John Montgomery Presents This Week's	March 11, 2000	Creep Logo by Alan Fraser
	My Close Encounter With George W Bush
	O'Dubya and I March Together (Sorta)

One of my few unfulfilled goals in life is my youthful dream to become a rich and famous rock & roll drummer, living in luxury, adored by screaming millions, and surrounded by scantily clad teenage girls. Eventually, reality prevailed, as it does for most of us, and I settled for my current semi-rewarding day job, where I am adored by none and praised by few. But the cravings to make music and hear applause persisted. So I did the next best thing - I joined the Broome County Celtic Kazoos.

The Celtic Kazoos are a merry band of revelers made up of over a hundred kazoo players and drummers who get together annually to play Irish songs and march in the St. Patrick's Day parade in Binghamton, New York. It's a great time. Our band marches near the end of the parade, so by the time we come by, the crowds, who are long since bored with the endless supply of droning bagpipe bands marching ahead of us, greet us with adulation. As we march, and during the festivities afterwards, we're constantly approached by total strangers who shower us with offers of alcohol, casual sex and free music lessons.

Occasionally, we'll hear a complaint from one of the bagpipers who thinks we're not taking the day's events seriously enough, but we just assume he's been made a bit cranky from having his unencumbered genitals flopping around under that kilt all day long. Normally, the only things the Kazoos have to worry about are frostbite, drifting snow and having to pee half way through the parade.

But things were different this year. George W Bush, governor of Texas, presidential candidate, and two-time Creep of the Week, came to town to march in our parade.

There's nothing unusual about politicians being in parades. They wave and smile and try to give the impression that they're just regular people. The mayor of Binghamton, a fine Irish lad named Richard Bucci, marches at the head of the parade each year and then goes up onto the reviewing stand to observe the rest of the participants. When the Kazoo Band comes by, he always gives us a nervous smile and casts some sidelong glances at his assistants as if to say, "What the hell is this?"

That's politics as usual, but George's appearance at this parade had a dark and ugly twist: He'd just pissed off Catholics all over the country with his shameless courting of the narrow-minded religious bigots at Bob Jones University. Marching in the parade was a blatant attempt to suck up to (and beg votes from) those he'd offended.

Things were tense from the start. George showed up with his New York benefactor, the not-so-fine and definitely-not-Irish Governor George Pataki. The two Georges got snotty with the Democratic congressman, Maurice Hinchey, refused to shake his hand, and started a shoving match to determine who was going to march in front. There were pro-Catholic and pro-McCain protesters along the route who jostled with those holding the Bush For President signs. It looked more like an Irish pub brawl than a parade.

Of course, the Celtic Kazoos, being far back in the pack, were oblivious to all these shenanigans. We caught no glimpses of George. The band gave its usual fine musical performance, which wasn't easy to do with such an overwhelming stench of political pandering in the air. We were hoping that George would join the mayor on the reviewing stand, but he didn't even stick around for the end of the parade. He made a quick stop at one of the local crack houses to score some coke and then flew out of town.

George's hijacking of our parade for his own cynical purposes was successful. He won the New York primary and is now on his way to becoming the Republican nominee for president. He's come pretty far for someone whose youthful accomplishments consisted of barely getting by in school, looking for the next party and avoiding Vietnam. Come to think of it, that's how I spent my youth, too. But I know I shouldn't be president.

I think it's a safe bet that we won't see George at next year's parade, whether he's in the White House or (hopefully) back in Texas as another washed up political hack of a loser. But here's an offer to you, Dubya: If you do return, down a pint of Guinness, stick a kazoo in your mouth and come join us at the back of the parade where the real action is. We can help get you back on the path to becoming a normal human being again. It's much more suited to a man of your talents than the presidency.