My fellow Americans.
No, wait, too wimpy. Don’t wanna sound like a pussy; remember they think you’re tough…TOUGH!
(sound of fist hitting palm)
Ok. Take 2.
My fellow Americans.
I sit before you tonight in this funnily-shaped office at the Big White Place to tell you something it’s high time I told you. Naw, not that Karen Hughes is a drag queen (hee, hee), but something that concerns you, me, and our lord/serf relationship…no, master/slave arrangement…no, lord/serf.
I’ve spent many sleepless sit-around-the-table cabinet meeting thingies with my buds Colin, Donnie, Dicky, and Condi thinkin’ ‘bout confessin’ to you, but was too chickenshit ‘til I pictured y’all in yer draw’s and panties (hee, hee).
It’s time I told ya…here we go, Georgie-Boy, this is it…that I’m a lyin’ sack o’ shit! Can I say shit? Why not? I’m a Texan an’ real Texan men cuss like sailors. I wasn’t a sailor, but I was kinda in the National Guard and almost sorta did my duty – if deserting to help Daddy’s buddy campaign was my duty. Yeah, that counts. Rupert’ll spin it just right.
Ok, so ‘I’m a lyin’ sack o’ shit’…right. Now I say, ‘Don’t believe anything I say – I repeat - anything.’ I lie my ass off constantly and can’t open my mouth without doing it.
This is gonna feel so good. ‘Member, some famous person said ‘confession’s good for the soul’ or somethin’ like that. This ‘ll definitely get me into heaven. Hmm, wonder if chef’s got some of that stinky cheese I like? What’s it called? I forget. Some nasty French shit, I think. Ohh, if they only knew I was eatin’ French cheese (hee, hee). We hate them.
(picks up telephone, somewhat garbled conversation)
Ok, now, where was I? Hmm…lyin’ sack o’ shit…don’t believe me…right, here we go!
If you wanna know the real truth, America, it’s always the exact opposite of what I say.
For example, the ‘Clean Air Act’ screws the air and lets factories fart as much pollution as possible (heh, heh, I said ‘fart’).
Or that education thingy about leaving kids behind so they’re nice ‘n’ dumb – like me. Or that Union State speech I just gave. That ‘weapons of mass destruction-related program activities’ bit. If I’d had a beer, I’d ‘ave spewed on Dicky and Denise (hee, hee, he hates when I call ‘im that).
God, that was such a huge fucking lie. What’s that mean, anyway? I mean, if you believed that shit, then...then, you must watch FOX News.
(loud, raucous laughter and leg-slapping)
Dicky-Boy said you’d bite on that like ticks on a hound…boy, he knows everything, doesn’t he?…wonder how he got so smart?…prolly made better ‘n straight ‘C’s in college…where’s my stinky cheese, dammit?
Aw, hell, back to work before Dicky calls ‘n’ chews me a new one.
Let’s see, now, where was I?
Ok, here…I was completely full o’ shit ‘bout all that WMD and Iraq stuff. All of it. None of it was true. Sorry, fellas, especially you, Bobinator, Whitey, and The Chiefster - God, I love you guys! And remember, George, PWS, point, wave, and smile. And try not to look so oblivious.
Wow! ‘Oblivious’. That’s a one…two…three…four-syllable word – Laura’ll love that one. She’s smart, too, what’s she doin’ with me?
(brief silence, can almost hear the wheels turning)
Man, my frat bros were great! That was so damned funny, that time we snuck into the Dean’s office and blew, like, a whole eight-ball o’ coke on his desk and then that guy – what was his name? – lost his dinner in the Dean’s chair. I thought Daddy’d never get me out of that one!
(more laughter and leg-slapping, loud, then fading)
Oh, man, that was funny!
So anyway, ‘Full of shit about WMD’. Right.
And my fellow Americans, I’m not the only big, fat liar. Dick, Condy, Colin, Paul, Donnie, and General Whozit-face, you know the guy with big shiny stars, were all fulla shit, too, so if you wanna get pissed, don’t just get pissed at me. They made me do it. Really, they must have; I don’t have a brain.
Everybody knows what a meanie Saddam was and we had all those bombs and tanks and troops and stuff and, dammit, they’re mine, and Dickey and Donnie said I could play with ‘em if I was good about Afghanistan and……oh, wait, I can’t say any of that.
Suddenly, a woman’s voice:
George? George? Oh, there you are, you little rascal! Hiding from me like that! It’s time for your Ritalin and then off to bed for you, young man.
GWB: Aw, shucks, Ma, can’t I stay up a little longer…please?
Allen Snyder is an instructor of Philosophy and Ethics. He can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.
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