Dubya's Excellent New Plan
The budget surplus is gone, we are in a war we have neither the money nor sufficient military personnel to cover, unemployment is still rampant, old folks are being screwed into accepting rip-off HMO's, our freedom and rights to privacy have never been so jeopardized by Big Brother's "national security" excuse... so what does Bush do?
What crazy scheme can he possibly come up with next to line the pockets of his handlers?
First, picture yourself as a fly on the wall of the Oval Office.
Bush is seated at his big desk, playing with a little statue of Saddam he keeps knocking over, then giggling about. Seated around him are Dick Cheney, various key Cabinet members, Condie "Exxon" Rice, Karl Rove, Daddy Bush, and several CEO's of U.S. corporations that make their money from U.S. military, aerospace, construction and other government contracts.
Cheney: Mr. President, on behalf of Halliburton, I want to thank you for protecting our national security by allowing my "former company," (everyone snickers) to provide top grade materials in that no-bid contract to rebuild Iraq.
Bush: Well, thank ya, Dickie Boy. And I gotta tip my hat to Rummie and Ashie over there (he points at them with the little statue's head) who came up with that bit about hiding the contract details from the folks out there. That "national security" thing was, well, it really resignated with the people.
Rumsfeld: Thank you, Sir. But you know, now that Dick has wet Halliburton's beak, I have some compadres in the aerospace business who sure did contribute a lot to your campaign. They are gettin' antsy. And you have 2004 to think about, Sir.
Bush: Aren't they getting enough action with all them heliocopters we keep crashin' over in Iraq?
Rumsfeld: Well, sir, a few Blackhawks here and a few Apaches there are fine, but goddamn, Dick's Halliburton people are charging the gov $80 for a piece of quarter inch plywood and selling them regular unleaded gas for $6.50 a gallon. And that Baghdad zip code thing we're setting up, holy bejeezus, that'll net Dick another couple billion. My aerospace pals want in on some of that serious dinero, Sir.
Karl Rove: Mr. President, do you like riddles?
Bush: Now Karl, don't try to be subliminabable with me- say what you need to say. Don't make me retort to guessing at riddle jokes. This group in this office meeting here right now, many of us whom are very educated, are not in riddle joke moods, so let's set a more seminal tone that makes the pie higher.
Karl Rove: Certainly, Sir. In that case, let me be clear and mention that Rummy's friends make a lot more than helicopters. Can you guess what else these aerospace companies make?
Bush: Well, the name says 'aerospace,' so I guess that would include arrows and those space heaters that we use at the hunting lodge, right, Dad?
George H.W. Bush: Oh fer Chrissakes, son, aerospace companies make rocket ships! That's where they make their big money. And who buys rocket ships?
Bush: Well, I think that kid from the Backstreet Boys wanted to get him one, otherwise the dang things are so expensive the only ones who can afford them are---Heyyy, wait, I have a idea!
Everyone else (leaning forward, looking excited): What's your idea, Sir?
Bush: Well, why don't we give Rummie's aerospace honcho friends something they can really cash in on? We can send a dad-gummed rocket ship to Mars! How much you figure the gas alone would cost for a trip to Mars, Rummie?
Rumsfeld: Sir, the trip from Earth to Mars is so great a distance, it would take six months just to get there. It would take at least 15 years for the industry to do the R & D for a trip to Mars. Mars? My goodness, Sir.
Bush: The aerospace guys do that black people music?
Bush: Yeah, that R&D music, you know, like that gay guy, Marvin, who heard it thru the grapevine before his Daddy up and killed him?
Rumsfeld: Oh, right! Yes Sir, we will have to budget in extra funding for music, because those rocket scientists love to listen to music while they do the RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT required to make a spacecraft that can reach all the way to Mars.
Bush: Karl, what do you figure a trip to Mars'll cost? I mean, including the pit stops for munchies, the gas, the cell phone bills, you know, the computer Internet thingies, you know, the works?
Karl Rove: Oh, I'd say we could prolly get us a rocket up on Mars for maybe a trillion or so.
Bush: Well, hell, that's a lot less than I thought. I was thinking it'd be a billion or more. Rummie, will your compadres settle for a trillion?
Rumsfeld: Oh my goodness, I think if I explain it to them, about the budget and all, Yes Sir, I think a trillion would generate a lot of grateful rocket scientists. And they are big Bush supporters, Sir. They already think you're the cat's meow, and I agree with Karl, a trillion dollars would give them their fair quota of the pie.
Bush: What I am against is quotas. I am against hard quotas, quotas they basically delineate based upon whatever. However they delineate, quotas, I think vulcanize society. So I don't know how that fits into what everybody else is saying, their relative positions, but that's my position.
Everyone else: So it's a done deal, then, Sir?
Bush: When I was coming up, it was a dangerous world, and you knew exactly who they were. It was us vs. them, and it was clear who them was. Today, we are not so sure who the they are, but we know they're there. And if they are already up there on Mars, I think we better get a move on and beat them to the punch. We need an American space ship on Mars first. We need to get our flag stuck in there first, that's for sure. Not to mention, we need to putt the first golfball in Mars. I mean, imagine the look on that bastard Bin Laden's face when he sees us putting in the first golfball on Mars, and it's red, white and blue and all? The ball, I mean. He knows those colors don't run! He knows, all right... Hmm, lemme think a minute... Okay, I'll fly down to NASA in Houston next week. Dad's country club in Houston has Catfish Wednesdays, and I can announce America's trip to Mars, then get me some catfish and kill two stones with one bird. I mean, they call space rockets "birds" sometimes, don't they?
Rumsfeld: Yes Sir, they do. And I have a hunch that bird mission to Mars might just be named after a certain President. We can call it the Bush Mars Mission!
Bush: (Throwing little statue to the floor angrily) Why name it after Daddy? It was my gol-derned idea!
George H. W. Bush: Okay son, you got us there. You're right. We'll name it the Dubya Mars Mission. How about that, Son? Would you like to see your name on a rocket ship?
Bush: Whooo- eee! Daddy, I knew I was gonna like this job! Just think, that baby'll land on Mars and the first thing those Martians will read is MY name. Yeah. This is what I call a win/win situation. Condie? Can you write me up a blurp I can say at NASA and announce the Dubya Mars Mission?
Condaleezza Rice: Yes, Sir. And don't worry, I'll make it brief. We've all learned the fewer details we give the American public, the better. We gotta remember- too many details are bad for...? (Cups her hand to her ear)
Everyone else but Condie: NATIONAL SECURITY!!! (group laughter)
Bush: Okay, then! This meeting is adjudicated! I'll catch y'all later. All this aerospace planning has made me hungry! Heyyy, I wonder if the chef has any... Mars Bars?
As the group files out of the Oval Office, Rumsfeld elbows Rove in the ribs.
Rumsfeld (to Rove): "A trillion? At least it ain't a billion?" What a MAROON!
Karl Rove: "How much GAS would it take," he asked! Bwahahahahaha! I TOLD you this would be a fun assignment, Don!
Rumsfeld: Okay, well, now that we have the funding for Mars (snicker) Condie's gonna want her Exxon/Mobil submarine that can plunge to the depth of the deepest sea...
Karl Rove: Yeah let's ask him for two and tell him we can call them, "the U.S.S. Jenna and Barbara!"
Rove and Rumsfeld: (Dissolve in laughter, high five each other and skip to their waiting limos).