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Word is that Karl Rove finally tired of being the butt of best buddy Bush’s jovial jabs. “Turd blossom” was tolerated, but being called “my own personal Capitol Rotunda” is said to have been the last straw that Karl could gracefully take on his dromedary hump. He will join Tony “my personal snowball” (said to be on the way out too) in leaving the center ring of Bush’s increasingly lunatic circus.
So it ends, with the briefest “blink and you miss it” hug (I think Putin got more hug time) and a lightening quick presidential “pat – pat” on the back.
Karl Rove was born on Christmas in 1950 and perhaps decided a career as Santa’s main elf was more suited for him than aspiring to take over the reins of the sleigh. Since an early age he proved to be the gift that just kept on giving for many politicians, most notably of course the present occupant of the West Wing.
Rove is said to have begun his career in politics at the age of nine when the presumably prepubescent youth decided to support Richard Nixon. He is quoted as follows: “There was a little girl across the street who was Catholic and found out I was for Nixon, and she was avidly for Kennedy. She put me down on the pavement and waled on me and gave me a bloody nose. I lost my first political battle.” [Lee Davidson. “Triumph of the underdog”, Deseret News, December 8, 2002].
You don’t have to be a psychoanalyst to speculate how that humiliation led the young Karl to learn how to be a warrior in one arena where you don’t have to use your fists to beat your rivals into the psychic equivalent of a bloody pulp.
His sheer brain power, unfettered by a smidgen of scruples, made him the genius court jester only a true fool would mock for his goofy persona. Mockery was the sole purview of the president. My hunch is that Rove knew this and (witness his unhinged dancing at the press dinner) reveled in playing Santa’s main elf.
Rove was never Bush’s entire brain. He was the astute manipulator of precise parts of both Bush’s conscious and unconscious mind. He deftly created the illusion in Santa Bush’s mind that he really could crisscross the globe not only every Christmas Eve, deciding who was naughty or nice, but every other day of the year.
Why is Rove leaving now? Who knows? Maybe the decapitated chickens whose heads he bit off are about to come home to roost exacting revenge, and he wants to be sure Bush is still in office when he needs to be pardoned.
Or perhaps, more likely, he see what some observers have noticed in Bush’s behavior, i.e., that the president is fast becoming in reality the silly person Rove only pretended to be.
Perhaps Rove’s latest quote in response to those speculating on why he is leaving now, i.e., that “the rooster is claiming to have called up the sun” is one of his rare Freudian slips. It’s just possible he’s been around President Cock-a-doodle-do so long, the president who believes his cawing can call up the sun, that this bit of humor percolated up uncensored from his unconscious.