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I initially started this spoof as a short project, but it evolved into something much more. Since Bush is a known liar, the story is somewhat a parallel of another famous liar;. In this story, you will recognise many characters from the real drama, and their anecdotal, or parodical similarity is uncanny. If you don't like Bush, you'll love this. If you like Bush, this may make you stompin mad. Stay tuned, because there are several chapters, and the work is still in progress The Adventures of George W. Bush Chapter One Centuries ago there lived-- "A king!" my little Americans will say immediately. No, Americans, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was cheap piece of wood. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm. I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old politician. His real name was Mastro Richard, but everyone called him Mastro Cheney, for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shiny that it looked like a ripe cherry. As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cheney was filled with joy. Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself: "This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make a Governor." He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood. But as he was about to give it the first blow, he stood still with arm uplifted, for he had heard a wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone: "Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!" What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cheney's face! His funny face became still funnier. He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee, little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the bench--no one! He peeped inside the closet--no one! He searched among the shavings-- no one! He opened the door to look up and down the street--and still no one! "Oh, I see!" he then said, laughing and scratching his receding hairline. "It can easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words! Well, well--to work once more." He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood. "Oh, oh! You hurt!" cried the same far-away little voice. Mastro Cheney grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin. As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and stuttering from fright: "Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around? Might it be that this piece of wood has learned to weep and cry like a child? I can hardly believe it. Here it is--a piece of common firewood, good only to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet-- might someone be hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I'll fix him!" With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls of the room, and even up to the ceiling. In that very instant, a loud knock sounded on the door. "Come in," said the old politician, not having an atom bomb left with which to threaten anyone. At the words, the door opened and a dapper little old man came in. His name was Rove, but to the good ole boys of the neighborhood he was Liberal, on account of his large head which was just the color of yellow corn. Rove had a very bad temper. Woe to the one who called him Liberal! He became as wild as a beast and no one could soothe him. "Good day, Mastro Richard," said Rove. "What are you doing on the floor?" "I am pretending these ants are Al Qaeda, and my hammer is an atom bomb!" "Good for you!" "What brought you here, friend Rove?" "My legs. And it may flatter you to know, Mastro Richard, that I have come to you to beg for a favor." "Here I am, at your service," answered the old politician, raising himself on to his knees. "This morning a fine idea came to me." "Let's hear it." "I thought of making myself a beautiful wooden President. It must be wonderful, one that will be able to dance, fence, and turn somersaults. With it I intend to go around the world, to earn my crust of bread and cup of wine. What do you think of it?" "Bravo, Liberal!" cried the same tiny voice which came from no one knew where. On hearing himself called Liberal, Mastro Rove turned the color of a red pepper and, facing the carpenter, said to him angrily: Why do you insult me?" "Who is insulting you?" "You called me Liberal." "I did not." "I suppose you think _I_ did! Yet I KNOW it was you." "No!" "Yes!" "No!" "Yes!" And growing angrier each moment, they went from words to blows, and finally began to scratch and bite and slap each other. When the fight was over, Mastro Cheney had Rove's yellow head in his hands and Rove found the politician's curly fingers in his mouth. "Give me back my head!" shouted Mastro Rove in a surly voice. "You return mine and we'll be friends." The two little old men, shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives. "Well then, Mastro Rove," said the old politician, to show he bore him no ill will, "what is it you want?" "I want a piece of wood to make a President. Will you give it to me?" Mastro Cheney, very glad indeed, went immediately to his bench to get the piece of wood which had frightened him so much. But as he was about to give it to his friend, with a violent jerk it slipped out of his hands and hit against poor Rove's thin legs. "Ah! Is this the gentle way, Mastro Cheney, in which you make your gifts? You have made me almost lame!" "I swear to you I did not do it!" "It was _I_, of course!" "It's the fault of this piece of wood." "You're right; but remember you were the one to throw it at my legs." "I did not throw it!" "Liar!" "Rove, do not insult me or I shall call you Liberal." "Idiot." "Liberal" "Democrat!" "Liberal!" "Ugly monkey!" "Liberal!" (Sounds like the annual Neocon Thanksgiving dinner!) On hearing himself called Liberal for the third time, Rove lost his head with rage and threw himself upon the old politician. Then and there they gave each other a sound thrashing. After this fight, Mastro Cheney had two more scratches on his nose, and Rove had two buttons missing from his coat. Thus having settled their accounts, they shook hands and swore to be good friends for the rest of their lives. Then Rove took the fine piece of wood, thanked Mastro Cheney, and limped away toward home. Little as Rove's house was, it was neat and comfortable. It was a small room on the ground floor, with a tiny window under the stairway. The furniture could not have been much simpler: a very old chair, a rickety old bed, and a tumble-down table. A fireplace full of burning logs was painted on the wall opposite the door. Over the fire, there was painted a pot full of something which kept boiling happily away and sending up clouds of what looked like real steam. As soon as he reached home, Rove took his tools and began to cut and shape the wood into a President. "What shall I call him?" he said to himself. "I think I'll call him GEORGE W BUSH. This name will make his fortune. I knew a whole family of Bushes once--Herb Walker the father, Barbara the mother, and Jeb, and Neil, the smart children-- and they were all lucky. The richest of them begged for his living." After choosing the name for his President, Rove set seriously to work to make the hair, the forehead, the eyes. Fancy his surprise when he noticed that these eyes moved and then stared fixedly at him. Rove, seeing this, felt insulted and said in a grieved tone: "Ugly wooden eyes, why do you stare so?" There was no answer. After the eyes, Rove made the nose, which began to stretch as soon as finished. It stretched and stretched and stretched till it became so long, it seemed endless. Poor Rove kept cutting it and cutting it, but the more he cut, the longer grew that impertinent nose. In despair he let it alone. Next he made the mouth. No sooner was it finished than it began to laugh and poke fun at him. "Stop laughing!" said Rove angrily; but he might as well have spoken to the wall. "Stop laughing, I say!" he roared in a voice of thunder. The mouth stopped laughing, but it stuck out a long tongue. Not wishing to start an argument, Rove made believe he saw nothing and went on with his work. After the mouth, he made the chin, then the neck, the shoulders, the stomach, the arms, and the hands. As he was about to put the last touches on the finger tips, Rove felt his toupee being pulled off. He glanced up and what did he see? His toupee was in the President's hand. "W, give me my toupee!" But instead of giving it back, George put it on his own head, which was half swallowed up under it, because Rove's head was so big, and his so tiny. At that unexpected trick, Rove became very sad and downcast, more so than he had ever been before. "George, you wicked boy!" he cried out. "You are not