SOMEWHERE IN AMERICA
Old King Bush the First, son of Ronald, watched his son George II on the royal plasma screen, the lad’s sweaty little inflated face floating there in the ethereal semi-darkness of the ex-presidential palace and crawdad farm.
The boy was a disappointment to be sure and the old king had long ago resigned himself to the fact. He’d never learned to ride a bike, couldn’t get his little legs to cooperate, both pushing the pedals at once, and he’d sit there straining like mad but never going anywhere, until he fell over. The king would have to pick him up and dust him off, wiping the tears from his little red puffy face. “Hell, boy” he said, “I ejected from a burning fighter over hostile waters and made it home to fuck your mother again, and this is what I get for my trouble?” And he clipped the lad soundly on the ear.
But it did no good and the boy grew up sweaty and puffy and tempestuous, prone to stamping his feet and calling people ‘doody-heads’. Eventually it was time for young George to find a job and the king managed to get him a middle manager position in Texas where he didn’t stand out so bad and couldn’t do much damage. And the king thought finally his toil was done and he could forget about the boy and concentrate on writing that definitive book on corn he’d started back in college.
Life carried on until one day the Queen said “You know Big G, that Clinton fellow is finishing up soon, November I think, and I was just saying to Hilary the other day it’s a shame they have a girl, who can’t be president by law. And Hilary said our Georgie was too dumb to be president and he’d get us into another fine mess and that women could too be president, not like you said, and oh George what will we do?!”
He was right in the middle of his chapter on the origin of the word maize (Amaizing Maize) but he knew once she started there was little he could do but acquiesce and he made a few calls. It was arranged the boy could fight Gore who was equally puffy and may have once smoked pot, making him dull of mind. Even then he and the half-wit brother had to step in and help by rounding up all the Swamp People who hadn’t heard of voting to put their X next to Jr’s name until the numbers came out right.
And Christ on a pony, here he was now on the TV standing on a freaking aircraft carrier carping on about winning his godamn war on terror. “Sharp as a marble” the king grumbled and the Queen scolded him, saying “Oh stop it, at least he’s trying. Doesn’t he look smart in that hat?”
Just then the phone rang and it was young George. “Hey Dad did you see me? I got to fly in a jet and everybody came to see me land on the big boat! All the sailors are swell guys, they even gave me a hat! It’s from the Special Operations Branch – I’m an S.O.B dad!”
“That’s nice son”, said the king, “maybe you’d better come on home now, before you get push…fall off the boat.”
“No way, dad. This is too cool. I want to have lots of wars with all sorts of different people. You know some of them bastards don’t even speak American yet.”
The king sighed, he wanted to get back to the book, “alright son, but be home soon and for god’s sake don’t nuke anybody. And promise you won’t do anything stup…just don’t nuke anybody.”
Old King Bush the First, son of Ronald, watched his son George II on the royal plasma screen, the lad’s sweaty little inflated face floating there in the ethereal semi-darkness of the ex-presidential palace and crawdad farm.
The boy was a disappointment to be sure and the old king had long ago resigned himself to the fact. He’d never learned to ride a bike, couldn’t get his little legs to cooperate, both pushing the pedals at once, and he’d sit there straining like mad but never going anywhere, until he fell over. The king would have to pick him up and dust him off, wiping the tears from his little red puffy face. “Hell, boy” he said, “I ejected from a burning fighter over hostile waters and made it home to fuck your mother again, and this is what I get for my trouble?” And he clipped the lad soundly on the ear.
But it did no good and the boy grew up sweaty and puffy and tempestuous, prone to stamping his feet and calling people ‘doody-heads’. Eventually it was time for young George to find a job and the king managed to get him a middle manager position in Texas where he didn’t stand out so bad and couldn’t do much damage. And the king thought finally his toil was done and he could forget about the boy and concentrate on writing that definitive book on corn he’d started back in college.
Life carried on until one day the Queen said “You know Big G, that Clinton fellow is finishing up soon, November I think, and I was just saying to Hilary the other day it’s a shame they have a girl, who can’t be president by law. And Hilary said our Georgie was too dumb to be president and he’d get us into another fine mess and that women could too be president, not like you said, and oh George what will we do?!”
He was right in the middle of his chapter on the origin of the word maize (Amaizing Maize) but he knew once she started there was little he could do but acquiesce and he made a few calls. It was arranged the boy could fight Gore who was equally puffy and may have once smoked pot, making him dull of mind. Even then he and the half-wit brother had to step in and help by rounding up all the Swamp People who hadn’t heard of voting to put their X next to Jr’s name until the numbers came out right.
And Christ on a pony, here he was now on the TV standing on a freaking aircraft carrier carping on about winning his godamn war on terror. “Sharp as a marble” the king grumbled and the Queen scolded him, saying “Oh stop it, at least he’s trying. Doesn’t he look smart in that hat?”
Just then the phone rang and it was young George. “Hey Dad did you see me? I got to fly in a jet and everybody came to see me land on the big boat! All the sailors are swell guys, they even gave me a hat! It’s from the Special Operations Branch – I’m an S.O.B dad!”
“That’s nice son”, said the king, “maybe you’d better come on home now, before you get push…fall off the boat.”
“No way, dad. This is too cool. I want to have lots of wars with all sorts of different people. You know some of them bastards don’t even speak American yet.”
The king sighed, he wanted to get back to the book, “alright son, but be home soon and for god’s sake don’t nuke anybody. And promise you won’t do anything stup…just don’t nuke anybody.”
1 comment:
I agree with the above comment!
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