Future Bush Script: An Encounter In Bern

Richard Perle is watching a chess match take place in a park in Bern, Switzerland. He finds the match rather slow going and predictable. Both players are employing mediocre strategies, so Richard regards their analytical abilities to be barely superior to those of a typical State Department intelligence analyst operating from a Foggy Bottom cubicle. This saddens him.

Repairing to a nearby bench, he takes out his copy of the 1852 Poëmes Antiques, by Charles Marie René Leconte de Lisle. Recently reprinted in a handsome limited edition, a friend from the Persian Gulf armaments purchasing community was kind enough to gift him a copy. As he begins to read, a particular stanza from the poem “Dies Irae” catches his eye:

Et toi, divine Mort, où tout rentre et s'efface,
Accueille tes enfants dans ton sein étoilé;
Affranchis-nous du temps, du nombre et de l'espace,
Et rends-nous le repos que la vie a troublé!

Lenconte de Lisle’s perceptive verse, with its absence of pity, embrace of fate, and acceptance of loss, gives Richard a measure of contemplative quietus amidst the profligate laughter emanating from some nearby wastrels.

Further concentrating so as to drown out the annoying bark of a distant dog, Richard begins to find some of ‘the repose that life has disturbed,’ as Leconte de Lisle would say. Still he is concerned that some conservatives back in the States may not appreciate his reading of French material in public at such a politically sensitive time.

Mindful that several intelligence agencies, some allegedly friendly, others obviously hostile, may be watching him, he reasons it is best to err on the side of discretion. Tucking the book of poems discretely inside a copy of recently obtained bound blueprints for the French made Crotale NG VT1 (RF proximity fuse) hypervelocity air defense missile, he begins to read again. Suddenly an attractive woman in her late thirties approaches him.Though there is no sign of rain, she is carrying a closed umbrella. She seems Italian. Alas, her face is an unfamiliar one to him.

Woman:
Hello Mr. Perle. (Roman accented English) How are you today?

Richard Perle:
You look familiar.

Woman:
Familiarity breeds contempt.

Richard Perle:
That is what you say.

Woman:
Contempt has its uses.

Richard Perle:
What is useful is not always pleasant, but victory vindicates. You look pleasant. Should I be worried?

Woman:
Love conquers all. As long as one loves victory, one need not worry.

Richard Perle:
Spoken like true Roman, not a teller of real truth.

Woman:
What is truth?

Richard Perle:
You tell me.

Woman:
Rome is the Eternal City. Don't you think what is eternal must be true.

Richard Perle:
Nothing lasts forever. Rome is a nice place to visit, but I would not want to live there

Woman:
Bern is a nice place to live. Thank God, I only have to visit.

Richard Perle:
Silvia told me it was tourist season. Did she send you?

Woman:
Yes she did. She arranged a package tour.

Richard Perle:
Pierre?

Woman:
Pierre and Françoise.


The woman with the umbrella hands Richard a colorful flier that says, among other things, “Sylvia’s Swiss Tours - Bern For Three Nights and Two Days. Meals included.” Richard notes the back of the flier contains a handwritten address that is vaguely familiar to him. The woman then walks a block and half away, gets on the back of a waiting motorcycle, and speeds off.

Richard folds up the woman’s flier and puts it into his suit pocket. After sitting down and reading for a few minutes, he gets back up and walks over to the trashcan. For the benefit of those who may be watching him, he pauses to confirm that the woman has left the park, then he removes a replica of the flier from the same suit pocket that contains the one she just gave him. This replica flier is the same in all respects to the original, except that it has an incorrect meeting address penned on the back. Crunching the replica up, he tosses it into the trashcan then leaves the park nonchalantly and heads back to his hotel room.

Minutes after he leaves, one of the chess spectators takes out a candy bar and begins eating it. When done eating, he walks over to the trashcan to throw away the wrapper. Along with the candy wrapper, the chess spectator drops a magazine into the trashcan. When he then reaches into the trashcan to retrieve the discarded magazine, he discretely removes the crumpled flier that Richard Perle just discarded. Tucking that flier inside his retrieved magazine, this fellow then leaves the park. Someone sitting nearby, who just witnessed this discrete, if not discrete enough, retrieval of the discarded fake flier, waits a minute then begins to follow him.

Continued in Part Two: When A Toast Will Be Proposed

Future Bush Script: Rove & Enemies

Despite being investigated by Fitzgerald and despite his conspicuous role in current political currents, Karl Rove has smile on his face and a bounce in his step as he heads into the Oval Office to brief the President. The President is alone at his desk, studying a photograph with great care and terrific merriment. As Mr. Rove approaches, the silence in the room is broken only by the President's intermittent giggles and Rove's purposeful footsteps. Rove is pleased to see the President is in his Warmchill state. In such a state, the President's heart and mind, sometimes at odds, commingle harmoniously, creating a pleasant storm of feeling that the President calls his wet spot. Warmchill serves to sharpen the President's wit and elevate his charisma.

Rove believes the President's charisma is one of his stongest political assets. Elevated as it now is by its Warmchill buoyancy, Rove privately wonders if this force could be explained by formula, then reverse engineered, allowing him to manufacture it, as a magic potion of sorts, for use on future clients or even on himself, as a practical elixir. Sometimes the demands of the day call for that special extra. He makes a mental note to check with intellectual property attorneys to see who, if anyone, owns the possible brand name "Charismamatic." If it is already owned, perhaps he will obtains the American rights to the Greek letters that serve as the foundation for the word, compelling any current owner to reach an accommodation. Rove notes to check with the State Dept. about potential diplomatic fallout with Greece, a NATO signatory.

Karl Rove:
Mr. President, I have some positive developments to brief you on.

President Bush:
Hey Turd. You're in a good mood. Who died?

Karl Rove:
Liberalism sir, but that was a while ago. I just have a few more nails for the coffin.

President Bush:
Ever the optimist. Always the bright side. Never the dark side. That's why we keep you on the payroll.

Karl Rove:
Thank you sir. Though it is never enough, I do my best. You might be ...

The phone rings and the President picks up. Listening intently he motions to Karl to hold his thought.

President Bush:
Turd. I'll need a minute. Old Man Rumbubble wants some wise young words 'bout some of those Gitmo memos Gangsta-zales drafted. You may want to head over to PD corner, so if any those nosy lawyers think of tryin' to coerce some testimonials outta ya 'bout stuffo that ain't their bizzo anyhow, you can pledge on Sgt. Schultz's honor, you heard nuthin', you know nuthin'.

Karl Rove:
Yes sir. I need some time to order my notes too. Thank you sir.


PD corner is an abbreviation for Plausible Deniability Corner. This is the small area just off the Oval Office made infamous during the Clinton-Lewinsky imbroglio. At that time though, the corner did not have plausible deniability since President Clinton himself was personally involved in conducting inappropriate and politically costly business there. Citing his pledge to restore honor and dignity to the Oval Office, President Bush swore never to personally conduct any kind of business whatsoever in that area.

From early on, the President declared that controversial area would only be used by valued advisors performing delegated duties. This he reasoned as "win win," since it was impossible for advisors conducting business in that area to be able to hear what the President talked about around his desk and vica versa. So plausible deniability for all parties was enhanced at the same time that honor and dignity was restored.

Over in PD corner, Rove notes on a legal pad, that he cannot hear a word of the President's conversation. He can only hear the occasional outburst of laughter, stemming from what sound to be, from a plausibly deniable distance, a pretty funny conversation. Rove then takes out a piece of graph paper, a scientific calculator, and a pen. After putting on what appears to be a pair of drafting goggles, he begins writing notes:


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


WHEN W. IN WARMCHILL STATE--MOST POWERFUL FORCE IN ROOM
PRESIDENT BUSH + WARMCHILL = x
CENTRIPETAL (CENTER-SEEKING) FORCE OF CHARISMA OBSERVERS = y

CALCULATE CENTRIFUGAL FORCE (OUTWARD FORCE FEELING) ON CHARISMA OBSERVERS (co), WHILE OBSERVING THE CHARISMATIC OBJECT (BUSH/WARMCHILL (WC) - B/WC=x).

