by The Now-Restless Soul of Theodore Roosevelt
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The setting, a gray
military-style war room beneath the White House, Jan 28th, 2001. Seated
in one small section are Dubya, Cheney, and Bush Sr. The lighting is dim,
like in Dr. Strangelove.
Dubya: Now, fellas,
what was so important to drag us away from our lovely wives and all the
way down here, for gosh sakes.
Bush Sr.: Listen
son, this is important. You're president now and it's high time you got
to know this. The only people who know this are Richard Nixon, us here,
William Casey, Good Ol' Cap, and Tony Scalia, all well under control just
like that little chickie you knocked up and aborted, you hellbound sunnofvabitch.
Funny that she married an FBI agent. (laughs)
Bush Sr.: I was
a young man, still just 41 years old, when that a-hole John F. Kennedy
was thinking about closing down the CIA. My country called upon me that
day, because I and a few others knew that we could not survive the Cold
War without a functional tactical intelligence arm with the ability to
circumvent the law when necessary and perform black ops. We could not
defeat the Soviets without such an apparatus, as well as control our own
citizenry better by building ever small and more sensitive surveillance
What did you do, Daddy?
into his pocket, pulls out a carefully folded page, unfolds it methodically
and slaps it hard down on the table) This is a report on a group of
British researchers who are going to release their findings next month
in an article in the Washington Post. It says that, in during the assassination
of President Kennedy, based on sophisticated new audio analysis of the
Zapruder Film and other microphones present, there was a 96.3% chance
that there was a second shooter positioned on the Grassy Knoll in Dallas.
Bush Sr.: (forcefully)
There was a fucking 100% chance, that's for sure.
eyes very slowly gaining awareness) But that means... What are you...?
No.. (his fearful, nervous look changes to nervous naughtiness, like
the cat that swallowed the canary) Oh, Poppy (giggles), you
are a baaaad man.
Bush Sr.: The
baddest, son. Don't you ever forget that. I shot down Nip zeros in the
Big One, and I'll still whip your ass at 78! Go ahead and try me, Squealer.
(folds his arms with a confident smile)
an affectionate punch to Bush Sr.'s shoulder) Oh, you da' man, sir.
You da'man. Now do you understand, Dubya? Didn't you ever wonder why you,
the family fuckup, were so quickly promoted to the ranks and become President?
Why we sent Jeb out to be governor of Florida, where those damned Yankee
Jews were threatening to take the state away from us. Not while I live
and breathe, by God!
Bush Sr.: Easy
Dick, don't get so excited. Your ticker is one good anxiety attack away
from the great unknown. Ease back, pal.
off into space) Hot damn, if that ain't the coolest thing! (leaping
to his feet) You know what, fellas? I'm gonna invite that fat-ass
Ted Kennedy over to watch fucking "13 Days" next week! And I'm
gonna fix us up some hot dogs and popcorn, real shitty stuff, too. And
I'm gonna tell him what a great guy his brother was. And all the time...
(giggles) I'm gonna know... (giggles) That my daddy wasted
his brother.. (giggles) And he'll be wonderin' why I'm looking
at him funny... (breaks into gales of laughter, holding his sides)
Bush Sr. rises from
his seat, takes three steps and gives George a hard, open-handed slap
to the ear.
Owwwww! That hurt, Poppy.
forward) Dubya, my boy, you must show some tact. You must never let
on that you know this secret. 17 mean and women, including 3 CIA patriots,
lost or gave their lives to protect this secret.
Bush, Sr.: (still
standing) Don't sugarcoat it, Dick. This melonhead couldn't catch
a clue with a bozo-sized baseball mitt. (Steps forward, cradles Dubya's
face in his hands) Son... you're my child and I love you, but I swear
to God that if you let this secret out that I will administer the poison
that chews up your liver myself! IS THAT CLEAR?
welling with tears) Okay, okay, you don't have to be so mean about
it. I'm still inviting him over (defiant, but blinking, stare).
Bush, Sr.: (smiling)
That's just fine, Junior. You're the president, you can do what you want.
Just so we understand each other, son.
Alright, alright. I do, Poppy. (pauses, lower lip quivering) Let's
get back upstairs. The ladies'll be wonderin' what's become of us.
Bush, Sr.: You
know, your mother will be very pleased that we finally had this conversation.
They all exit to
the elevator, Bush Sr. first, then Cheney, then Dubya, sulking.
The doors close silently
behind them and the elevator whirrs upward...
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