There have been many who pondered just how Junya goes about doing his "decideratin'". It has been the subject of endless speculation by the chattering class, the topic of innumerable inane PhD dissertations, and of course, fodder for every adoring wingnut whose own thinkin' it coincidently resembles.
But I'm here to reveal the complete and unvarnished truth that that has baffled even the experts. No expense was spared in divining this...ahm...stunning...ahm...feat of mental acuity.
There is a method to Junya's madness thinkin' process when he reluctantly needs to do some decideratin'. You know, like what to do about Iraq.
Junya, during his formative years as a cowpoke at his Connecticut dude ranch, always found things "easier" if something was "simplified". You know, like his prep-school teachers would "simplify" his math by sayin' "It's OK Junya, 2 plus 2 equals 3 is close enough. You can put your socks back on now." Or his prep-school teachers would "simplify" his readin' by sayin' "It's OK Junya, as long as you're colorin' within the lines on the pictures, those word thingies will help keep the pictures apart."
And after 3 years as a Senior and Junya had finally graduated, he had distilled his thought processes down to the very essence of "simplicity", the very core of the man today.
This "simplicity" is today now universally known as "a Hopin', a Wishin' and a Prayin'."
And the results of this distillation process are handily evident as Junya goes about his preznitin' where sometimes he is forced by circumstances to attempt some decideratin'.
The easiest way for one to "appreciate" this thinkin' process is to put yourself in the shoes of someone like...well...like...well, I suppose Junya will have to do. Just keep in mind that you don't have to do this in public and it probably...well, most likely won't...ahhhmmm...now that I think of it, you probably ought to get a signed release from your Doctor before you do this, but don't let that stop ya'.
Where were we? Oh, yeah, wearing Junya's shoes. Ok, now you're standing in line at the Wal-Mart after stocking up on a Super-Size-Me 10 gallon jug of lime-green Kool-Aid, 4 Mega-munch bags of Cheetos, a 64-pack of Slim Jims, a carton of unfiltered low-tar Twinkies, and a gross of Extra-Short and Pencil-Thin Trojans (discounted because they're unlubricated but hope springs eternal and Bertha Lil' Junebug Schwanzpuller and her Siamese twin sister Loueesha Pete always carry WD-40).
Ok? So now it's time to squint those beady eyes real hard, poke yer tongue into the side of yer cheek and wait 30 seconds. Ya always need to wait 30 seconds 'cuz that's what Yogi and Booboo used to do on TV before the lightbulb came on over their heads. And who said Junya never pays attention to nothin'?
Anywho, here's what's staring ya in the face: Gotta deciderate somethin' and the clock is ticking. "Geez Ma, do I have to?" Ohhhhh boy!
It's like when approaching the checkout line, you think "I sure hope there's some money in mah wallet." This means that while the possibility exists that you have money in your wallet, the likelihood is that you probably don't. This could be trouble.
Then there's this approach to the checkout line where it's like "I wish there's some money in mah wallet." This means that there is definitely no money in your wallet, but if you had wished hard enough, the tooth fairy might have slipped a dollar in when you were sleeping. You're starting to sweat.
And finally, there's the approach to the checkout line where it's like "I pray there's some money in mah wallet." This means that there never was any money in your wallet 'cuz you never owned a wallet and you're going to hell unless a miracle occurs right quick. Closing your eyes probably ain't gonna help much. But crossing your legs real tight sometimes works and if it don't, the Depends are just an aisle away.
Simple, wasn't it? I tol' ya!
So now we reach the finale where the most momentous decideratin' of his preznitcy awaits his undivided (huh?) attention, where the lives of loved ones are literally hanging in the balance, where mountains are separated from molehills, where mice are men...where...where was I?
Oh yeah, and since anybody can do it, why good ol' Junya is right this very moment decideratin' about Iraq and I betcha I know just what he's thinking:
"Ah hope Poppy and his friends stop writing those reports and Deadeye or maybe even Ma can draw some pictures for me. I wish that jug of ol' Grandpappy wasn't empty, and Rummy or even Santa would return mah phonecalls. I pray the voice in mah head is the Lawd speakin' and not Barney again."
And the collective judgement of the American public? Uh ohhhhhh...!