CALCULATE CENTRIPETAL FORCE GENERATED BY CHARISMA OBSERVERS (co) WHEN OBSERVING THE CHARISMATIC OBJECT ( B/WC=x)

CALCULATE PARADOX - BUSH/WC CENTRIFUGAL FORCE EXERTS FORCE (y) AGAINT (co), YET DRAWS (co) TO (X), INDEPENDENT OF CENTRIPETAL (y), YET (y) AFFECTED AND AFFECT IN WAYS YET TO BE DETERMINED (uux).

CENTIFUGAL = (Fc = mv2/r) , Fc = centrifugal force, m = mass, v = speed, and r = radius.

NOTE: People around Bush(co) like people tethered around merry-go-round. Factor in Bernoulli principle, inertial frame, Venturi effect, Coriolis effect, Coanda, etc. Feelings of centrifugal force upon (c0) feel real, but are not. Calculate feeling. Rotating around (x), (co) must exert force (centripetal) or lose positive feeling of (x). (co) in a happy,feeling due to delusion they are in a inertial frame of reference (nb. refer to Kennedy notes), when they are not, due to acceleration of bodies and emotions. Synaptic shifts (s) in rough correlation to movement of bodies in space (q)? The further (co) moves from center (x), greater force needed to maintain feeling, but affected by yet to be determined factor of energy emanating from (x). Goal, reduce the radius of psychic feeling of distance of (co) from (x), though physical distance may wax and wan. Firmly felt feeling of physical centrifugal force upon (co) is fictious - figure calculate, reverse formula to transform feelings of charismatic comfort, which feels real (unlike centrifugal forces, known to be fictious thru learning), into a formula that correlates with physical reality. Since reverse, Newtonian calculations may better measure than Quantum Mech. Things to factor in: Newton's 2nd, 3rd, Thermodynamics, possible link to, brain wave/brain chem correlation with relation, both perceived (vv) and real (rr) with (co), (ask Gonz re: Gitmo or Bagramif ok to test), (Fi = m ai.), ( (d /dt)i = (d /dt)r + w x) , ( Feff = Fi - 2m w x vr - m w x (w x r)), ( pos/neg affect of poll tested phrases, Barney , Laura, Mom, daughter locations, polls, Iraq, maybe ubl or other minor factors.

------------------------------------------------------------

President Bush:
Turd, get your snout in here. Rumbubble bubbled. Talk time. Whaddayagot?

Karl Rove:
Everything okay with Secretary Rumsfeld, I hope. Maybe just some liberal whining at him?

President Bush:
Don's doing swell. Rum bubbles boiling the liberals. Couldn't be doin' better for a man his age. Rumbubblestillskin. He's solid. Though, for a time, I was a bit worried 'bout him. During shock and awe, he kept calling me up every half-hour to ask me who my daddy is, who my daddy is. Bizarre, cause he knows Dad. He worked with him, way back when, with the Nixologian and the Not-an-Edsel. Anyway, water under the waterfall. Spill some chill, Rovcicle.

Karl Rove:
Mr. President, nothing stupendous. Just some nails for the old liberal coffin.

President Bush:
Mind of borrow your hammer? I'm feeling creative.

Karl Rove:
Not at all sir. After all, your favorite philosopher, was also a carpenter.

President Bush:
Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Mr. Flintstone? Not sure if I understand. But you're the architect.

Karl Rove:
Are you familiar with Harold Pinter? He won the Noble Prize.

President Bush:
Pinter? ...Pinter?....Harry Pinter? Yeah...Pitching coach for the Marlins farm team? Runs a Tiki bar in the off season on Padre Island? Why? I think he owes me money. Don't tell me the .......

Karl Rove:
No sir, I meant the writer from England, Harold Pinter. He won the Nobel Prize.

President Bush:
How the hell does a British writer learn how to build a new weapon system? Why can't American writers do that? BAMBOZZLE! Should we double funding for No Child Left Behind?

Karl Rove:
I'm sorry sir. I was unclear. He did not win the serious Nobel Prize. He won the literature one. He only wrote plays, basically. He did not build anything, much less a new weapon or even the theoretical basis for a new weapon.

President Bush:
Take it up with Laura. She's in charge of poems and stuff. Why should I care? I'm Commander in Chief.

Karl Rove:
Do you recall, from '94 onward, when Newt and some others were running againt Hollywood? Hollywood stuff and family values? Newt tapped into something somehow. We raised lots of money. Anyway, all that stuff, maybe just a part, may have helped to win the House? Depends on how you run the numbers. Direct mail money boon, at least. Do you recall?

President Bush:
No. Anyway, wasn't 1994 one of those years you told me to, you know, not draw attention to?

Karl Rove:
Sorry sir, that was 1974, but the larger point was the catalystic quality of having Hollywood as an enemy, a North Star, for the base to point to as a rally point of shared disdain. Helped make tax cuts possible. Some bruised feelings with the jet set, but get this - compared to Harold Pinter, Hollywood is all American.

President Bush:
I thought Hollywood was American? Maybe a little Canadian, but sometimes Canadians sound normal. Tricky that way. Haha.

Karl Rove:
Hollywood is American, at least technically. If you wish to be reductive, so is New York. But it ain't 'Murican. Point being, unlike Hollywood, Pinter is not only symbolically not American or 'Murican, in the red state sense, he is also, quite literally not an American. He is a real foreigner. He's actually British. Literally. Bonus points, he is, in many ways, anti-American. We don't have to try too hard to paint him that way. When he accepted the Nobel Prize, such as it is, he gave a lecture denoucing you as a war monger in the most strident and nasty way imaginable. You would've loved it

President Bush:
What the hell is wrong with these Brits? Are they all commies? I've been Prez, I've been Guv'nor, I've been an oil man. Along the way, I've met lots of Brits. Maybe a two dozen at least. They all seem to be to my left. Is poochy Tony the only cool one? He's pretty left too, but he's cool, 'cept wid regads da capio punishimo issimo. Actually, Prince Philip is to my right, but I promised him I wouldn't tell anyone what we discussed. Back to this Pinter.

Karl Rove:
Pinter may be useful as a hate receptacle for the base. Bad feeling out there needs to be grounded. Vague feelings of malice and anxiety can take on a measure of positive substance. Some of our intellectual friends call this process the 'pre-emptive post-historical reification of the not-yet-nihilistic moment' (PPHRNYNM). In effect, what is like air, like Pinter's image, becomes political gold. We may be able to rally the base against this wretched Pinter image. In doing so, we should elevate Pinter, so as to equate all of your critics with him. Every Democrat should be made to go on cable TV and chose between you and Pinter. Since Pinter is anti- Bush and anti-American, we steam one Democrat factions against one another, as they try to explain why their anti-Bush feelings are not necessarily pro-Pinter feelings.

President Bush:
Karl the optimist. Sounds complicated.

Karl Rove:
It's actually quite simple. Very few Americans actually know who Pinter is. He is just an unpleasant image. We were testing some shapes, sounds, and colors in front of some base voters in focus groups. We detected they had negative feelings when they were shown various picture images of Harold Pinter. In roughly the same percentage, these same base voters had positive feelings when they were shown picture images of Scotts Fertilizer, a beloved lawn care product. Among base voters, Scott Fertilizers's image generated feelings of happiness and psychological security. Pinter's image, which we will wrap around all Bush critics, generated feelings of sadness and anxiety. Incidentally, Scotts Fertilizer was a good early on sponsor of much of the cable news coverage of the Iraq war, which was pretty positive coverage. Base voters began to associate, in their own minds, the fall of Baghdad, with a their own well tended suburban lawns. That was good for you, Sir. Shall I continue?

President Bush: (Singing to the tune of rock group Kansas "Carry On Wayward Son")
Carry On My wayward Turd
There'll be no peace with you around
Lay your weary cheeks to rest
Don't you smell no more ......

Who says conservatives aren't artists? Get me a grant, Karl. Get me a grant! I want funding! I want funding !I'll add some swears. Make it radical! Ha!

