I LOVE GEORGE W. BUSH. I worship the man. I wake up every morning glad he is president. When annoyed by small things–traffic, the weather, an overcharge–I say to myself, “President Bush,” and at once feel better. I like his worldview. I like his dogs and his wife and his mother. I think he looks cool in his shorts and his t-shirts. But it isn’t these things that make my heart flutter: It’s that he drives the people I hate the most nuts. The Germans created the word schadenfreude to describe the pleasure one might feel at the woes of one’s allies, but no one has yet coined a word for the happiness that can come to a person when those who annoy him complain. Open the paper, and there they all are: the hard-faced women who refer to abortion as “choice,” the soft-faced male writers who look a little too pampered, the actors, the artists, the faculty hotshots, the with-it, the urbane and the urban, the concerned, the refined, the sincere.