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A lot to be thankful for

George W. Bush has a lot to be thankful for. Where in the world shall I begin? Brave New World, by Michael Moran.
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DATE: NOV. 28, 2002.

SCENE: White House living quarters.TIME: Prayers before bedtime. The President, dressed in royal blue pajamas, white piping, with red “GWB” on shirt pocket, on his knees, eyes upward. First Lady, kneeling beside him in a full-length black satin robe, waits patiently for her husband to begin.

BUSH: I would like to thank you, oh Lord, for so many things tonight. Where in the world shall I begin?

(He glances at First Lady, then proceeds)

BUSH: Yes, I know, let’s start with that Korean fellow. Kim. Yes, Kim something. Now, I don’t know his last name, and I know that just about everyone in that country seems to be named Kim, but you are omniscable, and that means you know who I’m talking about. The Evil Kim. I would like to start tonight, Lord, by thanking you for Kim the Evil One, because the idea of that kooky fellow having a nuclear weapon has made it a lot easier for me to make my point — the point being that evil is as evil does. Those smart mouths in the press made fun of my “Axis of Evil” speech — the speech we talked about before I gave it, you’ll remember — and now how dumb they look, huh? I guess I should thank you for that, too, God. For making my critics look dumb. They’re like those three monkeys, See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, except they speak evil plenty. This is one monkey who knows evil when he sees it!

FIRST LADY: (clearing throat): Dear, you’re rambling.

BUSH: (more intimately) You’re right, I’m sorry. Right back to it. (Resuming prayerful cadence) Now, another thing I would like to offer gratuity for, oh mighty one, is the French. Of all the see-no-evil monkey crowds, the French take the cake.

(Playfully to the first Lady) That’s a pun, huh? Didn’t Marie San Antonio tell the people they should take the cake back in Les Miz days?

FIRST LADY: (more forcefully this time) George, this is not why we’re praying.

BUSH: (giggling quietly) Yes, yes, I’m sorry. So, where was I? The French! Yes, thank you for them, God, and all their Frenchie ways. What did they ever do for America? They gave us French fries, I suppose, and maybe French toast. But outside that, wait ... French kissing, that too. But otherwise, I mean. We chased the Germans out of their snail-eating pantries twice during my daddy’s life, and what do we get now? A stab in the back at the U.N., that’s what. So now you’re wondering why I’m thanking you for them, aren’t you? Well, wait, no, of course you aren’t, being omischable, but I’ll say it anyway just for the First Lady’s benefit. Thank you for the French, because if we didn’t have a bunch of Europatsies on the Security Council to slow this thing down so we can get the troops ready, we’d have to ask the Brits to do it, and they’re just not like that. And I can’t trust the Chinese or Russians yet. So, you see, thanks for the French.

(Three quick raps on door)

BUSH: Come!

(to First Lady) Saw Captain Pickard say it that way on Star Trek. Loved it! Kinda strong-sounding leader talk.

(Aide enters room)

AIDE: Sir, Jacques Chirac is on the phone. He says it’s urgent.

BUSH: (perplexed look on face) Jack who? The Oklahoma football coach?

FIRST LADY: (whispering) Dear, the French president. Remember the wonderful dinner last May — in Paris?

BUSH: You mean the guy that laid the reefs with me at the D-Day beach. He was French? What the heck did they have to do with D-Day?

(to the aide) Anyway, tell him I’ll call him back. I mean, it must be almost dinnertime in France, right? I’ll call him in the morning. (Aide exits)


(to ceiling)

Excuse me just a minute, Lord.

The president walks over to small globe on bedside table. Puts finger on Russia.

GLOBE: (in stiff, computerized voice) Russian Federation. Population 144 million. Capital: Moscow. President: Boris Yeltsin.

BUSH: No! Not Boris Yeltsin, that drunk is gone. It’s Pootie Poot, Mr. Globe. Vlad Putin. (to First Lady) See, even a talking globe can be wrong!

(Bush returns to First Lady’s side, kneels and looks up):

BUSH: I’m back, Lord. And I’d like to thank you also for two guys making it easier to do your good work on this planet. Pootie-Poot — who you omnificantly know as Putin, and Ariel Sharon, the Jewish guy. Now I know they’re no angels, and I’m not sure either one of them would know Jesus from Jehosaphat, but they sure know how to kill bad guys. That Sharon doesn’t mess around.

If things get tough in Baghdad, well, they’ll be no breaking that bull. And you gotta hand it to Putin, gassing all them chickens in that Moscow theater. Now, it is a real shame innocent people got gassed, too, but it’s like we used to say in Vietnam, you sometimes gotta kill the chicken to save it.

FIRST LADY: Hon, you didn’t go to Vietnam.

BUSH: And I’m not going to, either! Another four years of Hillbilly Clinton and we’d have a presidential visit and a free-trade zone with those commies. Derned draft-dodging pinko!

(glancing back at the ceiling) By the way, Lord, speaking of Asians, that new leader in China — Hu — I mean, now that’s beautiful. Hu is he? Hu the hell does he think he is? I mean, the possibilities are endless, and its so derned easy to pronounce. Another coup in your cap, Lord.

Well, that just about wraps it up for ...

(nudged by First Lady)



Aren’t you forgetting someone?

BUSH: (contrite) My good wife is right, as usual. I have left out the most important items tonight.

God, when you wheel out the heavenly casting couch, you really spare no stuffing. Thank you, Lord, for the Butcher of Baghdad, Saddam Hussein, whose continued existence on this planet can only be explained by you working in your mysterious ways. I realize that, in your translucence, you know my daddy played his own small role in Saddam’s living past the career of Billy Ray Cyrus. But my daddy, just like me, Lord, are your vassals. So, Lord, I can only think that you saved Saddam the first time around so that I can smote him deader than a truckload of Talibans.

Finally, heavingly father, I ask that you damn Osama bin Laden to hell and prove, once and for all, that all this stuff about virgins and morters and stuff is just a load of bull crap. Again, mysteriously, you have chosen to spare that evil-doer. You work in mysterious ways. But if you could see clear to, mysteriously, make bin Laden disappear, I’ll take care of Baghdad.

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