Cheer up! It’s Bushtemberfest!

I know, I know — it’s a drag seeing the end of the summer on the horizon. I’ve got the new Bob Dylan disc to look forward to, which should tide me over for a while. But for those of you lacking such a psychological prop, I have just the thing — a new holiday.

Bushtemberfest, or the Festival of Fatal Fuckups, will give GOP-weary Americans a chance to celebrate the non-accomplishments of George W. Bush, the first president to let one major American city be devastated by terrorists and allow another one to drown, all within the space of a few years. The observance will start with the anniversary of the flooding of New Orleans and climax with the anniversary of the destruction of the World Trade Center, during which time we will pray — loudly and publicly — that no other disasters befall us while we await the blessed day that King George and his menagerie of religious hucksters, corporate bandits and ideological grifters get their eviction notice.

How shall we observe this new holiday, this Bushtemberfest? Shall we drown kittens in the bathtub while chanting, “Heckuva job, Brownie”? Shall we say, when a breathless Good Samaritan runs up to tell us that a building is on fire, “Okay, go home, you’ve covered your ass”? Shall we pull milk bottles and lollipops out of the hands of children and give them to obese adults? Shall we march into schools and confiscate globes because they depict the Earth as round? (When teachers object that the Earth is not, in fact, flat, we’ll say “Teach the controversy! Give both sides of the debate!”)

I welcome any and all ideas from commenters.