Naaaah, he doesn't think about anything except clearing brush. When he's not clearing brush, he's talking to god, so what's there to worry about if we've got a leader being directed by the almighty.

God, this rightwing train wreck is taking forever. To mix metaphors.. they just won't recognize the inevitable until they've hit every single branch on the to the cold hard ground.. It is fun to watch their expressions with each new impact though.

That second frame hit the nail on the head.

Well, Lou (#1)--luckily, I'm a Board-Certified, Card-Carrying CYNIC with a PhD in Brutal Comedic Irony Appreciation, to boot. So I'm legally licensed to field and respond to your statement, along with the pseudo-open-ended, kinda rhetorical-ish question from which your post is dangling with a potential gleam of hope/challenge in its cute little eye.
So, based on the parameters you put forth, I'd say that the first thing to really worry about is the potential for a zombie-like state to set in from the horribly monotonous routine of eternally alternating back and forth between clearing brush and waxing celestially chatty, with no other psycho-stimuli to mix things up a bit. What if he were to lose track at some point and commit the unthinkably horrendous blunder of conversing with foliage and *ahem* 'clearing' god? What then? **(Potentially relevant tangeant: in his daily clearing, does he use hand tools, the less technological, yet highly formidable fire, -*BTW: Me hear fire burn. Fire burn hurt bad. No touch fire. You're welcome*- mayhaps that loyal old southern ruralite's companion: a PTO BrushHog behind a sturdy old, late 70's Ford diesel tractor, a combination of the three methods--wherein he might ride a BrushHog armed with and waving flaming handtools, or the dreaded "Nukular" Option--which is actually Rumsfeld with a radio in hand and a squadron of any available, incendiarilly-armed aircraft on scramble...I only ask cuz it makes a big difference in the end result of pretty much all the directions in which ol' Dub could potentially go "left"--AKA: "Out to Lunch" indefinitely for fear of returning to find those pesky flying mammals still cavorting in the belfry.)**

Let's also try and refrain from ASSuming that simply engaging in conversation with god, or anyone for that matter, is of a potentially instructional value great enough--that is to say, "able to be comprehended and assimilated for integration within [a] framework[s] where it will be found to be of valuable insight for the executive planning of actions more complex than staring blankly, leaning on a podium while condescending to people, or the difficult, precarious mixture of the latter while simultaneously smirking, sneering, and/or releasing periodic, monosyllabic chuckle-grunts while smiling patronizingly"--to ol' Curious George that it can truly be considered "being directed", technically speaking.

Oh, yesirree--there are any number of ways an indefinitely-redundant routine of such a nature (Ha! How punny! Get it? "Nature"? See? God..and brush..."Nature"...But seriously--don't laugh or otherwise respond to that, as it will only serve to encourage me.) could go horribly, horribly awry in some cataclysmic, unfathomable, theologically-arboreal fashion we could never dream of, let alone prevent or prepare for...

...and all this is before we even address the issue of precisely determining with which god he shoots the shit...so many choices! Do we go by his verbal claims of religious bearing? Perhaps the complete opposite, ie: his daily actions? Has he perhaps thrown a whole monkey (forget just a measley wrench) into the works by making up his own, imaginary friend-god? If so, does it allow him to win periodically at Tic-Tac-Toe? I'm overloaded already---gotta take a rest...

Just remember to be careful! Divinely-acquainted federal leadership is not the day at the park it may at first seem...

Jeff - Following your elucidation of your analysis is like watching a superball careening at hyperspeed and richocheting off walls in a long, narrow hallway.

You are seriously twisted.

I really like that in a person.

Jeff, what the fuck are you talking about? Best you stay away from speedballs and stick to weed. At least we'd be able to determine which god you are conversing with.

It's been said that many great leaders of the past 'spoke with God'. For example, Attila the Hun and the Spanish Inquisition's own Torquemada (sp) may have. George is in good company for the history books, but historian's evaluations of those folks hasn't been so kind. Maybe they were listening to the wrong God or maybe it was just the sounds of a burning bush.

OTOH, Joan d'Arc still has a good street rep. She's hot.

Well, BrightEyes--I've scarcely received more creatively-worded compliments, crafted with such dedication (not to me, so much as to a universally-prevalent mindset with which one finds oneself lovingly 'afflicted', it being quite a source of periodic pleasant surprises on the part of its beneficiaries/victims upon suddenly stumbling across the work or personage of a fellow 'sufferer'. A bit of an involuntary fraternity, in a skewed sort of way) as to be an involuntary, transparent proof of its own sincerity. Naturally, I thank you--though the unspoken protocols of said fraternity dictate all such sentiments from here as being a universal 'given', to be periodically renewed with shared acts of antisocial hilarity and knowing glances exchanged below radars in any crowded room showing the ripe potential to willingly bring upon itself the inevitable havoc to be wrought as the result of apathy/idiocy pitted against such an impromptu pairing of minds.

Oh, and to ol' Lou: it may be unwise to succumb to the shiny, attractive convenience of placing all blame lazily on the shoulders of substances. For instance, any substances in which I may or may not have partaken over the years would only have served to exacerbate, clarify, aid and abet, fine-tune, and/or periodically blindfold and spin (to be released at random, for a lovely, euphoric bit of stumbling, possibly resulting in injury) my natural, pre-existing processes--depending on the circumstances. Basically, drugs just meant that the dancing, polkadotted elephants would definitely be coming over for tea and hubcaps, as opposed to sitting around by the phone, wondering if they would be able to make it and scolding that lamp post who's always trying to eat my soul with ketchup and a side of hypothetical. Which is to say: they evened things out, or at least made them more predictable than would otherwise be the natural case. But thank you for the compliment.

Among Jeff's, I think I speak for everyone here when I say, what are you on and can I have some?

Jeff #8 - I really should go through stretch and warm-up before I read your posts, I think I strained something....

Jeff#9 - Well it ain't decaf, that's for sure! *L*

I also oneself something would want to find out on this theme. Very attentively I will read every post.