Karl Rove:
Quite good, Mr. President. As a bonus, when Pinter, was addressing those godless snobs in Stockholm, he mistakenly began by splitting the theoretical rationale for his anti-Bush/anti-America comments, from from the philosophical theories that undergird his professional writing. Philosophically, he undercut his own critique, yet no one has called him on it. At least, not yet. Enter the neoconservative. Pinter made the kind of slip up that they will be able to chew on for another twenty years or so. They love that stuff. Also, Pinter has a pinched arty British accent that only the urban left digs. He does not have, as our computers will confirm, one of those plummy jolly English accents that some voters like. Moreover, he taped his Nobel lecture in a wheelchair, which is a bad choice of prop. People who love Scotts Fertilizer, like our base voters, generally do not like to receive lectures to by wheelchair bound foreigners. Interestingly, wheelchairs as a prop, often works poorly, on a subliminal level with many voting blocs, for reasons no one fully understands. To top it off, he was dressed like a leftist. He wore all black, like some ancient infernal beatnik. We couldn't design a better opponent. Believe me, we've tried. Not only...

President Bush: (cuts Rove off again and resumes singing his spoof of the Kansas rock & roll hit)
Masquerading as an advisor with a reason
Your charade is the poll of the election season
If you claim to be a wise man
Well then you all know wassup...

Hey, jusy kidding around. Haha. Continue with your spiel, Charlie Chan. So Howie is your new enemy?

Karl Rove:
One of many. Among the base, a shared disdain for ambiguity, can sometimes offset differences in policy views. With that in mind, Pinter's politics, while obviously left wing, are filled with ambiguity and contrivance. Pinter is not as ambiguous as the word "terror," but unlike "terrorism," he poses no real threat. Just words. All in all, a better enemy than Jack Murtha, who is proving to be too difficult to paint as a cowardly leftist.

President Bush:
That's fer sure. How much do we pay you? Hope it covers your little legally wiggily with Fiztnotsocool.

Karl Rove:
Definitely not cool, sir. You pay great, but I'd work for you for free. As an aside though, all these legal bills are an outrage. Maybe you know some law firms that charge a bit less?

President Bush:
Try Zoom, Schwartz, & Profigliano. Continue.

Karl Rove:
Thank you Sir. Ah, later this week we're gonna test some more Pinter images, sounds and colors. We'll see what area of the brain they affect the most. Still looking for a Kennedy angle, for direct mail purposes. We have the computers running overtime to find a Teddy-Pinter link. One of the minor Kennedy's was supposedly seen at a Pinter play back in '82. We're start from there. Maybe the Intel community can come up with more.

President Bush:
That's it?

Karl Rove:
No sir. We had a big victory with Intelligent Design. It got shot down by a judge. Gentleman, start your direct mail fundraisers. We estimate ....

President Bush:
Wait a sec. Aren't we trying to be sort of pro- Intelligent Design, but not so much that our old friends and family forget to intelligently design some campaign checks?

Karl Rove:
Exactly. This just keeps the issue out there, stewing, festering, boiling, but not burning. It's good for private schools on both sides too. So there's a voucher tie-in. Evolution, even though it's science, sounds ambiguous. Even among its supporters, only educated elitist find glee in it. I'll show you some charts. Bonus, many defenders of evolution on TV have Pinter-esque body language, snotty postures and accents. They don't test well in focus group. Not even with the non elites who agree with them. No one likes to be lectured. Look to see Hillary try to cough up some dishonest compromise, so she can try to claim to be seen as sort of pro-Intelligent Design, but in a way that is so weak for her base to be reassured that she's being tactically dishonest. We know how this works, but from the pro-American side. Anyway, we'll be able to raise a lot of money regardless.We're preemptively printing out the direct mail. We've got the computers running overtime. Some new theories will be tested soon.

President Bush:
What else you got?

Karl Rove:
Just a surfeit of optimism. Jay Rockefeller is investigating the Niger Memos. Imagine the luck. Having the name Rockefeller, means that any suspicions of conspiracy end up sticking to him, rather than us. Also, Saddam's in jail looking weak and evil. That was worth a cake walk. Further, Osama and Zarqwawi are still out there. We'll get 'em, but they are politically useful wherever they are now. Down in S. America, we have this Chavez, who is such a delightful thug, I wish I had put him on the payroll myself. In Asia, we have a Korean despot who is so ludicrous that he forces everyone to take our side. Iran is looking pretty good. Their new President seems to be a maniac, so any military action against him will split the Democrats and make them hate themselves more than they already do. There's just so much good bad news. Pretty soon we're gonna be rolling out the phrase "Pinter Democrats," as a conceptual tool to train the media to think about our domestic opposition in the proper way. We should be able to have Katie Couric and some of the other consciously using it within two weeks, then unconsciously within five weeks.

President Bush:
Hey. You do you what you want to do. But leave me out of the hate part. I have no enemies. Just adversaries. I don't hate anyone. We have people on the payroll to do all that. You guys always try to involve me in your feuds though. Scotso gets in these arguments with reporters and he always tries to drag me into it. If you wanna go after this Pinter, then that's up to you, but I'll pass on getting involved.

Karl Rove:
I understand Sir.

President Bush:
I chose my adversaries carefully. They are all in favor of the Iraq war, but for their own reasons, as if anyone cared. When you came in, you may have noticed I was studying a picture of one of my adversaries. Take a look. He may not be Pinter, but he falls far short of Scotts Fertilzer in general excellence too.

President Bush leans over and hands the photograph to Rove.

Karl Rove:
Oh Mr. President. (studying the photo) You have chosen wisely. Tom Friedman has been denouncing you in a stunningly ineffective manner in the back pages of the New York Times lately.

President Bush:
Dweebicus Maximus. That is his name. I like him though. Once again, I win, the Gore loses. This Pinter thing is your business. Do what you want. Just don't involve me. Like I said, Camptown Dweebtrack is five miles long, doo-dah!, doo-dah!, Camptown Dweebtrack supports my war, doo-dah!, doo-dah! Sure he has his own dweeby reasons. He just doesn't like my speeches. Oh and he doesn't like my oil buddies. He thinks we can control the weather! He likes the fact that I bomb Iraq, but he doesn't like my bombing style. He prefers Clinton's. But I be da bomb! Ha! Ha! Turd, you're free to go home and mow your lawn. Turd and Scotts, now that's a good fertilizer. Add a Pinter of Guinness, then put it all in your stovepipe and puff on it til we get some global warming. Then call the Gore.Ha!

Karl Rove:
Thank you, Mr. President. I'll get back to work now. Work is home.

Future Bush Script: Bush & Kristol

The President and the First Lady are sitting around a desk in the family quarters going thru the Sunday papers. She likes to read the style section, while he prefers to read the classified ads. Both scan the op-eds while waiting for political shows to begin. The President is also waiting for the political shows to end, so he can watch sports and cartoons. The President understands the American people, often for good reason, do not care much for politics. Understanding that simple fact is one reason why he wins and what he calls "the Gore" loses.

In the First Lady's corner of the desk, there's a nice lay out of bagels and cream cheese, along with a cup of coffee. She begins to do the crossword puzzle, at which she excels. In the President's corner of the desk, two small insects, of seeming equal strength, contend with each other within the confines of an empty pizza box, under the Commander-In-Chief's watchful eye. As the President is about to opine upon the meaning of what he sees, Andy Card comes in to remind him that a scheduled visitor has arrived.


Andy Card:
Mr. President, Bill Kristol is here to see you. He's scheduled. He's on time. Would you like him to, you know, wait a while, so you can finish up? I'll have him wait as long as you want him to wait. He'll wait.

President Bush:
Good morning, Half-Deck. You look good today, like a royal flush or maybe a joker or something. Send him in. I'm not afraid. Are you?

Andy Card:
Not afraid sir. I'll have him in shortly. He's on our side, you know.

President Bush:
Our side? Don't tell me what you think I know. I'll settle for him being on his side. I'm on my side, that's all I know. Tell you what, Half, Kristol is talented. He was great in that Harry Married Sally movie. He told some tough truths to Sally, right in the beginning. Tragic it took a whole movie and a ten dollar ticket price to prove him right. I'm telling the Democrats some tough truths too. Guess who will be proved right? It's gonna cost more than ten bucks this time. Hey, haven't we all seen this movie before? Maybe the Democrats are just like Sally. Sally was better looking though. Haha. Hey, Kristol's a baseball fan too. Gotta love that. Sure he's a Yankee fan, but I forgive his anti-Rangers liberal bias. What's important is he made a good baseball movie. That's good for baseball overall. What's good for baseball is good for 'Murica. Besides, he's a New Yorker. If a New Yorker tells you he's a Texas Rangers fan, don't trust him. Would you trust Zarqawi, if Zarqawi was a baseball fan, and he told you he was loyal to the anti-Zarqawi baseball team? Incidentalcoolcatally, Zarqawi ain't no baseball fan. No way.

