The Whole Truth
Well. As though we Democrats didn't have enough reason to blindly hate the President of the United States, we have more fuel for the ole fire with new memos released by the British government revealing the thinking behind the run-up to the Iraq War. It includes snippets of conversation that provide insight into the machinations and detailed planning that goes into totally making shit up.

The existence and publication of this memo, besides the blindly-hate-the-president thing, also speaks to another one of my pet issues here in the Bucket: never, EVER trust foreigners. They just turn around and release details of secret meetings of shady fabricated war pretenses right when you least expect it. I've said it before and I'll say it again: you can't trust those people. None of 'em are any goddamn good.

Except Asian women between the ages of 15 and 22. They serve a real purpose. They drive an industry of white-boy fetishism that generates billions of dollars in revenue by posing in school girl outfits while not wearing underwear and distributing said pictures all over the internets. They do the Lord's work.

I'm somewhat frustrated with this new memo in that there is no direct transcript of conversations that could spur me to blindly hate the president in more SPECIFIC ways.

Luckily for you, the Bucket never sleeps. Here at Global Headquarters, I put some of my people on it. The thing about illegal immigrant Guatemalans is that they always know somebody who knows somebody. The access to all levels of government in all nations is unbelievable. It's not like everyone DOESN'T need cheap, exploitable labor to wash their floors or raise their children. The network is ubiquitous, all-seeing, all-knowing. You just have to know how to ask the right questions. Mostly in Spanish.

What follows is highly classified. Several Guatemalans gave their lives for this document. Or they would have had anyone noticed them standing around. When you're pushing a vacuum cleaner, no one notices you, let alone detains you for questioning.

The revelations are shocking.

The site: the Oval Office, the White House
At the meeting: President of the United States GEORGE W. BUSH; Prime Minister of the United Kingdom TONY BLAIR; British Foreign Secretary JACK STRAW; Presidential Advisor KARL ROVE; White House day-shift house-cleaning crew member LUPE RIVAS of Mazatenango, quietly dusting the President's wall-mounted animal head trophies

BUSH: How much you pay for them shoes, Tony?

BLAIR: What, these? £90 or so I think. They're quite comfortable.

BUSH: How much is that in American?

BLAIR: Mr. President, I think we should stick to the issue at hand.

BUSH: Iss-she-yoo... Man, you guys talk cool.

JACK STRAW: Wot!

BUSH: I love it when he does that. Say something else, Jacky!

STRAW: Pish-posh! Codswallop! Wot!

BUSH: I could listen to that all day. Hey, is it true that you people don't call an elevator an elevator?

BLAIR: George, come now, we do have a schedule to keep.

BUSH: Shed-yoo-wull... shed-yoo-wull... Hey, say 'aluminum'!

KARL ROVE (from his cage on the floor next to Bush's chair): Arrararararar! Grrrrrr! Hraff! Hraff! (spits)

BUSH: All right, all right. Jeez-oo, what a temper on this one. Karl thinks we should get a move-on, too. OK, looky, you ever met my dad?

BLAIR: I have had the pleasure of meeting the former President Bush, yes. But I thought we were here to talk about...

BUSH: Do you want him to die?

BLAIR: Do I what?

BUSH: Dead. My dad. If he died, would you think it was funny?

BLAIR: My God, no.

BUSH: Good. Then it's settled. We invade Iran. They tried to kill my dad, you know.

BLAIR: Iraq, you mean. We're here to talk about Iraq.

BUSH: For starters. Look, do you have Instant Messenger?

BLAIR: We use a very secure system of couriers to deliver our...

BUSH: No, I mean IM. Like AOL. See, 'cause I was thinking we pretend we're underage girls, right? And then we send messages to Saddam saying how we want to have sex with him and whatnot. Only he doesn't know it's us. Then we record all that information and whammo! Right to the UN with 'Saddam's a pedophile.' Seen it on Dateline. See, then we got him dead to rights because if he says he KNEW it was us and he still talked all smutty-like, we could just say he's a homo. Again: whammo! It's a perfect plan.

ROVE: (pants, licks himself)

BUSH: Karl really likes it.

BLAIR: Well, I guess the plan has its merits...

BUSH: No, I mean licking himself. He really, really likes it. He's good at it too. Dang, look at him go. You ever try that, Tony?

BLAIR: Well, I did go to university.

BUSH: Heh. You're all right, Tony. Listen, if we can't get the AOL thing to work I think we could--

[Door opens. An aide comes in, looking distressed.]

AIDE: Mr. President, it's urgent that you pick up Line 7 immediately.

BUSH: Hoo, shee-it, Line 7. Did my little Barbara drive over someone in her SUV again?

AIDE: No sir, Line 2 is the Offspring Management Crisis line. And that wasn't Barbara, that was Jenna.

BUSH: Which is the drunky one with the blonde hair?

AIDE: Jenna, sir.

BUSH: Yeah... man, I gotta write that down. Hey, so who is it anyway, buddy?

AIDE: It's Samuel L. Jackson, sir.

BUSH: Samuel L. Jackson?! The actor?!

STRAW: Mint mushy peas! Wot!

AIDE: Yes, Mr. President. He's calling from an air-phone. It's urgent, he says. National security.

BUSH: Thanks, Sport-o. You can go. [Exit Aide. To Blair:] You mind if I take this?

BLAIR: Honestly, I don't think we have time for--

BUSH: Thanks, Tone. [Into phone:] Sam! Sammy! You there? Sam? I can barely hear you.

SAMUEL L. JACKSON: (static) Mister... (static)

BUSH: Sam? What is it, Sam? Hey, I loved you in Lord of the Rings.

JACKSON: I wasn't in those GOTdamn movies, Mr. President.

BUSH: Yeah, you were that little friend of that Frodo guy.

BLAIR: You're thinking of Sean Astin. His character was called 'Sam' though.

BUSH: Then who am I talking to?

BLAIR: He was the one in Pulp Fiction.

BUSH: You mean Wesley Snipes? [Into phone:] Wesley? Can you hear me? What's the trouble?

JACKSON: We got... (static)... snakes... on this... (static)... motherfuckin' plane!

BUSH: Holy mother of... did he say 'snakes'?

ROVE: (whimpers)

BUSH: [Into phone:] Hang on, Denzel! Cavalry's on its way! [Hangs up] Sorry, Tone. Duty calls.

[President Bush stands and with a single motion tears away his business suit to reveal the flight suit underneath. He reaches behind the couch and produces a helmet, which he puts on. Across the front of the helmet, in hasty purple crayon, is the call-sign: FOURTY-THREE (sic)]

BUSH: Gotta go. If we don't have time to work up that AOL thing, we'll go with the WMD plan instead, I guess. Have your people call my people and we'll set it up.

BLAIR: You're not seriously going to shoot down that plane are you?

BUSH: Have you seen my poll numbers? Action must be taken. I know you can't understand it because you're a lily-livered half a fag socialist Euro, but in America, we seize our problems by the balls. And then we tear their balls off, usually with the help of a cruise missile. See ya.

[Exit all except for LUPE RIVAS, who puts down her feather duster and begins to wash the windows]

Before you say it, let me just confirm it: yes, my committment to the truth is staggering. I am putting my own life at risk even bringing this to you. Keeping that in mind, I would like to say this: it wasn't really my idea. I think the president is good and I wish nobody any harm. If, Presumed Law Enforcement-Types Who Are Reading This, you need to deport someone, I can get you a list of names within the hour.



This post on the Narcissus Scale: 3.2


Pops
- posted by Pops @ 7:08 AM