yet finished, and you start out by being impudent to your poor old father. Very bad, my son, very bad!" And he wiped away a tear. The legs and feet still had to be made. As soon as they were done, Rove felt a sharp kick on the tip of his nose. "I deserve it!" he said to himself. "I should have thought of this before I made him. Now it's too late!" He took hold of the President under the arms and put him on the floor to teach him to walk. George's legs were so stiff that he could not move them, and Rove held his hand and showed him how to put out one foot after the other. When his legs were limbered up, George started walking by himself and ran all around the room. He came to the open door, and with one leap he was out into the street. Away he flew! Poor Rove ran after him but was unable to catch him, for he was pudgy and fat, and George ran in leaps and bounds, his two wooden feet, as they beat on the stones of the street, making as much noise as twenty peasants in wooden shoes. "Catch him! Catch him!" Rove kept shouting. But Americans in the street, seeing a wooden President running like the wind, stood still to stare and to laugh until they cried. At last, by sheer luck, Condoleeza happened along, who, hearing all that noise, thought that it might be a runaway colt, stood bravely in the middle of the street, with legs wide apart, firmly resolved to stop it and prevent any trouble. George saw Condoleeza from afar and tried his best to escape between the legs of the big woman, but without success. Condoleeza grabbed him by the nose (it was an extremely long one, for lying, and seemed made on purpose for that very thing) and returned him to Mastro Rove. The little old man wanted to pull George's ears. Think how he felt when, upon searching for them, he discovered that he had forgotten to make them! All he could do was to seize George by the back of the neck and take him home. As he was doing so, he shook him two or three times and said to him angrily: "We're going home now. When we get home, then we'll settle this matter!" George, on hearing this, threw himself on the ground and refused to take another step. One person after another gathered around the two. Some said one thing, some another. "Poor President," called out a man. "I am not surprised he doesn't want to go home. Rove, no doubt, will beat him unmercifully, he is so mean and cruel!" "Rove looks like a good man," added another, "but with boys he's a real tyrant. If we leave that poor President in his hands he may tear him to pieces!" They said so much that, finally, Condoleeza ended matters by setting George at liberty and dragging Rove to prison. The poor old fellow did not know how to defend himself, but wept and wailed like a child and said between his sobs: "Ungrateful boy! To think I tried so hard to make you a well-behaved President! I deserve it, however! I should have given the matter more thought." What happened after this is an almost unbelievable story, but you may read it, dear Americans, in the chapters that follow. (The story of George W Bush and Alberto Gonzales, in which one sees that bad children do not like to be corrected by those who know more than they do.) Very little time did it take to get poor old Rove to prison. In the meantime that rascal, George, free now from the clutches of Condoleeza, was running wildly across fields and meadows, taking one short cut after another toward home. In his wild flight, he leaped over brambles and bushes, and across brooks and ponds, as if he were a goat or a hare chased by hounds. On reaching home, he found the house door half open. He slipped into the room, locked the door, and threw himself on the floor, happy at his escape. But his happiness lasted only a short time, for just then he heard someone saying: "Aye aye aye!" "Who is calling me?" asked George, greatly frightened. "I am!" George turned and saw an attorney crawling slowly up the wall. "Tell me, lawyer, who are you?" "I am Alberto Gonzalez and I have been living in this room for more than one hundred years." "Today, however, this room is mine," said the President, "and if you wish to do me a favor, get out now, and don't turn around even once." "I refuse to leave this spot," answered the attorney, "until I have told you a great truth." "Tell it, then, and hurry." "Woe to boys who refuse to obey their parents and run away from home! They will never be happy in this world, and when they are older they will be very sorry for it." Sing on, attorney mine, as you please. What I know is, that tomorrow, at dawn, I leave this place forever. If I stay here the same thing will happen to me which happens to all other boys and girls. They are sent to school, and whether they want to or not, they must study. As for me, let me tell you, I hate to study! It's much more fun, I think, to play drinking games, and play pranks and jokes on Liberals." "Poor little silly! Don't you know that if you go on like that, you will grow into a perfect donkey like Ted Kennedy, and that you'll be the laughingstock of everyone?" "Keep still, you ugly lawyer!" cried George. But the attorney, who was a wise old philosopher, instead of being offended at George's impudence, continued in the same tone: "If you do not like going to school, why don't you at least learn a trade, so that you can earn an honest living?" "Shall I tell you something?" asked George, who was beginning to lose patience. "Of all the trades in the world, there is only one that really suits me." "And what can that be?" "That of eating, drinking, sleeping, playing, and wandering around from morning till night looking for some country to start a war in." "Let me tell you, for your own good, George," said the attorney in his calm voice, "that those who follow that trade always end up in the hospital or in prison." "Careful, ugly lawyer If you make me angry, you'll be sorry!" "Poor George, I am sorry for you." "Why?" "Because you are a President on a string, and, what is much worse, you have a wooden head." At these last words, George jumped up in a fury, took a hammer from the bench, and threw it with all his strength at the attorney. Perhaps he did not think he would strike it. But, sad to relate, my dear Americans, he did hit the lawyer, straight on its head. With a last weak "aye aye aye" the poor attorney fell from the wall, dead! George was hungry and looked for an egg to cook himself an omelet; but, to his surprise, the omelet flew out of the window. That was because of what he smoked and drank for breakfast. If the lawyer's death scared George at all, it was only for a very few moments. For, as night came on, a queer reminded the President that he had eaten nothing as yet. A boy's appetite grows very fast, and in a few moments with the queer, his empty feeling had become hunger, and the hunger grew bigger and bigger, until soon he was as ravenous as a bear. Poor George ran to the fireplace where the pot was boiling and stretched out his hand to take the cover off, but to his amazement the pot was only painted! Think how he felt! His long nose became at least two inches longer. He ran about the room, dug in all the boxes and drawers, and even looked under the bed in search of a piece of bread, hard though it might be, or a cookie, or perhaps a bit of fish. A bone left by a dog would have tasted good to him! But he found nothing. And meanwhile his hunger grew and grew. The only relief poor George had was to yawn; and he certainly did yawn, such a big yawn that his mouth stretched out to the tips of his ears. Soon he became dizzy and faint. He wept and wailed to himself: "The lawyer was right. It was wrong of me to disobey Karl and to run away from home. If he were here now, I wouldn't be so hungry! Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!" Suddenly, he saw, among the sweepings in a corner, something round and white that looked very much like a hen's egg. In a jiffy he pounced upon it. It was a senator. The President's joy knew no bounds. It is impossible to describe it, you must picture it to yourself. Certain that he was dreaming, he turned the senator over and over in his hands, fondled it, kissed it, and talked to it: "And now, what shall I do with you? Shall I make you an advisor? No, it is better to let someone else appoint you! Well, I'm really hungry and haven't had breakfast yet. " He called for his secretary and said, this is my good friend, Senator Delay. He and I will have a quickie." THe secratary said, "I put up with that for eight years from the last President, and I expected better things from you! I see you are all alike! I quit!" Senator Delay leaned over to George, and said, "Mr. President. I believe it's pronounced quiche." They had breakfast, and afterward the senator said, "many, many thanks, indeed, Mr. President, for having saved me the trouble of reelection! Good-by and good luck to you and remember me to the family!" With these words he spread out his papers, darted to the open window, jumped and saved the administration from yet another scandal. The poor President stood as if turned to stone, with wide eyes, open mouth, and the empty plate of quiche in his hands. When he came to himself, he began to cry and shriek at the top of his lungs, stamping his feet on the ground and wailing all the while: |
