On most of the 365 days he has enjoyed at his secluded ranch here, President Bush’s idea of paradise is to hop in his white Ford pickup truck in jeans and work boots, drive to a stand of cedars, and whack the trees to the ground.
If the soil is moist enough, he will light a match and burn the wood. If it is parched, as it is across Texas now, the wood will sit in piles scattered over the 1,600-acre spread until it is safe for a ranch hand to torch — or until the president can come home and do the honors himself.
Nothing more relaxing than chopping and burning cedars. But hey, legalizing and normalizing torture and universal government surveillance is hard work (MP3 3.5MB). And maybe it means he gets some of that “let’s bomb somebody” mojo out of his system.