Still sick of Bush

This morning I emerged from the bedroom to find Tery watching Bush on the telly again, picking apart John Kerry's debate points piece by piece with that hated smirk on his face like a bully at recess.

I'm sick and tired of Bush pointing the finger at everyone else while refusing to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, he might have made a mistake or two in the past four years. Glass houses, Georgie. Glass houses.

If he wins steals the presidency again, I swear Canada isn't far enough. I'm moving to Pluto.