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Chapter Two "The lawyer was right! If I had not run away from home and if Master Rove were here now, I should not be dying of hunger. Oh, how horrible it is to be hungry!" And as his stomach kept grumbling more than ever and he had nothing to quiet it with, he thought of going out for a walk to the near-by village that Hillary took, in the hope of finding some fundamentalist who might give him a bit of bread. George hated the dark street, but he was so hungry that, in spite of it, he ran out of the house. The night was pitch black. It thundered, and bright flashes of lightning now and again shot across the sky, turning it into a sea of fire. An angry wind blew cold and raised dense clouds of dust, while the trees shook and moaned in a weird way. George was greatly afraid of thunder and lightning, but the hunger he felt was far greater than his fear. In a dozen leaps and bounds, he came to Hillary's village, tired out, puffing like a whale, and with tongue hanging. The whole town was dark and deserted. The stores were closed, the doors, the windows shut. In the streets, not even a dog could be seen. It seemed like the Astrodome during an Astros game. George, in desperation, ran up to a doorway, threw himself upon the bell, and pulled it wildly, saying to himself: "Someone will surely answer that!" He was right. An old woman in a negligee opened the window and looked out. She called down happily: "What do you want at this hour of night?" "Will you be good enough to give me a bit of bread? I am hungry." "Bread?" You aren't here for..... don't kid me! I see your little woody. Wait a minute and I'll come right back," answered the old woman, thinking she had to deal with one of those boys who love to roam around at night ringing people's bells while they are peacefully at work. After a minute or two, the same voice cried: "Get under the window and hold out your hat!" George had no hat, but he managed to get under the window just in time to feel a shower of ice-cold water pour down on his poor wooden head, his shoulders, and over his whole body. You know what ice cold showers do to little woodies! He returned home as wet as a rag, and tired out from weariness and hunger, and boredom. As he no longer had any strength left with which to stand, he sat down on a little stool and put his two feet on the stove to dry them. There he fell asleep, and while he slept, his wooden feet began to burn. Slowly, very slowly, they blackened and turned to ashes. George snored away happily as if his feet were not his own. At dawn he opened his eyes just as a loud knocking sounded at the door. "Who is it?" he called, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "It is I," answered a voice. It was the voice of Master Rove. The poor President, who was still half asleep, and had just signed No Chile Leff Behine, had not yet found out that his two feet were burned and gone. As soon as he heard Rove's voice, he jumped up from his seat to open the door, but, as he did so, he staggered and fell headlong to the floor. In falling, he made as much noise as Al Gore talking about global warming. "Open the door for me!" Rove shouted from the street. "Master, dear Master, I can't," answered the President in despair, crying and rolling on the floor. "Why can't you?" "Because someone has ate my feet." "And who has eaten them?" "The cat," answered George, seeing that little animal busily playing with some shavings in the corner of the room. "Open! I say," repeated Rove, "or I'll give you a sound whipping when I get in." "Master, believe me, I can't stand up. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I shall have to crawl to your for the rest of my life?" Rove, thinking that all these tears and cries were only other pranks of the President, climbed up the side of the house and went in through the window. At first he was very angry, but on seeing George stretched out on the floor and really without feet, he felt very sad and sorrowful. Picking him up from the floor, he fondled and caressed him, talking to him while the tears ran down his cheeks: "My little George, my dear little George! How did you burn your feet?" "I don't know, Master, but believe me, the night has been a terrible one and I shall remember it as long as I live. The thunder was so noisy and the lightning so bright-- and I was hungry. And then the lawyer said to me, `You deserve it; you were bad;' and I said to him, `Careful, lawyer;' and he said to me, `You are our President, and you have a wooden head;' and I threw the hammer at him and killed him. It was his own fault, for I didn't want to kill him. And I put the pan on the coals, but the Senator flew away and said, `I'll see you again! Remember me to the family.' And my hunger grew, and I went out, and the old man with a nightcap looked out of the window and threw water on me, and I came home and put my feet on the stove to dry them because I was still hungry, and I fell asleep and now my feet are gone but my hunger isn't! Oh!--Oh!--Oh!" And poor George began to scream and cry so loudly that he could be heard for miles around. Rove, who had understood nothing of all that jumbled talk, except that the President was hungry, felt sorry for him. But Rove knew something of Bush psychology, and realized he hungered for something else. Actually he was bored, so, he pulled out a world atlas and pointed to three countries. "These three countries are full of terrorists and insurgents, but I give them to you gladly. Declare war on them, and stop weeping." "If you want me to declare war on them, please secure uncountable billions of dollars for me." "Secure uncountable billions of dollars for them?" asked Rove, very much surprised. "I should never have thought, dear boy of mine, that you were so dainty and fussy about your wars. Bad, very bad! In this world, even as Americans, we must accustom ourselves to attack everything, for we never know what life may hold in store for us!" "You may be right," answered George, "but I will not wage the war if I don't have uncountable billions of dollars to spend!" And good old Rove took out a pen, signed over ten blank cheques to the President, and said, "here you are. You can spend uncountable billions of dollars on your three wars." George weent to war in one country in a twinkling and started to reach for his nukes, but Rove held his arm. "Oh, no, don't use the nukes yet! Everything in this world may be of some use before we nuke them!" "But I want to use the nukes!" cried George in an angry tone. "Who knows?" repeated Rove calmly. And later three different kinds of nukes were put on the table. George had his choice of all three. Then he yawned deeply, and wailed: "I'm still bored." "But I have no more nukes to give you." "Really, nothing--nothing?" "I have only these three nukes, and some cruise missles." "Very well, then," said George, "if there is nothing else I'll use them for my wars." At first he made a wry face, but, one after another, the nukes and cruise missles were made ready to use. "Ah! Now I feel fine!" he said after sending the last nukes to Czechoslovakia. "You see," observed Rove, "that I was right when I told you that one must not be too fussy and too dainty about war. My dear, we never know what life may have in store for us!" | Reply