Andy Card:
Yes, Mr. President, I mean no, I mean, ah, I never trust Zarqawi, uhh , ahh this Kristol is not the one, ah ... oh..(gulp)... we all trust you to do the right thing. Maybe the First Lady can help ....

President Bush:
Save your strength, Half. You Da HAM ! Send him in. I'll be okay. Anyo problemo, the First Lady is here to helpo. Go and get him, then eat some Alpo.Take the rest of the day off and spill a chill.

Andy Card:
Yes sir. Thank you sir. The complete text of my full briefing for you is on this paper. Hope there's no confusion. If there is, I am sorry I was not clear. I'll keep my cell on.

President Bush:
Keep your cell on? How can you chill? You're staff, not a Denture Servant. Supposedly. So relax. Vamose. Go home. Chill-osity watch starts now. I am turning on the ice box. Bye Bye. Tomorrow's D-Day. I'll see you on the beach.


Andy Card leaves the room with speed. On his way out, he orders his own aide, a dutifull but frightened young man the President has nicknamed Cardscard, to send Mr. Kristol in. Card then tells Cardscard to stop shaking like a leaf and to make real sure the President is not too surprised when he discovers it's not the actor Billy Crystal, but William Kristol, the neoconservative theoretician, coming in to see him. After Card gets into the elevator, the First Lady looks up from her crossword puzzle. She seems somewhat dismayed, if not surprised.


First Lady:
Oh George, that was not very nice. Andy is so loyal, but he's scared to tell you the truth. Sometimes you jump at him. He tries so hard. You know who he was talking about. You better not try these stunts with me. Besides, you got that movie all wrong.


Indicating some safe feminism, the First Lady raises, then lowers, an eyebrow.


President Bush:
Look, I'm just toughen' him up a bit. For his own good. He's been working for our family forever. When we set him free, I want him to be able to face the world, on his own terms. Bambozzle! Hey, when I was young, I was made mistakes. I don't want Andy to repeat my errors. If Dad was as tough, but fair, with me, as I am with Andy, maybe I would not have made as many mistakes. Then again, if I didn't make all those mistakes, I'd probably never be President, since I'd lack that common touch, which helps to set me apart from Dweebacles like the Gore.


The President is conflicted within. In his own mind, he believes what he is telling the First Lady. Yet, his heart is whispering to him that the First Lady's harsh rebuke may not be with without some merit. Frustrated, he slams the pizza box shut, bringing the insect fight contained therein to a smashing, if inconclusive, conclusion.

The President forgets which bug, if any, he was rooting for. Yet he decides, in his own mind, to declare the bug that he was rooting for, before he forgot which bug that was, to be the decisive winner. In reality, both bugs lost equally and deep in his heart, the President sadly knows this to be the case.

As Bill Kristol walks in, the First Lady gets up to greet him and put him at ease. Kristol is respectful, but somewhat amused by this. He recalls a recent lecture. An earnest young woman, full of well meaning, if somewhat simple views, had kept congratulating him on being awarded a visit to her small red brick red state college. Looking at the First Lady, with some measured condescension, he muses on the general usefullness of seemingly unscripted enthusiasm.

After motioning to the First Lady to return to her a seat, Kristol gives a grown up nod toward the President, then he sits down himself. Kristol begins speaking as he rifles thru his briefcase looking for a summary of what he has come to inform the President about. The President waits a minute, then cuts Kristol off right in the middle of a point, causing Kristol to lose his railroad of thought.

President Bush:
Your mom, Gertrude Himmelfarb, is a good woman. A scholar. She is unique.

Kristol is surprised and further amused. Does President Bush really know about his mother's scholarship? Kristol allows a smug chuckle to be buried safely beneath the outward layer of the marketable mirth that coats his otherwise very serious demeanor.

Bill Kristol:
Oh thank you so much, Mr. President. (speaking slowly) Also, thank you for awarding my father the Medal of Freedom. We Kristol's argue about much. Some people say, we argue the world, but we all admire your courageous foreign policy. It's to your credit that you continue to lean forward. If you err, let it be on the side of strength, of victory.

President Bush:
Let me ask you a question. Did your mom ever tell you or tell others that she thought you were a nice kid? Did she ever say, "That son of mine, he is so nice? " Anything, along those lines?

Kristol is taken aback. The interogatory unsettles him some. He finds it to be impertinent.

Bill Kristol:
Ahh, well, we all have moms. Going forward, concerns about all mothers obviously remain paramount. No one that matters would ever suggest otherwise. As you know better than most, Iranian mothers are now under particular strain. As we turn our attention toward them, serious people will concur it's to your cre...

President Bush:
Mr. Supershineykristolball you're spinning too far ahead of things. We'll get to Running moms and Soccer moms soon enough. Are you now Mr. Topic Change Machine? Okay, I just put my dollar Bush in your machine. Now gimme me all four quarters of truth, not just your too bad sense. Gimme a Kristol clear answer. This Bush burns. Don't burn back. You might catch fire. Who ya gonna call if that happens? The McLaughlin Group? Bye-Bye! My boy Johnny Mickey Laughey don't even have you on his show. Bye-Bye! You think he'll save you?


Kristol begins to sense that he is losing control of the conversation. Very privately, he recalls Lenin's formulation, "Who? Whom?": Those who ask the question, often determine the answer. Who is asking whom? What just happened? Part of him resents being bested at this game, by someone he came to guide, rather than be guided by. However, another part of him is reassured, even thrilled. Up close, he is seeing the President, a man who once gave him pause, use the power of his office and the force of his personality, to control the dialogue and to set the terms of debate. Damm.

A measure of panic sets in, just for a split second, as he realizes that his degrees, his resume, and his intelligence are worthless at such moments. It's a dangeous feeling. It's an exciting feeling. He's up against raw power. The Leviathan does not care what it's target has read or said. It destroys the target. Is he a target? Obviously not. But now he can sense what it's like to be on the wrong side of power. He hates it, but he loves it. Alas, it's his power too. He's on the right side, is he not?

Such awesome power, he thinks, if channeled properly, can be an end in itself, not just a means to an end. If John Keegan's seminal masterpiece, "The Face of Battle," told one all one needs to know about blood terror of ground combat, then being on the receiving end, if only momentarily, of President Bush's manipulative schema, should serve as an equivalent lesson about the realities of power. Kristol feels the heat. Is this his Icarian moment? Hardly. Consider it one ferocious lesson in practical politics. He internalizes it.


Bill Kristol:
Mr. President, please forgive my lack of focus. It's a flaw. Let my rhetorical errata be my political stigmata. Your cause is my cause and my cause is to bear witness. In doing so, my hope, our hope, is to ....

President Bush:
You still have not answered me. If you continue to try to change the subject, I'll make you run to 7-11, get me a Big Gulp, and be back within twenty-seven minutes. Make that a Double Big Gulp, which is harder to run with because the plastic top is so wide that it falls off when you squeeze the cup, which you can't help but do when running. For every minute you're late, I'll make you do twenty-seven pushups, in symbolic honor of your original twenty-seven minute time limit, which you will fail to meet!

Bill Kristol:
Yes, Mr President. I understand now. I apologize for the delay. My mother often told me I was a nice kid. Even though I am now middle age, she will sometimes still employ saccharine adjectivals as part of her general advocacy. However, since she is my mother, her compliments on my behalf and even her Nelsonian broadsides against shared adversaries, while lovingly appreciated, are of limited practical utility to me due to perceptions of bias. Besides, as I seek to cultivate Arete, only achievments that are clearly my own, are worth drawing attention to. Nevertheless, you're larger point is well taken Mr. President. Indeed, we all do have mothers. I suppose my initial reticence, was a conditioned reflex...

President Bush:
Stop. Conditioned reflex? Who are you? Yogi Berra or just a cup of yogurt stolen from a Yogi? I think it's number two and your dripping it all over Da Place. You missed my point, Mr. Pointlocator-notabletoator. (sternly) You did not listen.

