Life around the White House has been glum this past week. President Bush offered up Donald Rumsfeld to satisfy the Democrats need for bleeding red meat, but in fact Bush still believes that Rumsfeld is a military genius and he misses his old friend terribly.
Bush has no desire to work with Democrats, but his father explained the new reality on November 8th and demanded that Junior extend an olive branch to the inbound Democratic leadership, and do his utmost to make it seem that he’s eager to work in a bipartisan spirit, even though Junior can’t stand to be in the same room with Nancy Pelosi. “For six years I had no use for those people,” W said. “I didn’t give Democrats the time of day, didn’t invite them to the White House, didn’t pay attention to their concerns. I enjoyed calling them traitors and wimps, and I got a big kick when Cheney told various Democratic senators to go fuck themselves. Dad gummit, I miss those days already.”
Sensing that his son wasn’t getting the message, Bush Senior seized his wayward, half-wit spawn by the shoulders and shook him, hard. “You listen to me, boy, and you listen good. Your swaggering, ‘Mission-Accomplished’ days are over. You’re one of the most unpopular Presidents in the history of the Republic! Sixty percent of the American people think you’re a raving idiot! Look at me, dimwit! You’ve got two years to think about your legacy! Do you want to be remembered as the most incompetent President in American history? Ah, shit, boy, don’t start crying, for crissakes.”
Nobody in Washington has taken the Republican meltdown harder than Deadeye Dick Cheney. Always a terrifying figure, a cross between Ted Bundy and Heinrich Himmler, even when the tide was breaking his way, Cheney has been in a black mood since Election Night, snarling at his staff, his wife, his dog, and even his old and loyal friends from Halliburton. “It’s the end of the Republic,” Cheney keeps saying out of the side of his mouth. “We might as well open the gates and let the terrorists come right in, hand them the keys to the White House, the Pentagon and the FBI.”
Only target shooting at the Secret Service range brings Cheney solace. The Veep demanded that the Secret Service provide him with three hundred life-size targets of Nancy Pelosi, seventy-five of Barney Frank, forty of Teddy Kennedy, and one hundred and twenty-five of John Murtha, which Cheney blasts away at with his Glock 31, one after another. “Keep ‘em coming,” Cheney growls. “And bring me a hundred of that fat fuck, Michael Moore. I’ll show that leftist bastard what I think of him!”
Now that the Democrats have subpoena power, Condi Rice has been busy in her office, shredding documents, notes, cocktail napkins, phone logs, and credit card statements, anything that might implicate her for her role in misleading the American public into backing the needless and senseless invasion of Iraq. The same scenario is playing out all over official Washington and those on-site document destruction outfits are making a killing. Low-level functionaries, lobbyists, congressional aides, pages, and the hookers and call girls (and call boys, of course) who have serviced the Republicans for the past twelve years, flock to the Northern Virginia woods where they douse massive piles of documents with jet fuel and set them to burning.
After moping around for two days in an Oxycontin daze, Rush Limbaugh bucked up his courage and played miniature golf with Newt Gingrich, only to be recognized and ridiculed by a pack of Catholic school kids on a field trip. “My God, Newt, this can’t be happening. We were going to rule for one thousand years!”
Yeah, it has been a rough week in DC, and the Democrats haven’t done a thing yet.
No comments:
Post a Comment