This made my morning

From Gareth at dKos:

I was sitting there watching the holo-vid with my granddaughter, when I saw a nightmare from years past flicker across the room. "Grampa, who's that man?" asked little Allie. Oh Jesus, I thought. There the bastard is again. Bedraggled and long-haired, he looked like Ted Kozinski on a bad day. Withered, manacled, his smirk fossilized into a crazy glare, George Bush was being dragged from his cell at The Hague to trial. Again. "Uh, sweetie, that's George "Dubya" Bush." "Bush. Wait, we read about him in school. That's the guy who did all those things, right?" I still felt some residual fear, as if from his reduced condition, in his orange jumpsuit, Bush could reach out through the long-dismantled right-wing noise machine and tell us we had to "stay the course" and that prosecuting him meant "terrorism would win." "Yeah, sweetie. That's him. Invaded Iraq. Tortured children. Gave the bomb plans to Iran. Bombed Iran." "He did so many bad things!" "Yeah." I sank into the unwelcome memory of those seven long years until his impeachment. "Did anybody do more bad things?" "Nobody who was president." "But anybody?" "Sure. Hitler did." "Did he get arrested too?" "No. Hitler killed himself." "Oh." I wondered for a moment why Bush hadn't killed himself when the UN troops surrounded his Paraguay compound. I wondered if the religious delusions he entertained kept him from doing it, if, after being directly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, he thought killing himself would be the straw that broke the camel's back and sent him to hell. He hadn't. He'd come outside in a chambray shirt, jeans, and boots, smirking that goddamned smirk, just like when he used to pretend to "clear brush" at his estate in Texas. Like it was a media opportunity he could wriggle out of. That day there had been celebrations the world over. The skies over every city in the Muslim world exploded with gunfire, all pointed upwards for once. It was like New Year's Eve in every city in Europe. Muslims, Christians, and Jews danced in the streets together. In America everybody, Democrat and Republican, realized the national nightmare was over. Bush had finally become the unifier he had once promised to be. But the only way he had unified people was in despising him. "Grampa?" "Yeah?" "How come people let him be President?" How come indeed? I remembered back to the right-wing noise machine, back before Rush and O'Reilly went to jail for sex crimes, back before President Obama signed the Fair Media Act, before Murdoch was sent back to Australia. "Well, sweetie, some people thought he would do a good job." "Why?" "I don't know exactly. He never did a good job at anything before that." "Why?" "I think he was too mean-spirited, or too stupid, or too spoiled." "Why?" "Well, he was born with a... heh, heh, with a silver spoon up his nose. His daddy coddled him when he was a boy." "What's coddled, Grampa?" "It's when you don't let kids do things on their own, when you just kind of hover over them and never let them fall down. It makes kids turn out spoiled." "I fell down, Grampa," Allie said, pointing at her knee. "I'm not coddled." "I know you're not, sweetie. You're perfect. And you might grow up to be President someday. And you'll be a great President." "I'm not going to be bad like that man. Bu

sh." "No, you're not, honey. Nobody is. Not anymore."