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From
the Desk of George W. Bush
October 30, 2002
as told to Rebecca Salcedo
It took quite a bit of female bonding over shoes and chocolate,
but Hot Lips has discovered that the First Lady, Laura Bush,
has been writing a novel in her spare time under the pseudonym
Lana Bowie.
We are very excited to bring you the first chapter of this
novel, which we believe—although claimed to be "fiction"—is
indeed autobiographical and sheds light on the fascinating
marital dynamics of the first couple. Be on the lookout for
subsequent chapters of this groundbreaking new novel.
Take Him, He’s Mine!
By Lana Bowie
Chapter
1
Lucy was having a glorious dream about herself and George
Clooney sharing a deserted tropical island, when she was rudely
awakened by a loud noise. Her eyes snapped open and she saw
him—her husband, the man who looked like George Clooney’s
homely, big-eared, in-bred hick cousin and who snored louder
than a freight train. Harshly confronted with reality, Lucy
frowned at the man she’d been married to for two decades.
It was a long time to be married to an imbecile, but it could
be worse. She could be married to Rush Limbaugh. That was
the thought that kept her going and made it possible to get
out of bed every morning.
She still couldn’t believe the simpleton had gotten himself
elected President of the United States. It was the political
equivalent of a blizzard in the Sahara—a freak of nature.
Lucy couldn’t think of one leader of the free world who claimed
cow patty clearing as their favorite pastime. But at least
she got to be First Lady and live in the White House. Of course,
President Cow Patty insisted on spending one month of every
year vacationing at their ranch in Crawfish, Texas—which,
as far as Lucy was concerned, was about as exotic and exciting
as a frontal lobotomy.
Lucy sighed. She had no one but herself to blame for her
lot in life. When she’d first met J.D.—his given name was
Elmer, but that was just too ridiculous to use, so everyone
called him J.D. after his favorite drink, Jack Daniel’s. Anyway,
when she’d first met J.D. she’d known he was a Bradford—the
family of wealthy and influential Texas oil barons. She thought
he was kind of cute in his jeans and cowboy boots and then
he’d said, "Dang, you’re pretty," and that’s all it took.
Lucy had been young and optimistic enough to actually marry
him. Little did she know that, intellectually, he was the
runt of the litter. Oh, he was a good man. He’d taken good
care of her, given her a good life, and had been a good father
to their children. But that didn’t mean he didn’t irritate
the hell out of her more times then not.
At that thought, J.D. let loose a fresh round of snoring.
Lucy waited until after he’d inhaled and covered his mouth
and pinched his nose closed just before he exhaled.
Choking on his own snore, J.D. blindly batted her hands away
from his face. "What?!"
"It’s time to get up," she said, getting out of bed. "We’ve
got the President of China coming today."
J.D. didn’t open his eyes or make any other attempt to get
up. "Five more minutes," he said in a barely audible murmur,
which Lucy found ironic considering how loud the man could
snore.
Lucy’s hands went to her hips and she glared at the lump
of Commander in Chief who was her husband even though he couldn’t
see her. "I’m going to take a shower. If you’re not out of
this bed by the time I come back, I’m getting the ice water."
He grumbled in response and rolled over onto his side, snuggling
deeper under the comforter.
Lucy heaved another sigh and then went about getting ready
for the long day that was to come. They’d already spent their
month-long vacation at the ranch and had returned to the White
House, but they were back for a few days before they left
for the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation summit in Cabo San
Lucas, Mexico. Today, they were to receive President Jiang
Zemin and his wife Wang Yeping, who were on their way to Mexico
for the summit. Of course, it was her responsibility to entertain
Wang Yeping, while J.D. spoke to President Jiang Zemin, seeking
China’s support for harsher action against Iraq. Lucy was
absolutely sure the day would end in an international incident.
After showering and dressing, Lucy went back to the bedroom
and wasn’t surprised to see and hear that J.D. was still sleeping.
Annoyed, Lucy stomped over to him and gave him a sharp flick
on his big ear with her finger. "Get up!"
"Ow, that hurt," he complained, rubbing his ear, bleary-eyed.
"Are you getting up or do I have to get the ice water?"
"I’m gettin' up," he muttered, flinging back the covers,
displaying his cow-print pajamas. "Dang, you’re a hard woman."
