Why, oh why, can't we have better chess players

Yeah, yeah, this has been covered by numerous blogosphere types today, along with the sound of their jaws scraping along their keyboards, but I gotta say, when I read this while munching on my corn flakes this morning, I arched an eyebrow.

There was, for the record, not a shred of red meat in Mr. Snow’s whirlwind performance Saturday night. For 28 minutes, Mr. Snow paced the stage, hands gesticulating, eyebrows arching, voice rising and falling, as he held forth without notes on the greatness of his job, his president and the American people.

Here was Mr. Snow on working in the White House: “The most exciting, intellectually aerobic job I’m ever going to have.” On the nature of the American soul after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11: “There is an ember of greatness burning in every heart.” On the intellectual acumen of his boss: “He reminds me of one of those guys at the gym who plays about 40 chessboards at once.”

Yes, folks, I arched an eyebrow. Arched a fucking eyebrow. I did not begin sobbing hysterically. I did not even fall out of my chair laughing, while milk streamed out of my nose. I. Arched. A goddamn. Eyebrow.

"...those guys at the gym who plays [sic, oh yeah, sic] about 40 chessboards at once."

That's what's become of our collective sanity, Dear Reader. These people...er, these alternative lifeforms...have taken over our government, and they no longer even care if we know that they, aliens from another galaxy, are running the world. Because Tony Snow has now proven that he is from another planet.

And it no longer strikes me as the most crazy thing I've ever seen. Or read. On a daily basis.

Well done, George W. Bush. Well done, sir.