God is in the details.

If you've turned on a television, opened a newspaper or visited a website this week, you will have noticed that George W. Bush is promoting his memoirs.  Would he call them memoirs?  Doesn't that sound kind of French and elitist or just plain fancy pants?  It does.  That man should not have memoirs.  He should have...memneverhavebeenelectedinthefirstplace.

He's been telling a story that appears in the book to explain his firm Anti-Choice position.  I always thought it had to do with his straight up crazy religious affiliations (rapture, anyone?) or a blatant disrespect for women's rights.  Turns out his stance on this matter was coloured by a family tragedy.  When George W. was a teenager his mother Barbara suffered a miscarriage and he had to drive her to the hospital. As is often the case, she had to transport the miscarried fetus to the doctor to be pathologized.  He saw this fetus, which was being saved in a jar and quite understandably, it affected his feelings on the matter.  I can appreciate this.  I can. And I feel for his mother.  I don't understand how the media thinks it's acceptable to report on this anecdote from the book without pointing out the details.  God is, as I'm sure the Bushes would point out, in the details. There have been a number of headlines about Barbara Bush keeping a fetus in a jar.  Like she did it for fun.  Like it was a keepsake she kept on her bedside table.

The Bush family is nuts.

Nobody is that nuts.

That said, allow me to digress for a moment...

I've always thought that if I was ever in a punk band (or an improv troupe) I would name said band (or troupe) one of two things:

The Myoclonic Jerks

or

Illiterate Faggot 

(send your letters to Jerry Lewis, not me).

Suddenly a new contender has emerged.  Now, I'm not proud of this.  But I can't stop it from rattling around in my head.  Forgive me if I ever hand you a poorly designed, photocopied flyer for the first show featuring:

Barbara Bush's Fetus Jar

Who's nut's now?