Say it, Bush: "my bad".

All I want the President to say is, "Oops, my bad." Is that too much to ask? I know the chances of prying an apology from a politician are about the same as extracting infected molars flora a wolverine with a pair of chopsticks, but still I have this burning desire to hear him say it out loud.

Now that it's clear no weapons of mass destruction will be found, the new party line is that Saddam could have had weapons of mass destruction. Which is a mite different than being able to "launch a biological of chemical attack in as little as forty-five minutes." Of course, you got to remember this "could have" information comes from the very same people who a year ago relished branding anybody with the temerity to disagree with their assessment as being nothing but substandard tools of the Dark Prince himself--and no, I'm not talking about Dick Cheney.

Back then, Saddam possessed voluminous amounts of weapons of mass destruction and was aiming them at us with his shaky crazy finger hovering over the button. Pretty soon we'll find out our evidence comes from a waitress who found the words "weapons," "mass," and "destruction" doodled on the back of a Hooters napkin left by a guy who said he'd been to Baghdad.

You can almost smell the desperation when the Administration trumpets the fact that Bill Clinton also thought Hussein had weapons of mass destruction. Bush citing Clinton as a credible source. There you go. Like Pat Robertson buying a fringed leather skirt because it looked good on Christina Aguilera. Bush has even been forced to call for an investigation into his own intelligence, and you know what's going to happen: They're not going to find anything.

Bush had "no doubt" his intelligence was correct. Well, there's your problem right there. He never has any doubt. Grew up without doubt. He had no doubt his tax cuts for the wealthy were going to stimulate the economy. No doubt the deficit was going to magically morph into a surplus. No doubt we can take policemen off the streets and use the money to send a man to Mars. If you ask me, the man needs to cultivate a little doubt.

Unless he's the man going to Mars, that is. Hell, I'd hold a series of bake sales to fund that project myself.

Now that the Democratic race is winding down, here are some parting awards for the contestants.

* The I Can Spin the World Award: Joe Lieberman. Called his fifth-place single-digit New Hampshire finish a victory. Referred to it as a "split decision for third place." This guy was good. Or spooky.

* The Your Sense of Humor Is All You Got When You Look at Yourself in the Mirror in the Dark Award: Dennis Kucinich. Speaking of his 1 percent vote in the Granite State, he said, "The battle for sixth place continues." One percent! That's only slightly more than you and I got in New Hampshire, and you weren't even there.

* Most Creative Nickname Award: John Edwards--Kentucky Fried Kennedy.

* The Shoot Yourself in the Foot Award: General Wesley Clark, for saying, of John Kerry, "He was only a captain, I was a general." Fine win in a very competitive category.

* The Unclear on the Meaning of the Word "Irony" Award: Chris Matthews. He, of all people, spent an entire week mocking Howard Dean's redfaced Iowa rant.

* The Loosey Goosey Award: John Kerry. Temporarily ditched suspicion he was a Lincoln animatron escaped from Disneyland's Hall of Presidents.

* The Pull Out All the Stops Award: Joe Lieberman. Trotted out his eighty-nine-year-old mother to campaign for him in sub-zero weather. Back where I come from, that's called elder abuse.

* Best Achievement in Special Effects: John Kerry's hair. Unanimous decision.

Will Durst says next time move the New Hampshire primary. It's whiter than the Osmond Family Christmas in Norway Special. If this state were anymore Caucasian, it would be translucent.