“I will tell you, the contrast between when I was last here and today is pretty dramatic,” Bush said. “From when I first came here to today, New Orleans is reminding me of the city I used to visit.”
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“It’s a heck of a place to bring your family,” said Bush, seated before a colorful mural depicting jazz musicians, a river boat, masked Mardi Gras revelers and crawfish. “It’s a great place to find some of the greatest food in the world and it’s a heck of a lot of fun,” he said.
The word “heck” has never cut it in my book. It’s wussy. It’s weak. It’s what grandmothers say when they’d rather use “hell” or “goddamn” or the good ol’ F-bomb, but they know it’ll get back to Pastor Kennedy if they do. It’s a hollow substitution for something more emphatic.
As such, “heck” is also non-committal. During that fateful first week of September, when Bush fils said, “Brownie, you’re doing one heck of a job,” the subtext went something like, “You can’t even roll up your freakin’ sleeves, can you?” And yesterday, anyone with half a brain could see that Bush was really saying, “I’m sure as hell glad I don’t have to live in all this crap. Y’all are screwed.” Perhaps W might’ve felt differently back when he “used to visit”–back when he was down with booze and dope–but now that he’s found Jeebus, he’s all Dollywood-or-Bust. (Yes, pun intended. If Ms. Parton doesn’t already have bumper stickers made, I’ve got dibs.)
It all reminds me of that Simpsons episode where Mr. Burns is running for governator and goes to dinner at the Simpson’s house and Marge serves the much-publicized Blinky the Three-Eyed Fish and Burns tries to make it seem like Blinky’s exactly the sort of fish he’d have chosen to eat anyway but then has to spit it out ’cause it tastes so revolting….
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