So the Prez finally decided to do something about the mortgage crisis. He proposed a bailout for mortgage banks and home builders, but nothing for the regular folks who owe more than their homes are worth.

This is nothing new. The Prez has a few guiding principles, and one of them is "piss on the poor." I'm not surprised. This proposal shouldn't bother me. But it does.

As of today, there are 289 days left in the George W. Bush administration. There will be a new president next year, but he or she will be inaugurated a full 77 days after winning the election. Even after we've chosen a replacement, we will have 11 weeks of waiting before the current Prez finally gets the boot.

I've been sanguine about this situation for a long time. I've been taking the long-term view that the failure of the past seven-plus years is paving the way for more progressive policies in the future. But the everyday wear and tear is getting to me. I've got the blues.

Everything costs more, but salaries aren't rising. We're still fighting a war in Iraq with scores killed every day, and yet no one seems to know when we will be able to end the thing. And then there's the world-wide shortage of hops, which is driving up the price of good beer. Talk about bad news following bad news.

I'm bummed these days, just getting by day-to-day. It sucks. I need some good news, and I need it now. I've been surfing around for a couple of hours, and it seems there is little good news to be found. The headlines aren't all bleak, but the bad news does seem to come in bunches. There are stories from around the country about seven different parents who killed most or all of their children. I know these things happen, but seven parental mass-murderers within a couple weeks? There's something nasty in the air.

Hunter Thompson had a phrase for it: Fear and loathing. Jimmy Carter preferred malaise. And I think Carter's choice is more appropriate, given the helplessness a lot of people seem to be feeling right now.

So I've gotta get with this malaise thing and make it work for me. But how to do that?

There's always drinking yourself into a stupor. Most psychologists and doctors recommend against this. Children are generally opposed as well. There's only so many times one can be woken up with cries of "Daddy! You peed in your bed again!"

Okay, so that's out. I could go work out my aggression. Start a bar fight, maybe, or simply pick on some poor shmoe on the street. This isn't really my style--I don't yell at telemarketers, even when they call at 11 p.m.--and I really can't afford the inevitable hospital bill.

Along the same lines, though, is exercise. Just about everyone agrees that physical exertion does wonders for the blues. And I do about 10 minutes of calisthenics a day. I'm sure you've heard of Marine push-ups. A couple years ago, I used to do Sam push-ups. He would sit on my back and I would do normal push-ups. He was about 16 pounds back then. Now he's 35 pounds. My back is way too old for that. So I just do regular push-ups and sit-ups and the like. It's fine for the figure, but it's not curing my malaise. Even biking isn't working the way it has in the past.

I could hit up the doctor for some happy pills. And while I'm not philosophically opposed to this, it seems to me that I shouldn't have to get a prescription just because the Prez is a bum. There must be some way to work this out without resorting to medical intervention.

Hey, I've got it! I should sue the Prez for emotional distress. His stupid policies are the reason I feel like shit. He's the one who should pay for it. I know I can find a lawyer who would take the case, and it would be loads of fun taking depositions of the Prez, the big Dick and everyone else. I don't care if I lose. That's not the point.

The point is doing something about the malaise. The point is making every morning a silver dawn of golden promise. Yeah, a lawsuit is just the ticket. The Prez hates trial lawyers and lawsuits and all that. This would really frost his chaps. I think I'm gonna do it.

Jon Worley v. George W. Bush, et. al.

All the way to the Supreme Court, baby!

Jon Worley doesn't own a suit, and he has no idea how to file one, either.