Thirty minutes later, they sat in the dining room eating
breakfast. Lucy was buttering her English muffin when she
heard J.D. say, "Lucy, I’ve been thinkin’ . . . "
Oh Lord, thought Lucy, that’s never a good thing.
Pretending great interest in her muffin, Lucy said, "Really?"
"Yep, I think we should get rid of Florida."
That got her attention. "What on earth are you talking about?"
she asked, finally looking at him.
"Gettin' rid of Florida," he said with utter sincerity. "You
know, have forty-five states instead of forty-six."
Apparently, when she wasn’t looking, he’d gotten rid of four
other states as well. That’ll teach her to pay attention.
"Why?"
"Cuz," he explained in between bites of Spanish omelet, "it
ain’t nothin’ but trouble. All they got is hurricanes and
foreigners who can’t even speak American. And we don’t need
their beaches. We got plenty of beaches without the ones in
Florida. They got sharks anyway. Tell me one thing that Florida’s
got that’s worth anythin’."
"Oranges."
J.D. thought about that for a moment, while drinking a whole
glass of orange juice. "I don’t like oranges that much."
"But your brother, Gage, is the Governor of Florida," she
said, trying another tack. "If you got rid of Florida, he’d
be out of a job."
J.D. snorted. "He’s bein’ a pain in my backside anyway. Since
those Puerto Ricans are givin’ me a hard time, I told him
we were gonna use Florida for bombin’ practice b’fore we invade
Iraq. And he had the gumption to say no—like he was President
or somethin’."
Lucy put down her muffin, having lost her appetite. She should
have known there’d be no way to reason with J.D.—especially
not with his backward logic. Fearing an approaching migraine,
Lucy decided she needed to put a swift end to this nonsense.
"J.D., you can’t get rid of Florida."
He frowned. "Why not? I’m President, ain’t I?"
"It’s a law and even the President has to abide by the laws."
"What law says I can’t get rid of Florida?" he asked, looking
highly skeptical.
"U.S. Law 49.125," Lucy lied, "Thou shall not mess with
Florida. It’s right after the one that says you have the
right to bare arms and before the one that says a wife can
castrate her husband if he’s been unfaithful."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. Ask David if you don’t believe me," Lucy said,
referring to the vice president, David Chandler. David was
definitely the brain of the dynamic duo and she knew he’d
back her up on this.
J.D. looked doubtful for a moment and then shook his head.
"Dang, I really wanted to get rid of Florida," he said, returning
to his omelet and the funnies.
A few hours later, they stood in front of the house, mugging
for the press as President Jiang Zemin’s motorcade made it’s
way up the drive.
"What’s this guy’s name again?" asked J.D. "Jackie Chan?"
"No," Lucy said for the millionth time, "you’re about the
greet President Jiang Zemin and his wife Wang Yeping."
"Right, President Chow Young Fat. He’s a commie, isn’t he?"
Oh yeah, this has international incident written all over
it.
But somehow they muddled through and half an hour later,
J.D. and President Jiang Zemin were ensconced in the library
and Lucy and Wang Yeping were enjoying tea and cookies in
the morning room.
"Would you like another cookie?" asked Lucy.
"It’s a prezzur to meet you," said Wang Yeping, smiling and
nodding her head. That, Lucy suspected, was the extent of
Wang Yeping’s English, since it had been her response to everything
Lucy had asked her thus far.
"So, tell me, is your husband as big of an idiot as mine?"
Wang Yeping smiled and nodded her head. "It’s a prezzur to
meet you."
"Right," Lucy said, smiling and nodding her head.
Later, at the press conference, just before President Jiang
Zemin and Wang Yeping left for Mexico, J.D. stood at the podium
next to the Chinese President while Lucy and Wang Yeping stood
obediently off to the side. J.D. slung his arm around Jiang
Zemin and gave him a tight squeeze. Lucy couldn’t help noticing
that Jiang Zemin looked very uncomfortable with this familiarity.
"I just want to say," J.D. said to the group of reporters
in front of him, "that me and my old buddy, Moo Goo Guy Pan,
here had a nice long talk and have come to a historic agreement
between our two nations. In exchange for Japan’s full support
in our war against terrorism, I’ve agreed to give them Florida.
I’m sure y’all will agree America definitely got the better
end of the deal."
The usually very noisy press corps stood there, gaping in
horrified silence. Even the photographer’s light bulbs stopped
flashing.
Lucy closed her eyes and thought—as their daughter Kim would
say—God, what a dweeb!
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