"No, no, no!" cries Thrakkorzog.

"Ahem. Uh, Susan?" says the Tick.

Thrakkorzog hmmpphs. "Now you're doing it on purpose. How juvenile."

This will all make sense in a minute.

Everyone who follows US politics knows by now that Dubya has done a number on international family-planning efforts. On the 28th anniversary of Roe vs. Wade. On his first day in office. How's that for symbolism?

There are a lot of things Dubya could have done that day. But who's freaking out most about Bush Jr.? Feminists, particularly the starkly pro-choice variety. Sure, non-straight and non-white folks, not to mention non-rich ones, are climbing the walls also. Okay, a lot of people are upset; this guy's scary. But feminist angst has really stood out in the media over the past few weeks.

So what can Shrub do to show these uppity women's libbers who's boss? Chip away at abortion rights. Don't mess with me, girls. I'm too much of a wuss to alienate my constituents by actually trying to repeal Roe vs. Wade, and it'd never get congressional support, but I want to scare you anyway. Don't push your luck.

The President of the United States is flipping me the bird.

Say what you will about Slick Willie. Clinton didn't work most of the progressive wonders he promised us in '92, but at least he didn't kick pro-choice in the teeth on day one in the Oval Office.

Day one.

Now you're doing it on purpose. How juvenile.

The worst part is, I know I'm being played with. Dubya's a little kid throwing snowballs at me on my way to work because he knows he can get away with it. He's bearing down on me in the crosswalk because he's inside a ton of metal and I'm on my feet. He's yelling pick-up lines at me because he knows it's gonna tick me off.

And it's working. He did this to put people like me in my place, and it's actually working. I'm thinking, why bother to write your senator? Why protest Ashcroft? Why read the news? Why do anything? I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat -- "WE'RE SCREWED FOR FOUR YEARS."

I probably shouldn't let it work. And I should get this stuff off my chest while we've still got a 1st Amendment. So that's why I'm ranting, issuing my own little tear in a salted sea of navel-gazing web commentary and similar-sounding feminist rage. I'm shaking my fist at the kid with the snowball. I'm walking a little slower in front of the impatient car. I'm doing a funny impression of the street-corner pick-up artist for my friends an hour later. It won't help. I'm still frustrated. But it might make me feel a little better.