What I Did on My Summer Vacation

By George W. Bush

Day One: Cleared some brush.

Day Two: Cleared some brush.

Day Three: Cleared some brush.

Day Four: Cleared some more &*$#! brush.

Day Five: Refused to clear any more brush. McClellan said, what should I tell reporters you are doing, then? He said it had to sound manly and resolute, but also vacation-like. I told him I would get back to him on that.

Day Six: Cleared some brush.

Day Seven: Ran out

of brush. Secret Service

ordered some more.

Day Eight: A lady outside the compound gates says she wants to talk to me to find out why her son died in Iraq. I checked. He died because someone shot him. I was going to go out there and explain this, but Laura suddenly needed me in the kitchen.

Day Twelve: Hooray! I passed my physical. The

doc said I am one of the healthiest presidents ever, even if I am a little accident-prone, such as nearly dying from eating a pretzel, and accidentally falling off a Segway, which they tell me is like accidentally falling off the deck of an aircraft carrier. I celebrated the good news by getting on my bike and running over a Secret Service agent.

Day Seventeen: That lady is still there. It turns out she wants to know why her son got sent to Iraq. I checked. He got sent to Iraq to stop Iraqis from rioting because we keep sending people to Iraq. I was going to explain this, but Laura needed some help with the Su Do Ku puzzle. I couldn't find any words in there to circle, though.

Day Nineteen: I got to sit at a microphone and announce the designation of a presidential delegation to the inauguration of President Kurmanbek Saliyevich Bakiyev of the Kyrgyz

Republic. I almost didn't go because I thought it was another trick by Cheney. He keeps putting me in front of microphones and handing me scripts to commemorate "Bituminous

Aluminum Linoleum Day" or congratulating "the Mount Pleasant Pheasant Pluckers Society." I finally wised up when the message was, "Many an enemy anemone gets an enema and an M&M amenity."

Day Twenty: The Washington Post quoted anonymous

administration sources as saying that we are lowering our

expectations for what we can accomplish in Iraq. I asked Rummy if that meant we were wrong all along, but he said, no, that things have gone almost as expected: We expected to be greeted with light resistance, open arms and a gaggle of girls with garlands. It turns out we were greeted with light arms, open resistance and a mess of martyrs with mortars.

Day Twenty-One: Met with my economic team.

Day Twenty-Two: Met with my defense team.

Day Twenty-Three: Met with my offense team. Ha-ha. That's a joke. We don't have an offense team, except for our new U.N. delegation. Ha-ha. That's a joke. Don't tell Bolton, though, because he might yell at me in one of his famous spit-flying, vein-popping, chair-flinging hissy fits. Ha-ha. That's a joke. (But don't tell him, anyway.)

Day Twenty-Six: Good news! I get to announce that Iraq has a new constitution! McClellan said I can tell all about it, except for the secret parts about "visiting the righteous fury of Allah upon beardless infidels," and women being property "equal in value to three goats, a plump calf and a Kalashnikov."

Day Thirty: That lady is still there. Apparently, she wants to know why we can't leave Iraq right now. Why didn't she say that in the first place? I can explain that! We can't leave now because if we did, the country would fall into chaos, with power outages and food shortages and open hatred among Sunnis and Shiites and Kurds, and with enemies of freedom going around blowing people up left and right. I was headed out to explain all this to that mom lady, but Laura said the batteries in the smoke detectors needed changing.

Gene Weingarten's e-mail address is weingarten@washpost.com.

Chat with him online Tuesdays at noon at www.washingtonpost.com.