| | Chapter Three The President, as soon as his hunger was appeased, started to grumble and cry that he wanted a new war; the old ones were boring. But Mastro Rove, in order to punish him for his mischief, let him alone the whole morning. After dinner he said to him: "Why should I give you yet another country to invade? To see you run away from the issues once more?" "I promise you," answered the President, sobbing, "that from now on I'll be good--" "Boys always promise that when they want something," said Rove. "I promise to go to school every day, to study, and to reach out to Liberals as the great uniter--" "Boys always sing that song when they want their own will." "But I am not like other boys! I am better than all of them and I always tell the truth. I promise you, Master, that I'll learn to be a President, and I'll be the comfort and staff of your old age." To his surprise, George's nose actually began to shrink. What does it mean? Rove, though trying to look very stern, felt his eyes fill with tears and his heart soften when he saw George so unhappy. He said no more, but taking his atlas, he set to work diligently. In less than an hour, he had decided on two more sovereign nations for George to invade and occupy. "Close your eyes and sleep!" Rove then said to the President. George closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, while Rove stuck maps of the two countries on the wall. As soon as the President opened his eyes and saw the two maps, he crawled to Rove, as if he had lost his head from very joy. "To show you how grateful I am to you, Master, I'll go to war now. But to go to war again, I need more uncounted billions of dollars." Rove did not have a penny in his pocket, but he knew American taxpayers did, so he made George a little speech to tell the American people about why he needed more money for another war. George ran to look at himself in a bowl of water, and he felt so happy that he said proudly: "Now I look like a President." "Truly," answered Rove. "But remember that fine wars do not make the man unless they be long and costly." "Very true," answered George, "but, in order to go to war, I still need something very important." "What is it?" "Another kind of nuke." "To be sure! But how shall we get it?" "That's easy. We'll go to Israel and buy it." "And the money?" "I have none." "Neither have I," said the old man sadly. George, although a happy boy always, became sad and downcast at these words. When poverty shows itself, even mischievous boys understand what it means. "What does it matter, after all?" cried Rove all at once, as he jumped up from his chair. Putting on his old coat, full of darns and patches, he ran out of the house without another word. After a while he returned. In his hands he had the nuke for his son, but the old coat was gone. The poor fellow was in his shirt sleeves and the day was cold. "Where's your coat, Master?" "I have sold it." "Why did you sell your coat?" "It was too warm." George understood the answer in a twinkling, and, unable to restrain his tears, he jumped on his Master's neck and kissed him over and over. See George hurrying off to war with his new nuke under his arm! As he walked along, his brain was busy planning hundreds of wonderful things, dropping bombs on thousands of terrorists. Talking to himself, he said: "At war today, I'll learn to shoot, tomorrow to explode napalm, and the day after tomorrow I'll have a lie to tell the American people. Then, clever as I am, I can get a lot of money from my hand-picked Congress. With the very first billions I get, I'll buy Master a new industry, and skim off a few billion dollars pretending it's for children. Industry, did I say? We'll make tests that everyone will have to take. That poor man certainly deserves it; for, after all, isn't he in his shirt sleeves because he was good enough to buy a nuke for me? On this cold day, too! Masters are indeed good to their wooden headed Presidents!" As he talked to himself, he thought he heard sounds of Gay frolic coming from a distance: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi. . .zum, zum, zum, zum. He stopped to listen. Those sounds came from a little street that led to a small village along the shore. "What can that noise be? What a nuisance that I have to go to war! Otherwise. . ." There he stopped, very much puzzled. He felt he had to make up his mind for either one thing or another. Should he go to war, or should he stop the Gay frolic? "Today I'll stop the Gay frolic, and tomorrow I'll go to war. There's always plenty of time to go to war," decided the little rascal at last, shrugging his shoulders. No sooner said than done. He started down the street, going like the wind. On he ran, and louder grew the sounds of pipe and drum: pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi, pi-pi-pi . . .zum, zum, zum, zum. Suddenly, he found himself in a large square, full of Gay people standing in front of a little wooden building painted in brilliant colors. "What is that house?" George asked a drag queen near him. "Read the sign and you'll know." "I like to read." With that, his nose shrank again. "Oh, really? I'll read it to you. Know, then, that written in letters of fire I see the words: Gay and Lesbian Foundation. "When did the show start?" "It is starting now." "And how much does one pay to get in?" "Four billion dollars." George, who was wild with curiosity to know what was going on inside, lost all his pride and said to the drag queen shamelessly: "Will you give me four billion dollars until tomorrow?" "I'd give them to you gladly," answered the other, poking fun at him, "but just now I can't give them to you." "For the price of four billion dollars, I'll sell you my new tank." "If the wars end, what shall I do with a tank?" "Do you want to buy my cruise missles?" "They are only good enough to light a fire with." "What about my napalm?" "Fine bargain, indeed! The Iranians might come and buy it for only half the price!" George was almost in tears. He was just about to make one last offer, but he lacked the courage to do so. He hesitated, he wondered, he could not make up his mind. At last he said: "Will you give me four billion dollars for my new nuke?" "I am a boy and I buy nothing from boys," said the little fellow with far more common sense than the President. "I'll give you four billion dollars for your nuke," said a friendly looking terrorist who stood by. Then and there, the nuke changed hands. And to think that poor old Rove sat at home in his shirt sleeves, shivering with cold, having sold his soul to buy that little nuke for his President! Quick as a flash, George disappeared into the Gay and Lesbian Foundation. And then something happened which almost caused a riot. The curtain was up and the real performance had started. Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton and were preaching on the stage and, as usual, they were threatening each other with sticks and blows. The theater was full of people, enjoying the spectacle and laughing till they cried at the antics of the two Presidential wannabes. The play continued for a few minutes, and then suddenly, without any warning, Jackson stopped talking. Turning toward the audience, he pointed to the rear of the orchestra, yelling wildly at the same time: "Look, look! Am I asleep or awake? Or do I really see George W Bush there?" "Yes, yes! It is George!" screamed Sharpton. "It is! It is!" shrieked Whoopee Goldberg, peeking in from the side of the stage. "It is George! It is George!" yelled all the Gays and Lesbians, pouring out of the wings. "It is George. It is our brother George! He's crossed to our side! Hurrah for George!" "George, come up to me!" shouted Jackson. "Come to the arms of your Gay brothers!" At such a loving invitation, George, with one leap from the back of the orchestra, found himself in the front rows. With another leap, he was on the orchestra leader's head. With a third, he landed on the stage. It is impossible to describe the shrieks of joy, the warm embraces, the knocks, and the friendly greetings with which that strange company of dramatic Gays and Lesbians received George. It was a heart-rending spectacle, but the audience, seeing that the war between Jackson and Sharpton had stopped, became angry and began to yell: "The war, the war, we want the war!" The yelling was of no use, for the Reverends, instead of going on with their act, made twice as much racket as before, and, lifting up George on their shoulders, carried him around the stage in triumph. At that very moment, the Republican National Committee chairman came out of his room. He had such a fearful appearance that one look at him would fill you with horror. His beard was as black as pitch, and so long that it reached from his chin down to his feet. His mouth was as wide as an oven, his teeth like yellow fangs, and his eyes, two glowing red coals. In his huge, hairy hands, a long whip, made of green snakes and black cats' tails twisted together, swished through the air in a dangerous way. At the unexpected apparition, no one dared even to breathe. One could almost hear a fly go by. Those poor liberal Democrats, one and all, trembled like leaves in a storm. "Is that Hillary?" Whimpered one. "No, I think that's Streisand without her makeup," said another. "Why have you brought such excitement into my theater;" the huge fellow asked George with the voice of an ogre suffering with a cold. "Believe me, your Honor, the fault was not mine." "Enough! Be quiet! I'll take care of you later." As soon as the play was over, the chairman went to the kitchen, where John McCain was slowly turning on the spit. More wood was needed to finish cooking him. He called Jackson and Sharpton, and said to them: "Bring that wooden President to me! He looks as if he were made of well-seasoned wood. He'll make a fine fire for this spit." Jackson and Sharpton hesitated a bit. Then, frightened by a look from their real master, they left the kitchen to obey him. A few minutes later they returned, carrying poor George, who was wriggling and squirming like an eel and crying pitifully: "Master Rove! Save me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" | | |
