When George Bush choked on a pretzel Sunday, media outlets across the world exploded in speculation. Was this a conspiracy? Is there a cover-up? Yet we at The Voice Leisure section choose to dig deeper?we mine the pits of sound bytes and news releases that have swallowed pundit and wonk alike. Unlike many, we have complete faith that our President is entirely capable of choking on a pretzel.
The more compelling story has been ignored?we know nothing about the pretzel itself. Twist or rod? Soft-baked or hard? Salted or not? Cheddar-cheese coated? Sourdough? Maybe even one of those tasty honey-mustard-and-onion nugget things?
However, small clues can be had?The Washington Post, for one, chose to describe the pretzel as “wayward” in a Monday page-one article. Now, its youth may very well have been a difficult one. Its father wasn’t around much?spending his days festering in a glass box at the local 7-Eleven. But his Mom gave him the love he deserved, salting him gently before bed every night. Sure, he made some mistakes along the way?hanging with the wrong brands of mustard, that affair with the Funyon during the early ‘80s?but the pretzel grew up well indeed. It was no accident that the intern spied him inside that giant plastic barrel of Utz Sourdough goodness that fateful day at the Pentagon City Costco. And in the barrel he would sit, next to the La-Z-Boy in the White House rumpus room, waiting for his moment to shine.
Pretzel, you are likely gone now. However, we cannot quite say that you are in a better place. Consider yourself lucky, however, as you did not follow your compadres into the meanders of our Chief Executive’s bowels. Perhaps you were recovered by the Secret Service, dissected and analyzed like the deadly weapon you may very well have been.
Alas, you may have been misguided, but never were you wayward?it was fate that directed you to George W. Bush’s pharynx, and into our hearts and minds. Fare thee well, good pretzel. We hardly knew ye.
