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Every day, such a big deal about immigration. It makes my head hurt that my heart will continue to hurt. I mean, what are immigrations anyway but people who dreamed the American dream, then woke up, then tried to go back to sleep so they could dream again? (Sounds “eloquent.” Must try to work this into speech — possibly to public, possibly just to self in mirror.)

What’s impossible? That’s a question I think about often. Once, when I was in college, I stole a keg off of some guy’s truck and he yelled, “Hey, rich kid, go fuck yourself!” Is that possible? Or is it impossible? I thought about that the whole next day: in history class, in the bathroom, in the bathroom where I went to hide from philosophy class and smoke a … cigarette.

What else is impossible? Well, for years, people have been saying that peace in the Middle East is. When you bring up peace in the Middle East, they laugh. “You mean Pennsylvania?” they say. I don’t get it. Why would I mean Pennsylvania. But the impossible is an idea whose time has come, and that’s why I have instructed leaders from Israel and Palestinia to stop squawking and start talking. (Do you like that? My other one was “Stop policing and start peacing.”) It’s been seven years since they tried to peace each other. It’s about time. Uniter, not divider. Peace out.

So, have you heard? A bunch of bridge biddies who won the Venice Cup put up a sign saying that they did not vote for me, and now they’re being accused of treason and sedition. This, of course, is ridiculous. It’s not treason at all. These women, including Gail Greenberg, the nonplaying captain (hey! She’s kind of like me and the war!) have every right to make their political beliefs known.

I think the best thing for my supporters to do is to remain silent. It’s like if the dummy makes a wild leap to slam in his partner’s suit; you should assume a void, strong trump, a long powerful side suit and perhaps a control in the shorter side suit. It is usually right to lead that shorter side suit.

Or at least that’s what I believe.

Associated Press

So many foreign leaders, so little time. Merkel just left. We got along great, I thought. She kept talking in German, and because I didn’t understand a word, I kept imagining she was saying “sauerkraut, sauerkraut, red baron.” That kept me nodding like I was interested. But she was a great lady. Very international. And now it’s time to meet the Japanese Prime Minister, Yasuo Fukuda. Guess how his last name’s not pronounced. I learned that the hard way on the phone last week.

Curious George here. Remember? Every Friday, instead of answering questions like that bossy old trout Ann Landers, I will ask questions. People are always saying that I have not been curious enough. “He hasn’t been curious enough,” said a person. “He hasn’t been curious enough,” seconded a second person.

So I am doing my level best to disprove that theory. Angela Merkel is coming to the ranch today to talk about Iran and the rest of the world, so I’ve been reading up on that, and that led to a question. She has twice topped Forbes’ list of the World’s Most Powerful Women, in 2006 and 2007. If I got surgery and became a lady, wouldn’t I be ahead of her on that list?

Associated Press

Last night I had a dream in which I was a British rock star in 1965. Did you see how I did that? I said “in which,” which is pretty fancy for me, and then I said that in the dream I was British, who speak fancy all the time anyway. That’s called “foreshadowing.” I’m learning.

Anyway in the dream it was my first time in America, and a reporter asked me questions about whether I was overwhelmed by the American reception and I said, “No. You should go to Scotland. Dead quiet there, it is. You can have it.”

Then some other people asked some questions, all of which I answered wittily, and then I got up on a small stage and sang what I guess was my signature song.

Sometimes the world is so confusing that the only way to make sense of it is to write a poem. Like Pakistan. There’s martial law, there’s chaos, and no one knows what to do. So what should be done? No one knows. I just said that. Weren’t you listening? Man, this had me rattled.

I called on Musharraf to end the state of emergency and return to civil law, and then, when there was no answer right away, I sat down and wrote some poems. They are haikus because that’s a kind of poem I learned about recently. They have easy rules. Here are my three favorite, which are the only three I wrote. Please vote on your favorite.

Pakistan must halt
This state of emergency
Back to civil law

I like to shake things up. Did you know that about me? Why do you think I went to war or stopped drinking? It wasn’t really to promote democracy or become a responsible adult, respectively. It’s because I like to shake things up. It’s like things are a giant snowglobe and I am the hand shaking them up. Standing still isn’t my metier. Learned that word from Sarkozy. Didn’t know it before. Shaking things up.

Because I am a shaker-upper (but still the decider!), I have decided to make Fridays very special for readers of this blog. Other celebrities and famous people sometimes take questions, like Elvis and Donald Trump and Michael Jackson. I was reading Michael Jackson’s advice column last week, and someone asked him, “Dear Michael, Does your heart still hurt when you think of the hungry children in the world.”

His answer was “yes,” which struck me as elegant and powerful but also boring. I don’t want to be like him. I don’t want to be like anyone. Shaking, shaking, always shaking. So to make Friday special, I’m going to start a feature called “Curious George,” because my name is George, where I ask questions rather than answer them.

Happy Halloween, everyone. Today is one of our nation’s proudest days. It’s a time for remembering those brave ghosts and goblins that fought England and founded a new land where ghostliness and goblinism were not persecuted. In honor of our founding fathers, we’re having a costume party tonight. Dick’s going as Darth Vader; he didn’t have time to make a costume. Laura is going as someone named Susan Bee Anthony (??). And I’m going as Katie Couric.

I know that sounds like a weird costume, but Karl emailed me and suggested it. He said it would show that I’m not afraid of the media and also that I have the right attitude about low ratings. Plus, if I get to dress like Kate, then I get to carry around an open bottle of Wild Turkey, and that reminds me of when I used to drink, and that makes me feel safe.

Again, enjoy the holiday. America, happy birthday.