Bill Kristol:
Forgive me. Please, I am at a loss for words. (now genuinely nervous) Why do you want to know? I will tell you all you wish to know. We are on the same side, Mr. President. I assure you, you have no more loyal ally.

President Bush:
Your last six words are false. Are they lies? I'll let it slide, cause you seem nervous. But if you were on the payroll, we'd have to haze you and have you streak around the West Wing with a Chirac mask on and some of Jeb's Florida oranges strategically placed for modesty sake. Believe you me that ain't funny, you know, 'cept for spectators. Brother Marv laughs loudest, just so you know. Don't worry. You're safe, for now. You're learning your place in the Dubyaverse. You're only a little nervous. You're a pretty cool customs officer. At least you don't smell like hell. Not yet. But should da Busho cause you some pusho, you may want to borrow some advispers from Me Press Smelletary Scotso Plopso on your way out the dooreedoo, Paleeepoo. Just smashing your chops. You actually smell like a televison talking point or maybe a library. Like a whole lotta books. Maybe that's why the First Lady gave you that warm smile of hers.

First Lady:
George.

President Bush:
Uh sorry. Just joshing wid Da Frosh. Now dat Kristol here knows which way the sun shines, I'll try to cue him in how to shine some shoes. Your Mom called you nice. Not a big deal. Like you said, we all got moms. Even my mom said I was nice. I think it was in 1987 or 1990. What counts most is what Forty-Three says about her, not what she says about you. You missed that. Guess your SAT scores were not that great, huh? Guess what? Neither we're Bill Bradley's; they were much worse than mine. Not that your icky little pals in the fancy media cared to notice. Ohhh noooo, they called Bradley a "thinker," so when his rotten egg scores came out, they all said, "oh, irrelevant." But your lib pals called me "dumb." So when my far far better scores came out, they all said, "not good enough for me or MIT." We'll guess what? It backfired, Cooter. Yeah, maybe my SAT scores were not good enough for MIT, but they were much better than Mister Individual Talkradiolistener's, who just happens to be the MIT that votes. So Mister Individual Talkradiolister put on his Good Folks Cap and said, "hey, if they think his scores were bad, what do they think about me and my scores?" Capicey Cooly?

Bill Kristol:
Spot on, Mr. President. Spot on.

President Bush:
Spot on? You ain't a Brit. Why pretend you are?

Bill Kristol:
Agreement, sir. Just wished to let you know, in no uncertain terms, that I concur with your statement, both in letter and in spirit. I am in the media, but certainly not of it. Standing apart, I maintain critical distance. Further, I am a conservative, not a liberal. You have me as a supporter, not as an opponent.

President Bush:
Yeah, the liberals oppose me cause they think I'm dumb, but you folks supported me cause you thought I was dumb. Are you learning otherwise? Good for you. We all grow up. I'm still growing. Have you seen how much Andy Card has grown? Anyway. You ain't unique thinking I'm dumb. Also, you ain't unique to lie say that ain't what you thought, which is what you were 'bout to do before I mercifully cut you off. You're also not unique to mimic the Brits. Ohhhh noooo. You press guys all love the Brits, with their Corinthian leather accents. You're all jealous them and they are jealous of your paychecks. Spot on? Who you kidding? Like I said, you may be smart, you may be on my side for now, but you ain't unique. Hooch is unique, but that's another story. Do you know who else is unique. Do you know?

Bill Kristol:
You are unique, Sir.

President Bush:
No I'm not. I'm just an ordinary guy, who came here by way of West Texas. Put a fishing rod in my hand, a pinch of chew in my cheek, when I'm done here fighten evil, and I'll be back to Mt. Vernon. I mean Prarie Chapel Ranch, in Crawford, Tee-Has, USA. But I do appreciate the thought. Now, think Egghead. Who is unique, that you know?

Bill Kristol:
I give up sir. I am at your mercy. Please forgive me of my ignorance.

President Bush:
Your mother is unique. I informed you about that directly. Don't you listen when people talk about your Mamma? What's wrong with you? Here I am, the most powerful man in the history of the world in one of the best planets in the solar system and I'm telling you about you Mom, and you miss a key detail. Say what? Now, why is that? What else you missing? Need a milk carton?

Bill Kristol:
I do not know sir. Exchanging pleasantries, I did not wish to read into it. Maybe I read into what should have been heard plainly. I did listen though. I recalled you called my mother a scholar and I was grateful, in my own way, for that.

President Bush:
Grateful to hear your mom called a scholar? Do you have any idea how many scholars there are in America? Hundreds, at least. But unique is special. Scholar is boring. Unique was the word I used to describe your Mom, but you worried more about she said to describe you! You missed the mountain for the pebbles or trees or something. Why is your Mom unique? Don't tell me you don't know.

Bill Kristol:
Her IQ is in the top percentile? She was ahead of the curve, rejecting socialism?

President Bush:
Rejecting socialism? How does that make her unique? Besides a Pair of Eyeglasses at Yale and maybe a young Putin, who ever believed in socialism to begin with? Rejecting something that nobody in ever believed in is not unique. Also, theres lots of smart folks with a high BS score. That ain't unique. Look, I'll have to help you out. A little help! A little help! Didn't I ask you if your Mom ever described you as nice? Didn't I? Come on.

Bill Kristol:
Yes Sir. You did, Sir.

President Bush:
Bingo. That makes her unique. That does not make you nice. Did I call you nice? You better listen real good. Your supposed "nice" qualities are not why I or anyone else who is cool will ask you for advice. Nope. Leave "nice" to Gertrude. She's unique. How many others think you are nice? Do the math. Actually, don't bother, we've done the math and I gotta tell you, it's classified! Maybe Scooter will leak it down your leg the next time he pats you on the back. Maybe my spies will tell me. Hey pal. You are smart, but only when someone forces you to really think.

Bill Kristol:
Thank you, sir. Sorry I missed the nuance. No scratch that. It wasn't nuance. It was direct, straightforward, and solid. Rock of Gibralter. I am learning from you to look at things as they are. I am improving. I wish to offer advice.

President Bush:
Not nice advice. I don't want nice advice. Laura's nice. She gives me too much nice advice.

First Lady:
George

Bill Kristol:
No nice advise, I promise. Grown up, hard bitten, cold, calculating, sage advice. Lippmanesque, but with an edge. I promise. Not to diminish the, no doubt, excellent advice, which you regard as nice, that you receive from the First Lady.

First Lady:
Oh Bill.

President Bush:
Time to stop playing Chinese Checkers with the Syrian and the Iranian? After all, they ain't Chinese. Agree?

Bill Kristol:
Agree? (elated) Oh boy do I. You are always an upside surprise Mr. President. You are like a stock that consistantly beats the Street's consensus estimates. You are so right. We have to deal with the Syrians and the Iranians. Oh boy, you are right about that. How right you are. Yes, Sir.

President Bush:
How soon you forget. I told you to listen. I said Iranian and Syrian. I did not say Iranians and Syrians. I am speaking of their Mean Teams, not the their people, who I have found, after studing the World Almanac, to be real fine folk. Of course, if we stop playing Chinese Checkers with their Mean Teams and we start playing, something a bit more shocking or a bit more awesome, some good folks might get scratched, but it ain't intentional. You understand? You shave, right? You've cut yourself by accident, right? If you shaved a whole city, full of men with beards, you'd probably have even more accidental cuts and scratches, right? Not intentional though, right? Just so we all read from the same stage (wink). You like to read right? That's what Laura says.

First Lady:
George

Bill Kristol:
Excellent advice, Mr. President. Excellent. No more lazy plural coming from me. Would you like me to write about our meeting in a column? Would you prefer a whispering campaign? I will be having cocktails with just about everyone that matters in the next month or so. The broader struggle for freedom, during our unipolar moment, in the "what went wrong" areas, where our many adversaries plot and plan, is one that cannot be limited to one so-called nation state or another. Antique borders, drawn up by very serious and very admirable British colonial officiers, in days gone by, are just that. They are antique and are best honored in the breach or when they appear on the wall of a map room in a fine London club.

President Bush:
Kristol Gets Game! Continue.

