24 October 2016

Routing obsession by logging boring particulars

Dear diary,

I was born less than two months after Jimmy Carter became the U.S. President. Since Carter served only one term, I was four years of age when Ronald Reagan ascended the throne. Reagan stuck around for two terms (eight years), so my childhood from four to eleven was very…

Then after that, the first of the Bushes gained control: George Herbert Walker Bush. He went from V.P. to P.

And it came to pass that George H. W. Bush sired a lad named George W. Bush – almost exactly the same name as the father: just lacking the “H.” (One poster for the 1955 movie Kiss Me Deadly hails it as the author’s “latest H-BOMB!”)

Both of the above George Walkers got to act as president during my own lifetime (my name is Bryan, in case you forgot): I became a teenager under George the Father (I grew from twelve to fifteen – very awkward years); and then George the Son held office during all my years of wrestling with religion, from twenty-four to thirty-one (which resulted in me publishing my own holy scripture).

Other noteworthy Georges are George Washington, who was the very first President of the United States; and George W. Frederick (middle name William, not Walker), also known as George III: the King of Great Britain during the time when the U.S. declared its independence. These latter two Georges led their respective realms at the very same time.

And, going back to the Bushes, if H.W.’s other son Jeb wins the upcoming election of 2016, then the U.S. will have reached the same high-water mark as its parent empire, with three whole Georges having held power (to date), albeit not successively. Plus I should admit that the third George is really a Jeb. But three Bushes, at least.

Now this makes me wonder how Great Britain got all their Georges in a row, while the States’ Georges had their reigns interrupted. The answer is blowing in the wind. For between the wrath of Big Daddy George and the wrath of Baby Boy George commences the wrath of William Jefferson Clinton, also known as Bill. But my dad always called him Slick Willie. Note the middle initial here as well:

Bill was actually born William Jefferson Blythe III, so he’s already got the triple-generation figure after his name. Congrats on that. And now, if neither Jeb nor Stimpy can win this election, the throne might belong to yet another Clinton: Hillary Diane Rodham, who married Bill just two years prior to my advent (I was born roughly a double century after the Union itself; according to an encyclopedia: “1776 is celebrated in the United States as the official beginning of its nationhood, the year America was born.”)

Yet instead of alternating the kingship between Bushes and Clintons (proceeding from Bush Senior to Clinton Hubby to Bush Junior to Clinton Helpmeet), the burgeoning royal trajectory enjoyed a jolting: it went from Bush (I) to Clinton (Bill) to Bush (II) to Barack Hussein Obama (II). But recently Ms. Clinton’s opponent – not Stimpson the Pussycat but Monsignor Trump – got caught making bad remarks in the back of a bus to a boy named Billy, born William Hall Bush (note again that H.W.); and this last poor soul is the cousin of Jeb and George 2.

Moreover, the Clintons Bill & Hill (not to be confused with hillbilly) possess one daughter, Chelsea Victoria, who, if mom Rodham proves triumphant, could establish an everlasting line of Clinton heirs for our gentle nation.

After doing some math on my fingers, I believe that…

Yes, I believe that.

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