My Life With Jenna Bush

Mark Morford sorta, er, morfs into 'Rude Pundit gets a day job' with this one:

What's it like to be married to the booze-friendly, party-ready Bush twin? A vision

I got her trained just right. She brings me a steady supply of cold Bud Lights while I chill on the La-Z-Boy watching the Nationals game on the plasma. Here's a funny: After any home run, I'll down whatever's left of my beer and suck in a big mouthful of air and then belch her name really, really slowly and blow it right in her face. "Oh my God that is so gross!" she squeals, and then totally cracks up and makes that funny snorting noise and goes to get us both another beer. Man, I love being married.

Her hair smells like kitty litter and nachos and bad domestic wiretapping law. I take deep whiffs just before bed and later dream that I'm back in law school and it's finals and I'm totally not prepared because I've been burning pages of the U.S. Constitution in my bathtub and blasting gay people and women and pretty much all of humanity with my giant death-ray laser. Wait a sec, this is Karl Rove's dream! How the hell did he get in here? He's so sneaky. But I love him. No, I mean I really love him. But he won't return my text messages anymore. Bitch.

"Poor sick people are so amazing!" Jen says that a lot these days, ever since the Panama thing, ever since the party made her get the hell out of the country so as to deflect all the bad PR about the beer bongs and the partying and the dumb-blonde-Texas stories. But Jen says she learned "a ton" interning for UNICEF, now thinks people with HIV are "so sad and nice and not, like, nearly as skanky as I thought." Once she even wondered, out loud, why we all don't have more and better access to condoms and real birth control info and true sexual education. I shot her a look. Then she remembers: "Oh, right."

So anyway, Mary Cheney's been advising J on how to handle the book publicity. In fact, they've been spending a lot of time together lately, sharing smokes, going to movies, having late-night gabfests. Sometimes J doesn't stumble home until 4 or 5 a.m., always sort of flushed and giggly. And get this: More than once her lipstick was totally smeared all over her mouth. She said Mary was just "showing her something." Yeah right. More nights like that and I'm telling Laura about Jen's new Brazilian wax job that spells out "Obama '08." Except she misspelled it as "Osama." Whoops.

Please enjoy the rest. Oh, right, their sex life? It's in there, right between the pineapple pizza and the throwing up...