Bill Kristol:
Freedom is not just another word for nothing less to lose. Freedom is a world in which we don't lose. Losing is a word that brave men are not free to speak. You are brave, Mr. President, and one day the world will be free. When that day comes, and it will, the whole world will know your name. They will speak of the struggle, and the result. They will speak of the honor, the nobility, and the true peace, whose name will be yours. Victory. Our children and our children's will sing songs about us, but we will always sing songs about you.

President Bush:
I think you snagged part of that "song" angle from Perletoon, but I'll let it slide. Hey, I like a song now and then, though I can't really sing. Though the First Lady might testafool you otherwise.

First Lady:
George.

President Bush:
I'm gonna need you way out in front in the next year or so. A whole lotta shaken' going on, if you catch my Bush? It might get a little hot. You don't mind a little heat no do you, Mr. Bill? If you leave the kitchen, I bet you'd have some company. Hairy times. No time for comb overs or do overs. Hey, you don't mind some flack, do you? Put on your flack jacket. Just like a soldier, sort of. Hey, It doesn't bother you when they call you a chickenhawk?

Bill Kristol:
Bother me? It does not even register. In any event, the premises implicit in the hate epithet "chickenhawk," have already been demolished by my editorial staff. They also call you, ah um, what I mean is that it's a not an argument, but a rhetorical club, used to bash serious intellectual inquiry. To illustrate, I probably use the minerals chromite and borate in a variety of consumer products, in my house, most of which I am not aware of. Those minerals may have been originally mined in Turkey. I am not a Turkish citizen. Does anyone suggest that I should not be allowed to use consumer products containing those commodites, just because I've never been a Turkish citizen? Also, I avail myself of police resources to protect myself, my property, and my family. Yet, I do not have many law enforcement personel in my family. Does anyone serious suggest just because I may lack a familial connection to this or that particular protective unit, that I should not be allowed to advance contrarian law enforcement theories in my magazine? I am a citizen. I can speak and write about whatever I wish. So it's true that I benefit from military resources, but I have not been in the military. So what. If it did matter, I more than made up for it with my strenuous advocacy on behalf the Reagan defense budget, in each fiscal year, at a critical time during the cold war, and in front of hostile liberal audiences. I've never been shot at in battle, but I have been sneered at, shouted at, and even had pies tossed my way. Half the subscribers of Harper's hate my guts. How do I know? They tell me so to my face when I see them at cocktail parties. I've paid my dues and then some.

President Bush:
You're a good man Charlie Brown. Don't be so defensive though. Before I forget, I recall you mentioned that fact I gave your poppy Irvy the Medal of Freedom. You're Dad's is a good man. He supports me. But you shouldn't try to take credit for your Dad's accomplishment. Did you ever go hunting with your Dad and then try to take credit for his kills? Hey, do you recall the first time you, as a young man, went hunting, without your Dad or Jim Baker around to serve as chaperon? If not, I got a lesson for you.

Bill Kristol:
I'm not sure I follow.

President Bush:
One summer, home from Andover, I went hunting with some of the fellas from Midland. None of our Dads were with us and neither was Jim Baker. It was our first time. Anyway, after some stealthy recon, we found our prey. But when I slinked up on me tippy toes and went to stab this damm pig in the ass, I slipped in some of his swine slop and woke up some of the pig's family. I knew I had better hurry up or else I was gonna be the pig's family's pig, if you know what I mean (wink). Some of my pals ran away. Others stayed. Those that stayed are with me to this day. Those that ran away are mostly in jail for one reason or another. So there I was, facing this stuck swine, stabbing it furiously with my Bowie knife, an original Arkansas toothpick. My knife was not sharpened! No matter how hard I stabbed, the beast would not die. Pig blood is everywhere! Bits between my teeth! Soon it degnerated into a fistfight. Thankfully pigs don't have fists. Meanwhile the pig's family starts going after me. But you know, in a way, I respect that. Still I had to run away. The pig's family chased my oinky ass all accross, what seemed like half of West Texas. I finally escaped. A few months later, I found out my Dad was playing golf with the owner of those pigs. You can imagine how I felt! When I was introduced the owner, I felt like he knew. I just sensed it. Where were we? My point is, be prepared. Sharpen your tools. Don't get a head of yourself. Know the difference between real and fake allies. I'd like to think you're a stand up guy. Would you have stuck with me, while I stuck that pig? Sometimes I am not sure.

First Lady:
George

Bill Kristol:
Mr. President, I'm not sure I can place myself in that particular situation. I wish I could, but I cannot. Maybe that's no longer quite right. Arguably a soupçon of faith based dietary rigor on my part, providing it meets the old Kantian smell test, could dovetail propitiously with the propogation of your Weltanschauung. Though logically beside the point and often grounded more in metaphysics than in the realities of the modern Polis, personal displays of any exacting discipline, can sometimes lend one added argumentative credibility with broader audiences. Many studies have shown this. Regardless, even in my freewheeling soi-disant apikoros youth, I would have probably demurred from joining your intrepid posse altogether on that fatefull day. Perhaps, my imagination is too occupied right now, but I just cannot see myself in such an extreme scenario.

President Bush:
Why not? You're in one right now. Hey, you hunt Dove Tail?

First Lady:
George

Bill Kristol:
Touche. I guess I didn't hunt animals too much as a kid. But I did manage to witness and hear about some feuds between Lillian Hellman, Mary McCarthy, Dwight McDonald, and many others, that would make that peculiar developmental moment of yours seem pretty tame by camparison. Not just with the Partisan Review crowd, mind you. Don't get me started on Commentary or Dissent. Interesting, till this day, I can still recall exactly where I was the first time I was told about William Barrett's break with Marx and modernism. All I can say, Mr. President, is that I will stick with you as you continue to pursue the Bush Doctrine, which happens to be outlined in vivid detail, in my magazine. Perceptive eyes have sometimes blinked noticing that we have been more loyal to your doctrine than some wobbly elements that have burrowed within your otherwise exemplary team. You can think of us as another set of eyes and ears, aiding your own, which are acute but objectively not omnipotent.

President Bush:
Not omnipotent? Hmm. Should I dump Cheney and hire Cialis?

First Lady:
George.

Bill Kristol:
What I meant, Mr. President is that I think. Oh let me see, I don't want to misspeak.

President Bush:
Then don't speak. You ain't Larry Speakes, by the way. Here, read this memo Turd flushed down to me before you came in. I probably shouldn't show this to you, but here it is.


Kristol looks at the memo handed from the President. Immediately In the front of his mind is a worry that he just touched something that may one day constititute part of chain of evidence in one sordid criminal proceeding or another, whether in the US or the EU. The last thing he needs to worry about is the dread spectre of a looming warrent when he lands in Madrid, Paris, Brussells, Bonn or Berne to give a talk or sit on a panel. But isn't this his crowded hour? Time to takes risks. If not now, when? Alas, as Kristol leans forward and begins to read, liquified condescension within his being begins to evaporate, leaving granulated bits anxiety desperate to fill some of the empty spaces.

Memo To President
From: CodusTurdus
Re: Kristol, Development, Influence, British Empire Etc.
EYES/DWR/DAMAGE/OPPO/PKJKRTD-0786497989/CODE AP/LIBSCALE (a.6.7.b)/UNCERTAIN/WORKUP
Nota Bene, Source Book, Gang of Five,By N.Easton, LIBSCALE (7.d.1.-z.)EYES//others sources/TS/EYES
*Some casual backround [intercept:^&^*%*%*&%^%-codes **
* Plus, [Kristol} wore Agnew T-shirt/despite thinking Agnew crass/called RN 1972 bombing of Haiphong "one of the great moments of American History." May not have been sincere/Supported "Scoop" Jackson for Pres.
* Easton alledges Riverside Dr, NYC address/No known Kristol denial/admitted socialists nearby (rumor)
* [Kristol] -Starts magazine in 7th grade (two collaborators)/Name:Turtle Scoops/satire(allegedly)/ Based on Hellenist myth of Hermes (possible syncretism away from born faith)(vulnerability scale:Vz3) (nb: parents diet reportedly unrestricted-Scale:f-q/cue:unconfirm//statL^h
NB- Kristol mom named Bea. Prof.nameGertrude/Advise: use Gertrude so as to maintain psychic distance/admirer of 19th cent. Brit. Empire/Tory/brown eyes/ negative view of moderns// comments:Codeax:676gghty76ygyw576dud677DECODES
*1974-Kristol with collaborators participlated in **Ritual Pig Roast**/celebrating British Empire/100th BdayChurchill/admires foreigners//Exoteric/Esoteric split rating:v3e
*1977-Declared pop singer Billy Joel a Straussian due to pop hit 'stranger' (check intel) "we all have a face we hide away forever/-Kristol allegedly initiated to Strauss-Hellenist -Faction (S.H.F)(Plato:codee4) in the 70s/Strauss-faction-Source (#34))says attempt to create Philosopy Empire/2V2/tutored by Mansfield/Blitz, calls for "guided populism" and elite build "politics of liberty, the sociolgy of virtue."Athens/Jerusalem split/dichotomy//////////////code///////////////////////
Code:information/cue in pw *******?XCON677876hjhj677?/EYES/Burn coded mark
*Senior thesis-coopted de Toqueville to criticise non elite settlers treatment of Indians-could be op-opted by left on this point (issue code888)//PhD- calls seperation of powers"sacred"-good when he applies to Courts usurping Congress/But could be turned against us/vis-a-vis-inaccurate 16 words in SOTU and other inaccuracies/Kristol-established tactical distance from Reed-Scanlan-Abramoff-Norquist/Code:vxrytg67?/EYES/Annoys Bob Dole/Friends with Gary Bauer
*****CodeDFR-HJHY-DS-NO*****


