Waylaid W. Email - Bush 43 Queries Bush 41: “What Happened”?
By Robert Becker, Ph.D.
14 February, 2009
Countercurrents.org
Note to Countercurrents readers: chance alone brought this stray email to my computer. Blessing in disguise?
Dear Poppy:
Got your first E mail. With two of us, maybe it's "we" mail. Heh, heh. Turd Blossom screamed whenever I went near a keyboard thingamagig. It’s not like I’m any better at typin’ than talkin’.
Boy, what a miserable departure, my own party deserting me, no glory -- Washington thrilled to see me go. Why couldn’t goddamn reckless bankers hold off three months to implode, so Obama would get their blessing? I never did get the meltdown, then Paulson screwed up and the money went down the rat hole. Just when Iraq -- and my charm offensive -- was finally turning the corner.
But those final interviews were the best, selling myself under pressure, the lone hero against the crowd. Better than receiving hourly economic updates. I felt like screaming, “Enough! You’re torturing my brain, what do you want me to say?” I was being word-boarded, talked to death. Still, I'd rather approve torture than get tortured like that.
Now the world has two ex-presidents named Bush, but neither of us gonna be carved on Rushmore anytime soon. Heh, heh. Don’t look like I’ll be carved anywhere, 'cept by critics, with my 22% approval rating? I can hardly believe that. Rove says the only way these numbers to go is up. Yeah, someday I’ll be a frickin’ hero, long after I’m dead.
Good to be back in Texas, but walking around gets me nervous, now that Cheney isn’t V.P. You were right, that Cheney shield ploy was inspired. No one dared take a shot of me for eight years, heh, heh, best insurance policy I ever had.
Got one problem, though, nightmares. Like in one, I’m like that character from that book, the guy who stayed young looking, despite being nasty, while his portrait got uglier. I end up with a Dick Nixon face, with his hands in that V formation. Gave me big-time creeps – I mean, you and Cheney promised no bad dreams, certainly not comparison with Nixon.
Or I dream I’m on trial, facing only one issue: was I the worst, or among the worst, presidents ever. Finally, I’m at a press conference, filled with pointy-headed professors, historians. On cue, they hurl shoes at my head, but I can’t duck fast enough, and I’m buried alive, and that wakes me up, shaky and twitchy. Did you have that?
Just follow instructions, you both said, do the cheerleading, and I'd go down as a great president. What happened? Even if my ratings double, I’m going down alright. That hurts, and won’t help Jeb get the family job, will it? Well Poppy, looks like my old bad luck came back again, with a vengeance, and I've disgraced the family name. And this time, nothin’ to do with my drinkin’ or partyin’ or kissing off the army.
Too bad 'cause I'd die to campaign once more, like for sexy Sarah Palin. Boy, did she remind me of me. Little green behind the ears, talks too much, but fearless, doesn't care like me what she doesn't know, but parlays sex better than I did that Texas “ah shucks” rancher bit. Gosh, makin’ canned campaign speeches, just readin' the words, no hard questions from reporters, cheering, all that applause, I could do that forever. You betcha.
Let’s face it, Poppy, I was born to pitch, not do office work, lookin' up big words, experts droning on and on, when I wanted only to bike or watch football. I think you and Cheney misled me, sayin' being prez would be fun and games, hardly work at all. Like the army reserves when I could show up when I wanted to. I got really tired of obeying Cheney’s Big Rule: once we decide, we never go back, never change.
You’d think one or two of our decisions would have turned out right. We lowered taxes and the deficit skyrocketed, plus gas prices and unemployment, too. Cheney said invading Iraq was to take out weapons or nukes, or is that nukular, heh, heh, that killing Saddam meant instant democracy. What a load. And really, by the end Cheney got stranger and stranger, more paranoid and crazy-talking than Rumsfeld, and that’s no easy task for Mr. Shit Happens.
I mean, did Cheney or Rumsfeld get anything right? Cheney even faked me out by lasting the whole eight years. Otherwise, I could have picked that cute Condi, first woman, first black lady V.P. Would have made points with historians. Instead, I got paranoid Cheney for eight long years and, with his 12% approval rating, that sucker was lucky not to get us both impeached.
I still don't know for sure what happened. I thought God wanted me to run. I won the election but then everything went sour and we couldn’t get much passed in a GOP Congress, then the media and the people turned against the war -- and just when it was becoming like those John Wayne fought in, when we were 100% right, and the enemy 100% wrong. What did I do in eight years but win elections?
And yeah, Laura is getting fed up. She put up with my temper and night wanderings, beatin’ myself up for turning whatever I touch to cow paddies. And she’s getting’ tired hearing about nightmares and shoes bashing my head. She figures she paid more than her dues, says just keep swallowing those pills and move on. I know, I know, Cheney told me we never made errors but that made us God. Rove already workin' on historians to justify everything we did.
Gosh, Poppy, do you think God had anything to do with it? Was God on my side when I screwed up? I played being born-again to the hilt to get elected but Cheney and the White House cured me. Now, if I could only sleep a whole night through without bad dreams.
Lots of days I wondered I didn’t quit after the first term. Run away with Condi somewhere and have some real fun. You know she plays the piano real well and is a lot smarter than Laura. Or me.
Your fellow ex-president,
W.
