So the economy is crap. Don’t ask me what that means in the long run; I’m not financier. I’m not even very good at balancing my checkbook. However, I’ve got some theories, I have a laptop and I have a blog, so here goes:

George W. Bush, Jr. is a very, very bad president. He’s lousy at it, in fact, but that’s not the point. Bush is a lousy president, but he’s a fantastic Viking!

Think about it: in the time of the Vikings, you had the head-of-the-league-boards, MVV (Most Valuable Viking) squads and you had the remedial, “special” raider parties. Bush would have been at the front of the MVV list. He knows, better than any Viking save possibly Eric the infamous Red, the steps of true Vikinging-ing: Pillage before you burn.

People have joked that Bush is hellbent (ha) on bringing forth the Democralypse. I think they’re *almost* right.

In the 8 years that our Own Personal Oil Baron™ has been Commander-in-Chief, he’s done an amazing number of things that seem woefully wrong-headed if you don’t have the mind of a destroyer. First, the war. He picked a fight with the kid we weren’t quite getting on with at the time. Why? Because the kid said his daddy could beat up Georgie’s daddy (and did, when they tried to blow him up). So when someone egged our fearful leader’s house (using eggs cleverly designed as jet planes), he decided to blame it on the neighborhood bully. Because the way to become the bully is to call out the bully, right? Right. So he blows up some orphans, some sick kids and a few wedding parties and manages to hit some insurgents while he’s at it, but the important thing is that he managed to create more insurgents than he killed. This gives him a retroactive reason for a proactive strike. A clearer example might be this:

You live in an area with hard-to-find grizzly bears and easy-to-find rattle snakes.

A lethal creature of some sort mauls your mother, leaving her decapitated and covered in claw marks.

You, obviously, deduce that she was killed by all those snakes hanging around.

You poke the snake pit with a sharp, pokey stick.

A few rattle snakes rear their heads and bite your ass.

You chop the head off of one or two, ignoring the fact that you’ve stirred up the entire nest because obviously you’ve solved the problem. You chopped the head off the biggest snake (which looks suspiciously like the pet rattler you introduced to this den about 25 years ago…) and the one or two that bit first; the others, now pissed and coming for you, are immaterial. In the meantime, you call your brother in another state to see if he’s heard whether anyone has possibly seen a bear that may or may not have anything to do with the snakes that obviously mauled and decapitated your mom.

See the logic? In the meantime, while he’s out poking snakes, the price of oil goes sky high — which is fantastic if you’re a Texas oil baron, but not much fun if you’re a single parent of three working 2 jobs 16 hours a day while still trying to drive your sprogs to their character-forming extra-curriculars.

Congratulations! Your bombing has set in motion your pillaging. People are so worried about whether Osama bin Hussein Saladdindam is going to kill them in the middle of the night, they won’t notice that you’re robbing them blind. You’ll be fine! Don’t worry about the plebes — just try not to take TreasureBaths™ in front of the commoners.

Now comes the best part — it’s time to burn.

Here’s the thing: historically, a war has been initially tough on the economy, but sometimes a war can kick a sluggish economy in the butt and get it moving. But if you do it right — which is to say WRONG — you can kick it in the balls instead and get it into a nice, manageable fetal position.

Good job, Mr. President. Damn. Good. Job.

And thank Jesus or your deity of choice for executive branch term limits.