty mess out of Afghanistan, Iraq, and the good ole U.S. of A. Bush has got to be better at being friends with autistic children. I mean, if motivation is a problem, we can just make sure he's on a runway with a few TV cameras running at all times. It can be a new effort on runways around the world.

And hell, I saw that kid's 3-pointers myself! I was up out of my seat yelling. I agree! Let's get J-Mac into 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Stat! I'm betting if he only sinks half as many baskets, in twice as much time, as he did on that famous night not too long ago, he would be doing about 300% better than our daffy, sappy, deadly, Mr. Ghengis Dubya GigglePants is.