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hunnerd and still counting
i can't wait for the all-star break - - gwb
by tom scarpelli
5.16.01
humor

Hello?

Golly, I must have dozed off for a moment. These prayer breakfasts really wipe me out. As I’m sure you all know, we had a secret prayer breakfast this morning to discuss nuking some A-rabs over there in the Mideast and me and Dick, my COO, taking over their oil operations but then Dick said I already had a high-profile job, and lemme tell you it’s quite a spread those White House fellas lay out. Everything from prunes to PopTarts and all the Bloody Maries you can keep down. (Note that I said, “you” and not “I.”) While we’re on this subject I should mention that I, as your President, have frankly not gotten used to the way they do things up North here.

Like the fork.

I am convinced, although I wouldn’t want to take an unalteringable position on this until all the facts are in, that the fork is on the wrong side. They put it on the side you lean on, whereas Laura puts it on the side you throw with.

And there’s this holdover fella from Bill’s staff who tastes everything before I eat it. Seems pretty rude to me although Ashcroft says he’s essential. Apparently Bill ran through four or five of them.

Spencer Abraham’s Jewish, I understand, which straight-from-the-shoulder, I didn’t cotton up to at first, not that that should make any difference to his being at a Christian
prayer breakfast, you know, these days.

I might add Colin is always ready to run an errand to the Hill for me or take over the controls if someone in charge wants to, you know, take a quick nap, but then so are Laura
and Dad, and of course God, where the buck really stops, of course.

Laura and Lynne Cheney have hit it off pretty good. I’m happy to report that after the first hunnerd and some days they’ve inedibly brandished their marks upon the White House. Ashcroft tends to be a little abrasive around Christine Todd Whitman, though - - keeps calling her “Secretariat of EPA” and feeding her lumps of sugar. (He really cracked
me up the other night at Don Rumsfeld’s barbecue when he got her to show us how she stands on her hind legs. Quite a good, ol’ boy, that fella.

Mom and Dad are going great guns too. Dad’s been helping Mom get the house in order and according to Mom she knows her way around so well it seems like she’s lived in the place all her life. Mom sure has needed the help too, particularly in the President’s
bedroom. That boy, Bill, must have owned every kooky rubber thing ever to be shipped in a plain, brown bag. They were all stuck together looking like that Picasso sculpture in
Chicago and jammed into a closet. We had to have workers chip it out in big sections with chisels. And in Hillary’s bedroom, the janitor snaked something out of the sink pipes I hope never to see again while I’m sober.

Anyway, I got to the prayer breakfast a little late - - Karen Hughes was spotting me on my bench presses and when that woman (cough) gets in your face and demands another rep, well gosh darnit you better deliver - - and my day wasn’t going too well. Ashcroft was already playing, “How Old Are You?” with Whitman where she has to bang her front hoof on the ground and I got a feeling that God was feeling a little edgy too. (I always have God briefed at these meetings as I’ve found over the years that he tends to have a much better grasp of the issues than I do. On the other hand, he can be real cranky at times and this was one of them.)

To break the ice I introduced him to Ashcroft, who went into his, “I beg YOUR pardon?” routine, which I must admit I don’t “get,” but everyone seems to think is hilarious, and
apparently God and Alan Greenspan knew one another from school or some such thing - - so everyone relaxed and chowed down.

After that, I must say in all cantor, I didn’t follow too closely what went on. Ashcroft and Colin started talking really fast and using words I couldn’t look up quick enough in my
pocket dictionary, to make jokes about Israel. First we decided not to nuke the Palestinians, because if you know what happened in the Mideast, which had to do something with a David fella -- this is the part I really couldn’t follow -- and then all of Colin’s people started talking even faster and then for some reason we decided to “nuke anything in a burnoose.” God didn’t seem to notice this but then he was sloshing back the
Bloody Maries pretty good, so I figured it was OK to let them have their way.

Later on, however, the atmosphere got somewhat tense and Colin started yelling about being the only nuker in the room and told Ashcroft to keep his mitts off his. His glasses
steamed up so much they dripped onto his bagel, which I feel is the sort of revelant details the American people have a right to know if we hope to lance our nation’s boils. A great deal of forceful discussion followed, in the course of which Colin’s scrambled eggs wound up in Ashcroft’s ear. Topics covered included Lebanon, “accidental” plane crashes, Denise Rich, and Ashcroft’s defeat at the polls by a corpse. Finally Colin yelled at Ashcroft that he should go dig up some more “misplaced” McVeigh documents and to get into line if he expected to find anything in his stocking this year and Ashcroft quieted down.

Colin then told me that I had decided not to nuke the Palestinians because they look too much like the Israelis who I’m told are our friends, and this is what I will be telling you, my
fellow voters, openly and straight-from-the-hip when and if the the time comes, as it does for all of us.

Let me say what a privilege it has been being with you here on this screen again and leave you with one not underlong thought. A good leader may be able to lead a team of rugged hikers up the side of a mountain, but a good follower will be right behind that leader, holding the rope between his large hands, digging in with those little hiking spikes, not fussing at all, doing his bit around the camp, win or lose, warts, jock itch, chiggers in the ear and all. That’s the way I like it, and with God’s grace and yours, that’s the way you will too.

Thank you.

George W. Bush
CEO; USA Corp.



ABOUT TOM SCARPELLI



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