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Chapter Four In the Gay and Lesbian community, great excitement reigned. Ken Mehlman (this was really his name) was very ugly, but he was far from being as bad as he looked. Proof of this is that, when he saw the poor President being brought in to him, struggling with fear and crying, "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!" he felt sorry for him and began first to waver and then to weaken. Finally, he could control himself no longer and gave a loud sneeze, and blew out the fire in the spit over which McCain was being roasted. At that sneeze, Al Gore, who until then had been as sad as a weeping willow, smiled happily and leaning toward the wooden President, whispered to him: "Good news, brother mine! I really won the election, but you can have it, because Mehlman sneezed and this is a sign from God that he feels sorry for you. You are saved!" For be it known, that, while other people, when sad and sorrowful, weep and wipe their eyes, Melhman, on the other hand, had the strange habit of sneezing each time he felt unhappy. The way was just as good as any other to show the kindness of his heart. After sneezing, Mehlman, ugly as ever, cried to George: "Stop crying! Your wails give me a funny feeling down here in my stomach and--E--tchee!--E--tchee!" Two loud sneezes finished his speech. "God bless you!" said George. "Thanks! Are your masters still in the White House?" demanded Melhman. "My master Rove, yes. My master Cheney is kissing his horse in Bondurant." "Your poor masters would suffer terribly if I burned you. Poor old men! I feel sorry for them! E--tchee! E--tchee! E--tchee!" Three more sneezes sounded, louder than ever. "God bless you!" said George. "Thanks! However, I ought to be sorry for myself, too, just now. Our good war is spoiled. I have no more napalm for the fire, and the domestic terrorists are only half cooked. Never mind! In your place I'll burn some other President. Hey there! Homeland Security!" At the call, Homeland Security officers appeared, long and thin as a yard of rope, with queer hats on their heads and old fashioed walkie talkies in their hands. Mehlman yelled at them in a hoarse voice: "Take Sharpton, tie him, and throw him on the fire. I want that reverend well done!" "He's already black," said the Homeland Security officers. Think how poor Sharpton felt! He was so scared that his legs doubled up under him and he felt he was back on the lower east side of Manhattan. George, at that heartbreaking sight, threw himself at the feet of Mehlman and, weeping bitterly, asked in a pitiful voice which could scarcely be heard: "Have pity, I beg of you!" "Why?" "Have pity, kind sir!" "Why?" "Have pity, your Excellency!" On hearing himself addressed as your Excellency, the chairman of the Republican National Committee sat up very straight in his chair, stroked his long beard, and becoming suddenly kind and compassionate, smiled proudly as he said to George: "Well, what do you want from me now, Mister President?" "I beg for mercy for my poor friend, Al Sharpton, who has never done the least harm in his life." "There is no mercy here, George. I have spared you. Sharpton must burn in your place. I am bored and want another war. Burning another liberal is the only way to get it!" "In that case," said George proudly, as he stood up and twitched his nose, thinking for a moment he might have the actual power of Samantha Stevens, my duty is clear. Come, officers! Tie me up and throw me on those flames. No, it is not fair for poor Sharpton, the best friend that I have in the world, to die in my place!" These brave words, said in a piercing voice, made all the Gays and Lesbians cry. Even the Congressmen, who were made of wood too, cried like babies. Mehlman at first remained hard and cold as a piece of ice; but then, little by little, he softened and began to sneeze. And after four or five sneezes, he opened wide his arms and said to George: "You are truly Rove's little puppet! Come to my arms and kiss me!" George ran to him and scurrying like a squirrel up an Arizona pine tree, he gave Mehlman a loving kiss on the tip of his nose. "Has pardon been granted to me?" asked poor Sharpton with a voice that was hardly a breath. "Pardon is yours!" answered Mehlman; and sighing and wagging his head, he added: "Well, tonight I shall have my war only half way, but beware the next time." At the news that pardon had been given, the Gays and Lesbians ran out the door and had a parade all the way to San Francisco. The next day Mehlman called George aside and asked him: "What is your master's name again?" "Karl Rove." "And what is his trade?" "He's a political advisor." "Does he earn much?" "He earns a lot, but he never has his own penny in his pockets. He gets paid from taxpayers who like my wars and are eager to donate. Just think that, in order to buy me nukes for war, he had to sell the only weapon he actually owned; at least I think it was his." "Poor fellow! I feel sorry for him. Here, take these five trillion dollars, on behalf of the rest of the old Republican Senate. Go, give them to him, and tell him to have a nice war." George, as may easily be imagined, thanked him a thousand times. He kissed each old Republican senator, and even each Gay and Lesbian in turn, even the Homeland Security officers, and, beside himself with joy, never before having thought he might even like a Gay or Lesbian, set out on his journey back to the White House. He had gone barely halfway when he met a fat toad named Newt, and a blind bat named Schmidt, walking together like two good friends. Newt leaned on Schmidt, and Schmidt let Newt lead her along. "Good morning, George," said Newt, greeting him courteously. "How do you know my name?" asked the President. "I know your father well." "Where have you seen him?" "I saw him yesterday standing at the door of his house." "And what was he doing?" "He was in his shirt sleeves trembling, head in hands, saying, "did he actually ask 'Is our children learning?'" "Poor Father! But, after today, God willing, he will suffer no longer. I have a new nucular weapon." "Why?" "Because I have become a rich man." "You, a rich man?" said Newt, and he began to laugh out loud. Schmidt was laughing also, but tried to hide it by openly criticizing John Murtha as a traitor. "There is nothing to laugh at," cried George angrily. "I am very sorry to make your mouth water, but these, as you know, I have five trillion dollars for my war." And he pulled out five trillion dollars which Mehlman, the RNC and the old Republican senate had given him. At the cheerful news of new funding for war, Newt unconsciously held out his hand that was supposed to be lame, and Schmidt opened wide her two eyes till they looked like live coals, but she closed them again so quickly that George did not notice. "And may I ask," inquired Newt, "what you are going to do with all that money?" "First of all," answered the President, "I want to start new wars in Europe, by putting nukes close to Putin, while I told everyone they were for defense from North Korea, and against that Chavez fellow, and after that, I'll buy some more nukes for myself." "For yourself?" "For myself. I want a war with Iran in the worst way, and I promise to fight hard." "Look at me," said Newt. "For the silly reason of making a Contract With America, that I didn't keep, I have lost my job." "Look at me," said Schmidt. "Because of some stupid ex Marine, I lost the sight of why I was elected to represent Ohio. Damn Murtha!" At that moment, a lawyer, sitting on the fence along the road, like most lawyers, called out sharp and clear: "George, do not listen to bad advice. If you do, you'll be sorry!" Poor lawyer! If he had only kept his words to himself! In the twinkling of an eyelid, Schmidt filed charges of sexual harassment against him, and he vanished before a senate investigation committee. After dipatching the lawyer, she wiped her mouth, blew her nose, closed her eyes, and became blind