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George, I have a theory about why and how all this has happened to you.

Instead of having to earn it, you have been handed the presidency, the same way you’ve come by everything else in your life. Money and name alone have opened every door for you. Without effort or hard work or intelligence or ingenuity, you have been bequeathed a life of privilege.

You learned at an early age that, in America, all someone like you has to do is show up. You found yourself admitted to an exclusive New England boarding school simply because your name was Bush. You did not have to EARN your place there. It was bought for you.

When they let you into Yale, you learned you could bypass more deserving students who had worked hard for twelve years to qualify for admission to college. You got in because your name was Bush.

You got into Harvard Business School the same way. After screwing off during your four years at Yale, you took the seat that rightfully belonged to someone else.

You then pretended to serve a full stint in the Texas Air National Guard. But one day, according to the Boston Globe, you just skipped out and failed to report back to your unit—for a year and a half! You didn’t have to fulfill your military obligation, because your name was Bush.

Following a number of “lost years” that don’t appear in your official biography, you were given job after job by your daddy and other family members. No matter how many of your business ventures failed, there was always another one waiting to be handed to you.

Finally, you got to be a partner in a major league baseball team—another gift—even though you put up only one one hundredth of the money for the team. And then you conned the taxpayers of Arlington, Texas, into giving you another perk—a brand-new multimillion-dollar stadium that you didn’t have to pay for.

So it’s no wonder you think you deserved to be named President. You didn’t earn it or win it—therefore it must be yours!

And you see nothing wrong with this. Why should you? It is the only life you have ever known.

On election night, as the vote swayed back and forth across the nation, you told the press that your brother had assured you Florida was yours. If a Bush said it was so, it was so.

But it ain’t so. And when it dawned on you that the presidency had to be earned and won by a vote of the people—yes, the people!—you went berserk. You sent in hatchet man James Baker (“Fuck the Jews, they don’t vote for us anyway” was his advice to Poppy in ‘92) to tell lies to the American people and stoke the nation’s fears. When that didn’t seem to work, you went to federal court and sued to stop the votes from being counted—because you knew how the vote would turn out. If you were truly sure you had the vote of the people, you wouldn’t have minded all those votes being counted.

What startles me is how you turned to the big bad federal government for help. Your mantra during every campaign stop was the following: “My opponent trusts the federal government. I trust you, the people!”

Well, we soon learned the truth. You didn’t trust the people at all. You went straight to the federal court to get your handout (trust the voting machines, not the people!). At first the judges in Florida didn’t buy it—and for perhaps the first time in your life, someone told you no.

But as we’ve already seen, Daddy’s friends on the U.S. Supreme Court were there to take care of everything.

In short, you’ve been a drunk, a thief, a possible felon, an unconvicted deserter, and a crybaby. You may call that statement cruel. I call it “tough love.”

For the sake of all that is decent and sacred, good God, man, take leave immediately and bring some honor to your allimportant family name! Make those of us who know there’s a thread of decency in your family proud once again to claim that a Bush in the hand is better than a handout to a Bush.

Yours,

Michael Moore

THREE

Dow Wow Wow

AS I’M SITTING in a Michigan airport waiting for my American Airlines flight to Chicago,