To these folks who don't understand why I'm so set on doing things my way, I want to share a little story:
When I was a kid back in Midland Texas, I had a big old cardboard box that was filled to the rim with GI Joe dolls. I loved playing with those dolls. Holding wargames... Dressing them up in their little macho outfits... Undressing them and... (Coughs) ANYWAY, those dolls were like my first military, and I learned super-valuable lessons commanding them. Lessons that I still live by today.
One day when I was 11, my dad was mowing our back yard, and darn if he didn't slip and fall right in the cesspool. I looked on helplessly as poor poppy tried in vain to extricate himself... his shiny black penny loafers thrashing in vain to get traction in the putrid muck... and flailing pathetically in filth-drenched Bermuda shorts. Later, after my mom effortlessly plucked him out in her big brawny arms, she was hosing him down on the driveway. He was shivering, and doing that thing where he blubbers like a bitch. And I decided, right there and then, that I was gonna make that cesspool pay for what it did to my daddy.
So the very next morning, I took my box of GI Joes, and I threw a whole bunch of them right into that nasty old cesspool. Then I put on my cowbow hat, and I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Bring it on!" And then I walked away and forgot all about it.
Two years later, my brother Jeb noticed the GI Joes in the cesspool, and he said, "Hey George – don't you think you should do something about those GI Joes? They used to be floating on top, but now they're starting to sink in the sludge."
I assured him, "Don't worry, Jebber. I knew what I was doing when I threw them in there. Those GI Joes are tough, and if we just stay the course, they'll whoop that cesspool yet."
A year later, he asked me again: "Hey George. Those GI Joes ain't looking so hot, and the cesspool is getting even bigger! Shouldn't we do something?"
But I was already a prodigal Commander in Chief, and I told him, "Listen little bro, those GI Joes are professionals, and I'm certain I can count on them to make the right decisions. The last thing they need is a bunch of civvies telling them how to do their jobs." And then I threw a few more dolls into deepest, stinkiest part of the pit, just for good measure.
Another year passed, when one day I was walking through the back yard, and I noticed Jeb back by the cesspool. He was trying to fish those GI Joes out with a stick!
So I yelled, "Hey Jebster! Stop that! Don't fuck with my shit!"
And he said, "I'm sorry George, but I can't stand idly by and do nothing. Your plan made no sense, and you clearly just don't care whether or not a bunch of GI Joes live or die! So I'm taking action to SAVE these GI Joes!"
So I said, "OK Jeberooni. If that's the way you feel."
And then I punched him in his big fat hippo face so hard, he was cross-eyed for a year... and started dating Mexican chicks.
So the GI Joes stayed in the Midland cesspool. And then ten years later, the town put in a municipal sewage system, and the cesspool became obsolete and dried up – which is proof that my military instincts are totally awesome.
And THAT should tell Democrats all they need to know about questioning my genius plan for Iraq.
And THAT is why I will veto any attempt Democrats might make to take control of my real-life GI Joes.