Columbo Villian of the Week

Yes folks, that’s right. This week’s Columbo Villian of the Week is good old George W. Bush, the leader of the free world, lord help us.

George W, or that Texan halfwit as I prefer to refer to him, rose to power as President in a strange quirk of the world’s largest democracy where you can lose the popular vote but still win the election. Only in America.

No one expected much. No one expected him to be around for any longer than his father.

After all, he is a renowned halfwit, a man who as Governor of Texas executed more people than anyone else in US history, a self-confessed alcoholic (albeit reformed) and dogged by constant rumours of draft dodging sprinkled with drug abuse.

Then a certain event, that no one could have predicted (except as it turns out the NSA, CIA and FBI…allegedly) happened and a surge of patriotism launched the floundering president to the top of the mountain. Very convenient, mutter the conspiracy theorists (we know who you are).

George W. responded in the way any card carrying member of the NRA would and invaded another country. In this case it involved deposing the Taliban (a good thing) whilst failing to install a stable government (a bad thing). And failing to capture Osama (the actual objective).

Then he decided, in spite of all evidence to the contrary, that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction and Saddam had to go. Of course as it turns out there were no weapons, as well as no plan to stabilise the country. Apparently that was detail and down to Dick. Most of George’s problems are down to Dick.

So where is good old George W. now?

Well Georgey Boy is in a bit of a bind. The US economy is crashing under the global credit crunch, his popularity is rock bottom and it looks like history will remember him as the Homer Simpson of presidents. Bush isn’t happy with this, the man who states Zoolander as his favourite film wants to be remembered as a good guy. A compassionate Conservative who gave freedom to the world in accordance with God’s wishes.

Did I mention they’re apparently on talking terms?

Anyway, George wants his page in history, he’s been told it’s a good book and he’ll get round to reading it just as soon as he finds out what happened to Spot. In the meantime he needs to sort out this reputation thingy and he only has two years left, clearly it isn’t enough. Something needs to be done. I can see it now…

George W. has the US Constitution brought to the White House for review. Then late at night, wearing his cowboy slippers, he tip toes down to the safe where the document has been left for safe keeping, biro in hand. You can guess what happens next.

The following day Fox News leads with a special report from Geraldo reporting that a legal review of the constitution has found that a president’s time in office is not restricted to two terms due to a here-to undiscovered footnote on the constitution. The president appears in an exclusive interview stating he will stay in power until the war on terror is won.

“It’s the wrong time,” he says. “I would be letting down not just the country but myself. God has told me to free the world. And I won’t stop until I’ve freed it or destroyed it. Whatever comes first.”

There’s just one small problem. Well quite a large one really. His name is Michael Moore. A constant thorn in Bush’s side from the moment he was elected, the erstwhile documentary maker releases his next film Bush: Who let the idiot in?

Worse, people are listening. Americans are listening. It was bad enough when just the Europeans listened but now Americans are asking to see the footnote in question and asking difficult questions like “Can you find Iraq on the map?”. Something needs to be done.

In times of crisis George likes to do what any other responsible man in their fifties does. He plays Golf. And it’s this that gives him his Big Idea. He gets one every five years and here he is with two in as many weeks, it must be God.

George W. sets up a charity golf match and in a gesture of openness invites Moore to interview him after the match. As expected Moore turns up early to get more shots of George larking around instead of doing the serious business of governing the free world.

George W. slices the ball on the opening tee, it arcs through the air towards Moore hitting him in the forehead and exploding, Moore’s headless body crushes Hilary Clinton as it falls to the floor. Bonus.

The finger of blame is pointed at international Boogeyman, Osama Bin Laden, as the ball is found to carry the imprint A.Q. Clearly a sign.

He’s gotten away with it and to be sure he does he gets a bumbling detective assigned to the investigation. The policeman is naturally honoured, taking every opportunity to talk to the president and dropping ash on the carpet of the oval office.

His questions are nearly as annoying as that Paxman fellow from the Beeb. For example, he keeps asking about handwriting. George W. isn’t sure why, doesn’t really care.

Lordy, here he is again, it’s ok there’s no questions about the deaths, he just wants an autograph for his wife, not sure why that needs a camera crew…