President Bush:
Well well well. Look who likes to party with pigs. Look who like to par-tee with pigs!.(Mimics French accent). Le Chateau Le Oink Meiser, Vintage 1974. Haha. Celebrating the British Empire? in the 1970s? At Harvard? And your liberalmedia buddies make fun of me because I was normal and liked good times and stuff. Yet, here you are torching pigs in ritual! With no drug use allegations? Did you offer the pig a fair fight? At least I fought fair with the pig and his family. Well sorta fair. I think some of the pig's extended family still recognize me. I have to live with that. Interesting year, 1974. That's one of the years Turd asked me not to draw attention to (wink), but the one thing I can tell you I was not doing in 1974 was burning up some pig carcasses in Harvard Yard, celebrating the lost Albino-Sexy glory, even though I am a White Albino Sexist Protestant, which would've given me a damm good excuse.

Bill Kristol:
We were young and idealistic. Context is key. We were mostly honoring Churchill, so in a sense we were, pre-emptively honoring you, since you are picking up where Churchill left off.

President Bush:
So your pig pickin' is sort of tied, symbolicooly, into my pig stickin'? But Churchill was the British Empire. I talked about him with Hooch. The British Empire died.

Bill Kristol:
But the American Empire is being born. Maybe it was born as you darted accross that West Texas prarie like a shooting star. You were the fortunate son stealing blood from that unfortunate swine, like Prometheus stealing fire from the Gods. Maybe my small taste of the forbidden pig, some years later, in heady days of youth, was but a small taste of truth, of the future, of power. Maybe my sensibility was not with the past, but with the future, with you, with Empire, with glory not yet seen, but dreamt about mightily. We are only as brave as our dreams.

President Bush:
I had a dream last night. A very clear dream - the kind the experts call a lucifer dream. In my dream, my dog Barney, stole all of my socks.

First Lady:
George.

President Bush:
Where were we? We have a big day of games, but that's more important than you wonkers think. We'll have talk more later about those Mean Teams. Maybe you'll wanna write about this in your little magazine. Not sure if you should refer to me as a "senior administration official." Too many folks will figure out it's me. Maybe you should just say you spoke to me, that way enough folks will assume you're lying and they''ll attribute it all to Karl. That'll give me some deniacoolcatability, should I begin to supect some time down the road you be thinking of stickin' me politically, like I stuck that scrappy slopster.

Bill Kristol:
I shall stick with you, first, last, and always.

President Bush:
We'll see. Recall what I told you about how we'd have to haze you if your were on the payroll? Let's see how good you are at math. I already told you Marv laughs loudest. What If you slip in some political slop in the next year or so and force us to have you helmet the Chirac mask for the old West Wing runaround? What percentage of all people, good guys and bad guys, would find that to be a hilarious to see or hear about. What percentage?

Bill Kristol:
Everyone except my mother?

President Bush:
Wrong! You're Mom is your Mom, but she's human. Come on, she'd laugh.

First Lady:
George.

President Bush:
Awright, I'll cut you some slack on that one. Maybe I was too strict, but you're learning your way around the Dubyaverse. The First Lady's making me soft (wink). Gotta let you go. Johnny Mickey Laughey is on. Too bad he don't have you on. Maybe he should. Maybe not. Maybe I'll tell him too. We'll see. Bye Bye!

Bill Kristol:
Thank you, Mr. President. It was a pleasure.

President Bush:
A pleasure? That's Kristol's too bad sense spewing, not my four quarters of truth speaking. Gimme my dollar Bush back.

First Lady:
George.

President Bush:
Hey Kristol, maybe we'll have to send you thru the East Wing, not the West Wing. The East Wing is the First Lady's wing. It's mostly women over there. Haha. That would be hilarious. Just kidding. For now. Haha.

First Lady:
George

President Bush:
Bye Bye!

Picture Credit: S. Mitchell/HarvardNewsService

Future Bush Script: Media & McClellan

Liberalmedia:
Scott, the President has been in office for five years, but he never says he's sorry. Why won't he apologize? Or admit error? Why not one sincere, "sorry?" Even David Brooks, the conservative, told me he thought a Presidential apology was fair when I saw him at a cocktail party. I'd like a follow up. Just one, please.

Scott McClellan:
This President believes in accountability. He says what he means and he means what he say. Standing firm. Shoulder to shoulder. Never again. NineEleven. The mistake that occurred - er ah, the one I believe you are alluding to - when that mountain girl, Ms. England, was caught being mean to some evildoers, has already been dealt with by court martial. Does that satisfy you?

Liberalmedia:
Yes. Thanks Scott. Oh, about the Iraqi elections...

Scott McClellan:
Make it quick.

Liberalmedia:
Does Moktada al-Sadr support a woman's right to choose?

Scott McClellan:
I'll have to get back to you on that one. Next question?

Liberalmedia:
Thanks Scott. Sorry to be so pushy.

Les:
Tony Blair is a socialist. He's basically admitted as much. You do know that Scott, don't you? With that in mind, what...

Scott McClellan:
Les, I fail to see where you are ...

Les:
Let me finish Scott, Mao didn't celebrate Christmas. You know that Scott. The ChiComs don't even celebrate Santa, much less real Christmas. Don't dodge Scott. Don't dodge Scott. You know it's true. You know it's true. What does the President, on whose behalf you presume to speak, think about thems apples?

Scott McClellan:
The President is not Chinese, Les. Trust me, I anticipated that one.

Mainstreammedia:
Trust Scott??? You told all of us that Rove and Libby had nothing to do with the Plame leak. Now we know that was wrong. We know you were wrong! How can we trust you anymore?

Scott McClellan:
Ongoing investigation. President wants to get to the bottom. Ongoing investigation. NineEleven. Ongoing investigation. I told you we have trust. Look at the transcript. The transcript says we have trust. Does that answer your question?

Mainstreammedia:
Yes. Thanks Scott. Sorry to be so pointed. Didn't mean to imply anything. You have trust. It's in my editors notes and it's in your personality profile.

Helen:
Scott, everything you say is wrong. Everything you say is the opposite of the truth. Why?

Scott McClellan:
Helen, you can disagree with fighting terrorism. If you wish to take the side of the evildoers, that's your right. We can disagree, but you must trust us to tell you the truth about America's policies, even if you wish to take the other side.

Helen:
How can I or any of us trust you Scott? How? Everything you say is wrong. You...

Scott McClellan:
Helen, please. No one doubts us on trust. Sorry to cut you off, but you have to trust me. Trust is part of the Mainstreammedia's consensus view of me. Go check Mainstream's notes. Go check them. Before you ask another question, keep in mind, we have soldiers in harm's way.

Mainstreammedia:
Sorry to be so rough Scott. Happy Holidays.

Scott McClellan:
Thanks, oh ah..wait.. uh...holidays? Uh... Mainstream. Not uhhh sure, ahh if that's uhh. Look, let's just take it slow, ahh - hafta get back to you on that. The President, uhhh...ahh...uhhh, wants all Americans..uhh...

