Forget Petraeus. Get The Wolf instead.

What a wimpy press conference, even for Bush. There he is at the Pentagon, surrounded by an abundance of double Y-chromosome military brass, and the guy goes touchy-feely and babbles New Age.

THE PRESIDENT: We had a good exchange. It gave me a chance to share with them my feelings about the Iraqi issue.

And if all that mushy sharing of feelings wasn't bad enough, Bush apparently has now pinned all his girlish hopes on the brainy Military Prince Petraeus, who will someday come through and whisk Bush away from the drudgery of being The War President.


But America knows better. America knows it needs not Military Prince Petraeus but The Wolf, the guy to call when you have only 40 minutes to get the fuck out of Dodge.

When he confidently tells you -- "I'm Winston Wolf. I solve problems" -- your belief and your relief are total.

The Wolf will quietly disappear the entire Iraq debacle when nobody's looking. He'll just wrap it up in a tarp and some spare towels and bed linen, stuff it in a car trunk, and drive it over to Monster Joe's Truck and Tow. Monster Joe will take it from there.

And ever methodical, The Wolf will even make sure to hose off the blood from Bush and Cheney before he heads for some place not near Redondo Beach or Inglewood.