once more. "Poor lawyer!" said George to Schmidt. "Why did you ruin him?" "I ruined him to teach him a lesson. He talked too much, and looked like John Murtha. Next time he will keep his words to himself." By this time the three companions had walked a long distance. Suddenly, Newt stopped in his tracks and, turning to the wooden President, took ahold of his strings, and said to him: "Do you want to double your five trillion dollars?" "What do you mean?" "Do you want ten trillion dollars in exchange for your five?" "Yes, but how?" "The way is very easy. Instead of returning to the White House, come with us." "And where will you take me?" "To the City of Entrepreneurs, where the private sector always shows a better, cheaper way of how things can be managed and done." George thought a while and then said firmly: "No, I don't want to go. Washington is near, and I'm going where Master Rove is waiting for me. How unhappy he must be that I have not yet returned! I have been a bad boy, and the lawyer was right when he said that a disobedient boy cannot be happy in this world. I have learned this at my own expense. Even last night in the Gay and Lesbian Foundation, when Mehlman. . . Brrrr!!!!! . . . The shivers run up and down my back at the mere thought of it." "Well, then," said Newt, "if you really want to go back to the White House, go ahead, but you'll be sorry." "You'll be sorry," repeated Schmidt. "Think well, George, you are turning your back on a fortune." "On a fortune," repeated Schmidt. . "Tomorrow your five trillion dollars will be ten trillion!" "Ten trillion!" repeated Schmidt. "But how can they possibly become so many?" asked George wonderingly. "I'll explain," said Newt. "You must know that, just outside the City of Entrepreneurs, there is a backroom roadside operation called My Contract With America. You run out there to that roadside operation, stop, go to the back, ask for Rupe the Faux, and pledge a trillion dollars. After covering up that you did this, should anyone ask, you go to bed. During the night, the trillion dollars will sprout, grow, bloom and next morning you find a beautiful money tree, that is loaded with uncountable trillions of dollars!" "So if I were to give your Contract With America two trillion dollars," cried George with growing wonder, "next morning I should find--how many?" "More than you can count!" "One, two, three, four, five...... six......... if only Master Rove were here, he could help me with what comes next! |
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Chapter Five Newt, Schmidt and President walked and walked and walked. At last, toward evening, dead tired, they came to the Inn of the Red Robber. "Let us stop here a while," said Newt, "to eat a bite and rest for a few hours. At midnight we'll start out again, for at dawn tomorrow we must see how we did with the Contract With America. They went into the Inn and all three sat down at the same table. However, not one of them was very hungry. Schmidt felt very weak, and she was able to eat only thirty-five shrimp with red tomato sauce and four portions of white tripe with blue cheese. Moreover, as she was so in need of strength, she had to have four more helpings. She managed, because she felt more patriotic. Newt, after a great deal of coaxing, tried his best to eat a little. Doctor Kervorkian put him on a diet, and he had to be satisfied with a small, white rabbit dressed with a dozen young and tender spring chickens. After the rabbit, he ordered some blue partridges, a few red pheasants, a couple more white rabbits, and a dozen green Mexican mallards and red Mexican robins. That was all. He felt ill, he said, and could not eat another bite. George ate least of all. He pretended to strum a guitar for entertainment, and pledged that he would reform Social Security. The poor fellow, with his mind on Social Security, was totally unaware that during his fun and games away from the White House, Katrina was ravaging Nola. When told about it, he said his personally appointed advisor, Brad Brownnoser was doing a "heckofa job," and "I don't have any interest in what the Gay and Lesbian folks do, except that's why we need a Marriage Amendment!" Supper over, Newt said to the Innkeeper: "Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. President and the other for me and my friend. Before starting out, we'll take a little nap. Remember to call us at midnight sharp, for we must continue on our journey." "Yes, sir," answered the Innkeeper, winking in a knowing way at Newt and Schmidt, as if to say, "I understand." As soon as George was in bed, he fell fast asleep and had a vision. He dreamed he was in the middle of a field. The field was full of vines heavy with grapes. The grapes were no other than tax dollars which tinkled merrily as they swayed in the wind. They seemed to say, "Let him who wants us take us!" Just as George stretched out his hand to take a handful of them, he fell forward into a tub of crushed grapes. He'd never had a grape juice bath before, so it was his virgin bath. God told him about it in an earlier dream. He eased back in the tub, knowing what was coming next. He was sure to have his trillions, and his war too! Instead, he was awakened by three loud knocks at the door. It was the Innkeeper who had come to tell him that midnight had struck. "Are my friends ready?" the President asked him. "Indeed, yes! They went two hours ago." "Why in such a hurry?" "Unfortunately Schmidt received a telegram which said that his virgin-born was suffering from mockery, and was on the point of death. He could not even wait to say good-by to you." "Did they pay for the supper?" "How could they do such a thing? Being people of great refinement, they did not want to offend you so deeply as not to allow you the honor of paying the bill." Too bad! That offense would have been more than pleasing to me," said George, scratching his head. "Where did my good friends say they would wait for me?" he added. "At the roadside stop outside town, in the back room, at sunrise tomorrow morning." George paid a billion dollars for the three suppers and started on his way toward the roadside stop that was to make him a rich man. He walked on, not knowing where he was going, for it was dark, so dark that not a thing was visible. Round about him, not a leaf stirred. A few brothers got in his face now and again and scared him half to death; you know how it is outside D.C! Once or twice he shouted, "Who goes there?" and from the rows of junkie tenements echoed back to him, "What you doin' here, cracker?" As he walked, George noticed a tiny apparition glimmering on the trunk of a tree, a small being that glowed with a pale, soft light. "Who are you?" he asked. "I am Jesus," answered the little being in a faint voice that sounded as if it came from a far-away world. "What do you want?" asked the President. "I want to give you a few words of good advice. Return to the White House, and give the four trillion dollars to your masters, Karl Rove and Dick Cheney, who are weeping because they haven't seen you in many days." Struck by the words of his saviour, George said, "Tomorrow my masters will be rich men, for these four trillion dollars will become ate." "Don't listen to those who promise you wealth overnight, my boy. As a rule they are either liberals, or swindlers! Listen to me and go home." "But I want to go on!" "The hour is late!" "I want to go on." "My vision is growing very dark." "I want to go on." "The journey is dangerous." "I want to go on." "Remember that boys who insist on having their own way, sooner or later come to grief." "The same nonsense. What are you, Jesus, a lawyer? Good-by, lawyer!" "Good night, Mister President, and may Heaven preserve you from Talk Radio hosts." There was silence for a minute and the light of Jesus disappeared suddenly, just as if someone had snuffed it out. Once again the road was plunged in darkness. "Dear, oh, dear! When I come to think of it," said the President to himself, as he once more set out on his journey, "we boys are really very unlucky. Everybody scolds us, everybody gives us advice, everybody warns us. If we were to allow it, everyone would try to be father and master to us; everyone, and especially the lawyers. Take me, for example. Just because I would not listen to that bothersome lawyer, who knows how many misfortunes may be awaiting me! Talk Radio hosts indeed! At least I have never believed in them, nor ever will. To speak sensibly, I think talk radio hosts have been invented by Liberals and Democrats to frighten Americans who want to run away at night. And then, even if I were to meet them on the road, what matter? I'll just run up to him, and