Les:
Ha! You're afraid to disagree Scott. What ever happened to Merry Christmas? Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Scott McClellan:
Les, you had your say. Come on everyone. Let's just slow down a bit. This press event must come to a close now. Harm's way. Soldiers. NineEleven. Trust. NineEleven. Ongoing. NineEleven.Thanks.


Scott McClellan leaves the podium. He is sweating from the grilling he just endured. The hands of a free press are hot hands indeed. In his worst nightmares, he never anticipated such a hostile media environment. Sometimes he wonders if it was all worth it. But the day is not over. Now he has to debrief the President. He whispers a modest prayer to himself, hoping the President is in a good mood. Did the President see the grilling? On the one hand he hopes he did. On the other hand, he is not sure. Much depends on the President's mood.

As he walks into the Oval Office, Scott notices the President is lying on the floor with his favorite pillow near the fireplace. He is playing the Strat-O-Matic baseball boardgame with Barney, his dog. At first the President does not notice Scott, so he continues chatting with Barney. The President calls these chats barkversations. Barney barks, then the President barks back. Both seem to understand and respect each other on a very deep level . Scott envies the level of communication Barney has with the President. Sometimes Scott thinks to himself that Barney should be the Press Secretary, if that would help to communicate the President's vital message during this time of terror. Barney is the President's best friend. Scott's just staff. Valued staff indeed, but staff nonetheless.


Scott McClellan:
Mr. President, I just briefed the press. I want to review...

President Bush:
Briefed the press? Where? In the Gulf of Mexico? What's that smell? Ew, Scott The Stinkbomb. Did you soil yourself? You smell like Hell.

Scott McClellan:
Uhhhh.....ahhhhh......

President Bush:
No excuses Scott. Never let 'em see you sweat or smell your smell. Next time just take some salt tablets and beta blockers. Maybe some B12 too. Might be a good idea to wear "Depends" adult diapers for briefs too, especially if you expect to de-brief me afterwards. When I said I want "the poop," I meant I want the news of the day. I do not want the actual poop in your pants. Anyway, that was one tough grilling you got. Helen was viscous. Viscous. Viscous. Vicious. Abu Grillen', almost.

Scott McClellan:
Uh...ah..Yes, it appears Helen does not trust you. I'm sorry sir.

President Bush:
Nice try Scott. Don't shift blame. I saw the exchange. Helen never mentioned me. She did mention you. A couple of times she said you were wrong. She asked whether or not you can be trusted. She did not mention me once. Personally, I get along with Helen. Leave me out of your dust up. I have enough to worry about without getting involved with one of your little spats with reporters - this pesky press stuff.

Scott McClellan:
Sorry sir. Accountability. My fault. Standards.

President Bush:
Those media jackals went after you just like Barney goes after a buried bone. Sometimes when Barney's asleep, I move the buried bone, just for a friendly tease. Barney starts looking for the bone again in the morning at the old spot, because some of the bone scent remains. Eventually Barney realizes that the bone is not there, but only after he makes a funny waste of valuable potential dogbone-time. I feel a little guilty, but I always apologize to Barney. He forgives me. Scott, word to the wise, think of yourself as a human dogbone, a Scottbone, who can hide himself anew after each press conference. Maybe Reburiedscottbone should be your new nickname. We'll see. Has a ring to it. Maybe I'll adjust it. Maybe I'll shorten it. So long as it illustrates my Scottbone reburial theory. Tomorrow morning, the press dogs will start digging for you again, in all your Scottbone-osity, in all those old Scottbone burial locations. Make sure to move the Scottbone, but leave some Scottbone-scent for trick bait. By the time those press dog reporters realize the Scottbone went missing, the news-cycle will have changed.

Scott McClellan:
Excellent advice, Mr. President.

President Bush:
I see they singled you out for some grief on the Holiday/Christmas issue too. That's just wrong. These so-called liberals are not very tolerant, huh? No manners. Sorry to see them put you in that position.

Scott McClellan:
Uh, no problem sir. Politics.

President Bush:
Taking one for the team? Good for you. If you had a jib, I'd like the cut of it.

Scott McClellan:
Thank you sir. Much appreciated. I replied to ...

President Bush:
Scotso, you know this "War on Christmas" stuff is not exactly my bag. I don't really see it. Really. You don't see me pushing it, do you? If some wanna play that tune, maybe that's ok, but not me. Maybe Karl wants it to fester a bit - breed some anxiety stink for later on? Me? Bambozzzle !!! I already got lots of wars going on. I'm not prejudiced either Scott. No siree, not a bit. I think I've been pretty inclusive. You catch?

Scott McClellan:
Yes sir. Might be a distraction sir.

President Bush:
Ha, you catch my drift and I catch yours. Catch as catch can. Right Ho, Paleepoo! Incidentally Scotty, not to toot my own horn, but I think you'll have to agree, I've been very inclusive. I've been a pretty good friend to Israel too. Some say better than my Dad. Agree?

Scott McClellan:
Uhhh, I guess, I er ah, Agree? Yes. Nothing against your Dad, sir. Not sure what ...

President Bush:
Thanks Scott. I'll let you go and wash up. You've had a tough day and all. I'm no Bush to beat around the bush. Look, I just want to wish you and your whole family a happy Hanukkah. Think of me and Laura when you light those candles. If you have a Hanukkah bush, think of this Bush. Right buddy?

Scott McClellan:
Um...ahh.. um...ahh...Hanukkah?

President Bush:
Something wrong Scotso? Any prejudice 'bout your heritage? Any problem, you just come and tell me. Don't believe anyone in the eliteliberalmedia who thinks I'm prejudiced. You know that ain't so.Is he the right man for the job? Is she the right woman for the job? Do they serve my interests as well as I serve America's interests? Do they serve my interests as well as I serve the interests of the world? That's all I ask. Ask Colin. Ask Karen. Ask Condi. Ask Norm. Ask Alberto. Ask all the others. Look, I'm proud to have you work here, playing pin cushion for the press and all that. I tell everyone. Same went for Ari. Incidentally, Ari was good. Sometimes he even stuck them back. Ari's a good man. He's a better man than Paul O'Neil; that's for sure. Ari knew when to speak and now, dammit, he knows when to keep his trap shut, on key issues.

Scott McClellan:
Um...ahh..oh...um...ahh..Mr. President...um.. ahh

President Bush:
Don't be defensive. Gotta demand 'spect Scotso? Don't let them make you feel self-conscious? Be proud of who you are and you do. By your fruits and stuff. Think about it: God's chosen people, God's chosen President, President's chosen Press Secretary. Do the math, for Chrissakes! It all adds up in your favor, right? Kemosabe kemotherapy! Be firm! Be solid! Be Texas! Happy Hanukkah!

Scott McClellan:
Um...ahh,..oh..I'm not..ahh,um..ah..umm, Mr. President, thanks, but I'm, ah.. not,..ahh..um.ahh

President Bush:
Don't be defensive. Just relax. If you can't chill around me, where can you chill? You're among friends. Go and wash up Scott. Get ready to hide that Scottbone of yours anew. Tomorrow's a new day.

Scott McClellan:
Thank you sir, but I'm not, ahh, uh,..(gulp)...uhh.ahh,..I'm actually not, ah.. uh, oh..Thanks..ah..oh.hmm..uh.I'll have to,..uh... talk to you tomorrow. Clarify some stuff.

President Bush:
Hey Scott, (The President stands to face Scott and raises his glass of chocolate milk with its bits of floating graham cracker high above his head, in a toast.) ... L'Chaim !!!! (After bellowing this to Scott, the President chugs downs the whole chocolate milk-graham cracker mix, then he turns around and smashes the empty milk glass into the Oval Office fireplace.)

Scott McClellan:
Huh?

President Bush:
Consider yourself bucked up! (The President smiles and Barney barks in assent. Drops of chocolate milk cluster in the corners of the President's mouth, while crums of graham cracker pepper his left shoulder.) Scotso, you did ok. You're gonna be okay. Go on home now, rest and wash up. Now I gotta wash up before the First Lady gets back. (The President straightens up into a severe mock-soldierly posture, then he gives Scott a paternalistic wink.) I'll See Ya' Later, Escalator!