It is obvious from the photograph that Bush has just passed wind, a rather foul wind, as if something is rotten to the core, which he is. Those unlucky enough to be behind him are doing their best to survive the stench and remain conscious.
Cheney is worse affected and thinks his ear is his nose which he’s trying to hold. His tie has melted. Condi is clutching at her palpitating heart which threatens to stop beating. Her twin-set, once blue, is now green.
All of them, though dazed, are staring at the ground trying to pretend they’re looking for a dog turd should the Commander in Chief (who shirked military duty in Vietnam) happen to look around. They know that He, who talks regularly to God and Rich Oil Company Executives (a tautology, I know), does not countenance disloyalty of any kind. A wrinkled nose out of place could bring dismissal. Colin wrinkled once too often. Rummy finally succumbed.
Of course, there is a dog turd! But it’s swaggering in front of them, oblivious to everything, leading the world and his country and mine to hell in a hand basket!