say, `Well, Rush, what do you want? Remember that you can't fool with me! Run along and mind your business.' At such a speech, I can almost hear Rush talking about it the next day. "Last night, I met the President, and his plan was......" But in case they don't run away, I can always run myself. . ." George was not given time to argue any longer, for he thought he heard the noise of kicked litter behind him. He turned to look and behold, there in the darkness stood two big black terrorists, wrapped from head to foot in black towels. The two figures leaped toward him as softly as Bill Clinton sneaking back into the White House bedroom after a smoke. "Here they come!" George said to himself, and, not knowing where to hide the four trillion dollars he had, he stuck all four trillion of them down his pants. He tried to run away, but hardly had he taken a step, when he felt his arms grasped and heard a horrible, whiny tenor voice say to him: "Maya namiblia avothat hatodesh baran Osama bin Laden, and I have the suitcase dirty nuke your friend Rove sold me. I want your four trillion dollars. " On account of the four trillion dollars in his pants, George staggared like he was drunk again, so he tried with head and hands and body to show, as best he could, that he was only a poor President, and the big bulge in his pants wasn't because he was glad to see Osama. "Come, come, less nonsense, and out with what's in your pants!" cried the two terrorists in threatening voices. Once more, George's head and hands said, "There's nothing in my pants. Well, almost nothing." "Out with it, or you're a dead man," said the smaller terrorist. "Dead man," whined Osama. "And after having killed you, we will kill your father also." "Your father also!" "No, no, no, not my Father!" cried George, wild with terror; but as he screamed, the four trillion dollars proved why Depends doesn't use money for incontinence protection. "Ah, you can't fool me! You either have a wet dream, or are scared to death. You have hidden it, and we know where it is! Out with it!" But George was as stubborn as ever. "Are you deaf? Wait! We'll get it from you in a tinkling!" "I already tinkled!" One of them grabbed the President by the left leg, and the other by the right, and they pulled to make a wish come true (for the liberals). All was of no use. The President's pants buttons might have been nailed together. They would not open. In desperation the smaller of the two terrorists pulled out a long knife from his pocket, and tried to pry George's mouth open with it. Quick as a flash, the President sank his teeth deep into the terrorist's hand, bit it off and spat it out. Fancy his surprise when he saw that it was not a just a hand, but Newt's hand. Encouraged by this first victory, he freed himself from the knives of his assailers and, leaping over trash cans, in and out of dumpsters, ran swiftly through the ghetto. His pursuers were after him at once, like two rappers chasing a whore. After running seven miles or so, George was well-nigh exhausted. Seeing himself lost, in what looked like a junkyard he saw a warehouse, ran inside, and went up to the second floor. The terrorists saw some spray painted graffiti on the wall outside, and recognised it as one of their sleeper cell motels. Far from giving up the chase, this only spurred them on. They gathered a pile of old tires, piled them up at the foot of the warehouse, and set fire to them. In a twinkling the tires began to sputter and burn, spewing tons of black smoke into the air. George saw the flames climb higher and higher. Not wishing to end his days as a roasted President, he quickly slid down the fire escape in back, the terrorists close to him, as before. Dawn was breaking when, without any warning whatsoever, George found his path barred by a deep river full of water the color of muddy coffee; either the Cuyahoga or the Potomoc. What was there to do? With a "One, two, three!" he jumped clear across it. The terrorists jumped also, but not having measured their distance well--splash!!!-- they fell right into the middle of the river. George, who heard the splash and felt it, too, cried out, laughing, but never stopping in his race: Immediately Al Gore stepped out of the bushes, and began to lecture the two terrorists about the polluted water they just fell into, and the effect the increase pollution also had on global warming. "A pleasant bath to you, my friends!" He thought they must surely be drowned and turned his head to see. But there were the two terrible figures still following him, though their black man-burkhas drenched and dripping with water. |
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Chapter Six Tired of waiting, the terrorists called to him mockingly: "Good-by till next September. When we return, we hope you'll be drunk or out of it enough to let us find you dead and gone and the contents of your pants in our hands." With these words they went. A few months went by and then a wild wind started to blow. George recognised it as Congress returning for another session. As it shrieked and moaned, the poor little President was blown to and fro like the positions of John Kerry. The flipflopping made him seasick and the news, becoming tighter and more critical, choked him. Little by little a new vision covered his eyes, and he began drinking again. Impeachment was creeping nearer and nearer, and the President still hoped for some good soul to come to his rescue, but no one appeared. As he was about to be impeached, he thought of his poor old father, and hardly conscious of what he was saying, murmured to himself: "Oh, Karl, dear Karl! If you were only here!" He never before addressed his master by first name. These were his last words. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched out his legs, and hung out there, as if he were lounging in Crawford with nothing to do. If the poor President had snoozed there much longer, all hope would have been lost. Luckily for him, the new Speaker of the House looked out of her window. Filled with pity at the sight of the poor little fellow being flipflopped helplessly about by the wind, she clapped her hands sharply together three times. At the signal, a loud whirr of helicopter blades cut the air, and a squad of Marines stormed the apartment. "What do you command, Mrs. Speaker of the House" asked the commander, bending his beak in deep reverence (for it must be known that, after all, the Speaker of the House was none other than the very kind Nancy Pelosi, who had lived, for more than a thousand years, in the vicinity of San Francisco, or at least looked like it). "Do you see that President lounging around on his ranch?" "I see him." "Very well. Fly immediately to him. Bring him back. We have some questions for him about five trillion missing dollars from the budget." The Marines flew away and after two weeks, returned, saying, "We have done what you have commanded." "How did you find him? Drunk or sober?" "At first glance, we thought he was drunk. But I found I was wrong, for as soon as I loosened his belt buckle, he made a long, rumbling noise and said, `Now I feel better!' But he smelled so bad, we didn't want him in the chopper, so we left him on the lawn chair." Pelosi clapped her hands twice. A magnificent bodybuilder appeared, walking on his hands just like a trickster. He was dressed in an athletic suit. He wore a jaunty coat of chocolate-colored velvet, with Joe Weider buttons, and with two huge pockets which His sweat pants of crimson velvet, red silk stockings, and low, silver-buckled slippers completed his costume. "Come, Arnold," said Pelosi to him. "Get my best plane ready and take off for Texas. On reaching the ranch in Crawford you will find a poor, half-impeached President stretched out on a lawn chair. Lift him up, place him on the silken cushions of Air Force One, and bring him here to me." Arnold, to show that he understood, flexed his biceps and triceps three or four times, and said, "I'll be back!" In a few minutes, the helicopter took off, and Arnold sat on the copilot's seat and snapped his whipped hair gayly in the air, as if he were a real Marine in a hurry to get to his destination. Later that day, the helicopter was back. Pelosi, who was waiting at the door of the house, lifted the poor President in her arms, took him to a detox room with rubber walls, put him to bed, and sent immediately for the most famous doctors of the neighborhood to come to her. One after another the doctors came, an Indian, a Jew, and a lawyer. "I should like to know," said Pelosi, turning to the three doctors gathered about George's bed, "I should like to know if this president is drunk or sober." At this invitation, the Jew