Spy had a theory about W[tf] and the way it all went down: It’s 1998, and the Republican old boys are hanging around
wondering who they’re going to run against Al Gore…they need somebody young and vital.
Strom (or some other fossil) looks at George Herbert Bush and says: “What about your kid, G.B., ain’t he a governor or something?” Bush combines a Jon Stewart-doing-Johnny Carson “just smelled something funny” look with a Rodney Dangerfield yank of the tie…”You mean Jeb, right?” (nodding furiously)
“No, Dubya!”
“Duh–Dubya? Ya mean Jeb, right?”
“Are there cattle in yer canyon? I said Dubya!”
These guys then took W[tf] by the scruff and sat him down. “Listen kid, you don’t have to do anything. Just shut up and do what we tell you, and you’ll be President.”
“Heh, heh, President? S’pose I cain’t eff anything up worse than I did my baseball team, heh…heh, heh!”
(cut to GHB, looking ill)
“We got Dick Cheney here, and he’ll do all the heavy lifting…you just do what he says, and after four years of pro-oil legislatin’ you’ll be richer than your wildest dreams.”
“Done!”
“Alright then.”
“Done and done!!!”
“Alright then, Dubya, that’s enough son.”
“Done!!!!”
At first, everything went great. Cheney took the helm and W[tf] took vacations–some six weeks’ worth in the first eight months of his “presidency.”
Then 19 animals from al-Qaeda killed nearly 3,000 American civilians.
What happened then? America needed a President.
Heels screeching across the polished White House floor, W[tf] was shoved by his handlers to the forefront to calm the nation. He didn’t do a half-bad job, and Cheney got nervous.
As Americans clung to the Presidency like Lindsay Lohan to a fifth of SoCo, W[tf]’s approval ratings skyrocketed–the highest in history!
Of course, Sponge Bob Square Pants would’ve racked up 75% in those months if he sounded reassuring and managed not to wet himself.
W[tf] missed the memo. He believed his own press clips.
“Hey, heh, heh, I’m good at this job!”
(Cheney interjects) “Um, Mr. President…”
“Uh, hold on, Dick, I’m pon-tif-icatin’. I am the greatest President of all time…”
(Cheney, deflated) “Ooh, bouy…”
So W[tf] takes over…stops listening to Cheney, and starts making some really scary moves. Iraq this, and civil liberties that…sure Cheney was impressed, but the jackasses were running the zoo.
It wasn’t just power-crazy scary, it was “God told me to do this!” scary.
Now, Spy had nothing against God–though there was a kind of “who’s cooler” thing between them–and most every president has been a church-going guy, but most presidents also had a fair dose of intellect informing their conversations with the Higher Power. Some of them even read newspapers.
Alas, W[tf] had only: “Heh, well what the heck should I do, God..?”
(God buries his face in his hand)!”
All of this played itself out as the second election was stol…er, won, and America spiraled into a collective-emotional and economic nightmare.
Meanwhile, though, Spy wasn’t letting Cheney and the other handlers slide. W[tf] was too easy a target, and even sympathetic (pathetic?) in a way. But THEY had made it all happen.
So for now, Spy would let W[tf] live…a decision briefly called into question as the ex-president missed a door and walked squarely into a wall.
Spy calmly walked over and lifted the small man’s date book from a pocket, opened it to D, and memorized an address…
“Okay Dick…time for a referendum! ”
–TO BE CONTINUED–
Psychic Russian Spy 