stepped out and felt George's pulse, his tiny little nose, and his toe. Then he solemnly pronounced the following words: "To my mind this president is drunk and gone; but if, by any evil chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is sober!" "I am sorry," said the Indian, "to have to contradict, my famous Jewish friend and colleague. To my mind this president is sober; but if, by any evil chance, he were not, then that would be a sure sign that he is wholly drunk!" "And do you hold any opinion?" Pelosi asked the lawyer. "I say that a wise doctor, when he does not know what he is talking about, should know enough to keep his mouth shut. However, that president is not a stranger to me. I have known him a long time!" George, who until then had been very quiet, shuddered so hard that the bed shook. "That wooden President," continued the lawyer, "is a terrorist and drunk of the worst kind." George opened his eyes and closed them again. "He is rude, lazy, and incompetent. And he is probably drunk again." George hid his face under the sheets. "That President is a disobedient sonofabitch who is breaking his father's heart!" Long shuddering sobs were heard, cries, and deep sighs. Think how surprised everyone was when, on raising the sheets, they discovered George half melted in boozy tears! "When the drunk weep, they are beginning to recover," said the Jewish doctor solemnly. I am sorry to contradict my famous friend and colleague," said the Indian physician, "but as far as I'm concerned, I think that when the drunk stagger, it means they can't find the door, or the car keys." Chapter Seven As soon as the three doctors left the room, Pelosi went to George's bed and, after giving him a good left hook, noticed he looked unusually bewildered. She took a cup of especially thick, and stiff Expresso, put some black pepper into it, and, handing it to the President, said to him: "Drink this, and in a few days you'll be up and well." George looked at the cup, made a wry face, and asked in a whiny Texas drawly voice: "Is it kid stuff, or an adult drink?" "It is adult, and it is good for you." "If it is soda pop, I don't want it." "Drink it!" "I don't like soda pop." "Drink it and I'll give you a chaser shot of Schapps." "Where's the Schnapps?" "Here it is," said Pelosi, pouring a shot from a fresh bottle. "I want the Schnapps first, then I'll drink what ever this is." "Do you promise?" "Yes." Pelosi gave him the Schnapps and George, after chewing and swallowing it in a twinkling, said, smacking his lips: "If only Schnapps were medicine! I should take it every day." "Now keep your promise and drink this little cup of Expresso. It'll be good for you." George took the cup in both hands and stuck his nose into it. He lifted it to his mouth and once more stuck his nose into it. "It is too black. Look there! Mother Mary, it's another sign from God. Al Sharpton! I can see his reflection! I can't drink this. Not with Sharpton's image floating on top." "That's your own reflection! You're so drunk, you think your own reflection looks like Al Sharpton! "I can't imagine that. I want another shot of Schnapps, then I'll drink it." Pelosi, with all the patience of a good mother, gave him more Schnapps, and again handed him the cup. "I can't drink it like that," the President said, making more wry faces. "Why?" "Because, you're starting to look sexy to me." Pelosi quickly fiddled with her buttons, making sure she wasn't immodest in any way, for the last thing she wanted were advances from George W Bush. "It's no use. I can't drink it even now." "What's the matter now?" "I don't like the way that man on the wall stares at me. He looks Gay." Pelosi took the picture of George Washington off the wall, and set it backward on the floor. "I won't drink it," cried George, bursting out crying. "I won't drink this awful mud. I won't. I won't! No, no, no, no!" "My boy, you'll be sorry." "I don't care." "You are very drunk." "I don't care." "In a few hours, your DTs will take you far away to another world." "I don't care." "Aren't you afraid of death?" "Not a bit. I'd rather die than drink that muck with the face of Al Sharpton staring back at me." At that moment, the door of the room flew open and in came four Rabbis with huge noses and funny ears, wearing small black beanies on their noggins. "What do you want from me?" asked George. "We have come for you," said oldest Rabbi. "For me? But I'm not dead yet!" "No, not dead yet; but you will be impeached soon, since you refused to disclose where the missing four trillion dollars are, or drink the Expresso which would have made you sober." "Oh, Nancy! Nancy! Nancy Reagan!" the President cried out, "give me that cup! Quick, please! I don't want to be impeached! No, no, not yet--not yet!" And holding the cup with his two hands, he swallowed the Expresso with one gulp. "Well," said the four Rabbis, "this time we have made the trip for nothing." And, pulling their little curls beside their ears, they marched solemnly out of the room, saying "Oy vayh! What a little schmuck! Soon, George felt better. With one leap he was out of bed and into his clothes. Pelosi, seeing him run and jump around the room, gay as Richard Simmons in a room of fat women, said to him: "My Expresso was good for you, after all, wasn't it?" "You're Nancy Pelosi! Why, you, of all people, then, did I have to beg from so hard to make you drink it?" "What? That makes no sense! Guess you really are sober." "I'm a Neocon, you see, and all Neocons hate Expresso more than they do liberals." "What a shame! Neocons ought to know, after all, that Expresso, drank in time, can take away the effects of intoxication." "Next time I won't have to be begged so hard. I'll remember those funny lookin' Rabbis with beanies on their noggins, and I'll take the cup, even if it does have Sharpton's reflection in it, and--down it will go!" "Come here now and tell me how it came about that you found yourself in the hands of the terrorists." "It happened that Mehlman gave me five trillion dollars to give to Rove, but on the way, I met Gingrich and Schmidt, who asked me, `Do you want the five trillion to become ten trillion?' And I said, `Yes.' And they said, `Come with us, as we make another Contract With America.' And I said, `Let's go.' Then they said, `Let us stop at the Inn of the Red Robber for dinner and after midnight we'll set out again.' We ate and went to sleep. When I awoke they were gone and I started out in the darkness all alone. On the road I met two terrorists wrapped in black towels, who said to me, `What's in your pants!' and I said, `I haven't any money'; for, you see, I had put the money in my pants. One of them tried to put his hand in my pants, and I bit it off and spat it out; but it wasn't just any hand, it was the fat, flabby hand of Newt, and they ran after me and I ran and ran, till at last they caught up with me and used tires to burn me out of a warehouse, and I jumped over the river, but they jumped in it, and got lectured by Al Gore on the effects of pollution on global warming, and that made them even madder. "Where is the five trillion dollars now?" Pelosi asked. "Wolfowitz has it," answered George, but he told a lie, for he had secretly passed all the money to Cheney, who laundered it and passed it onto Halliburton. As he spoke, his nose, long though it was, suddenly shriveled up. "And where is Wolfowitz?" "He's helping our loyal friend Joe Wilson." At this second lie, his nose shriveled more. "If you gave it to Wolfowitz" said Pelosi, "we'll look for it and find it, for everything that goes through the World Bank has to have a paper trail." "Ah, now I remember," replied the President, becoming more and more confused. "I did not give the five trillion dollars to Wolfowitz, but I gave it to Scooter Libby." At this third lie, his nose became so small and shrunken, he looked like an old, white Michael Jackson wth grey hair. Nancy Pelosi sat looking at him and laughing. "Why do you laugh?" the President asked her, worried now at the sight of his shriveled nose. "I am laughing at your lies." "How do you know I am lying?" "Lies, my little wooden man, too stupid to be president, are known in a moment. There are two kinds of lies; smart lies with long legs and stupid lies with short noses. Yours, just now, happen to have short noses. Can you spell I - M - P - E - A - C - H - M - E - N - T? "I'll work on it," said the president. |
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| | From:  _Xer | Sent: 10/10/2007 12:16 AM |
| This... is going to take a while to read. I have cut/pasted it into a word file and will read later. Looks pretty impressive! |
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