Sometime in the not too distant future, George Bush will be rattling around the ol' ranch in Crawford. So combining that inevitability with our imagination running a tad amok, the following was produced:
Sporting an enormous codpiece and Crawford Crawdad Festival Grand Marshall cap on backwards but firmly in place, George Bush takes a running leap on to the deck of a rickety skiff moored at Crawford Creek.
"Mission accomplished you sonsabitches," he rasps. "major combat operations against a dangerous and aggressive enemy have now ended and I will, with precision, boldness and speed, now secure and reconstruct this waterway."
Abruptly, he then breaks into tears.
Laura Bush approaches down the pathway, see her husband and asks "Dear, why are you crying?"
Bush dries his cheeks, casts an over towards her and plaintively says "It's my creek and I'll cry if I want to."
After a moment of silence Bush continues, "where are the military bands Laura? Where are the adoring supporters? Where's my chief of staff to get me a cheeseburger when I want one?
"Honey, it's all in the past, just let it go," she counsels.
"Hey, you would cry too if it happened to you," he snarls in reply.
"C'mon Georgie-hon, get back on land here, give those axis of evil crustaceans a breather," Laura offers. "You want to go over to the presidential library and maybe read some?"
George says, "No, I've had it with "My Pet Goat, even I got it memorized by now."
"Shush," says Laura, "I don't want to hear you say that again. How about a nap? I washed your little happy rug this morning, the one you adored in the Oval Office, the one that spurred your optimism and it's looking mighty inviting."
"No, no, not just yet," Bush replies.
Looking around, Laura says, "Say, where are the Secret Service agents honey?"
"I sent 'em off to buy some cannisters of napalm and a crate of Agent Orange," Bush says.
"What is that about?" Laura asks, getting wide-eyed.
"It's the brush, I'm fixin' to take that on next. I'll start sexing up the pre-action soon," says Bush.
"Say what?" Laura asks.
"Laura, we must not ignore the threat gathering against us. Facing clear evidence of peril, we cannot wait for the final proof, the smoking gun that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud. So I am going to order a pre-emptive strike--that brush won't know what hit it," Bush says.
"I don't think that's allowable dear," Laura offers.
Scoffing at her hesitancy, Bush says, "I will never seek a permission slip to defend the security of our ranch."
"But dear, aren't your remedies a bit drastic?" Laura offers.
Getting steely-eyed at being challenged, Bush responds with, "Laura, are you with me or again' me ?"
"George honey," she answers, "I'm just saying that there are regulations and the like that we must obey or we'll get in trouble"
"With who?' he snarls. "I'm the decider and I say, bring 'em on. You hear me evil overgrowth? I'm gonna smoke you out."
"Oh George" is all Laura can muster.
"Laura, I don't see how I can lead us to victory if you're hinting wrong war, wrong time, wrong place," Bush responds. "What message does that send out to our allies? What message does that send the weedists?"
"Honey, calm down. Let's focus on something else, okay?" Laura asks.
"I will not be diverted from destroying our enemy. Right here, right now, our ranch is a place where civilization is taking a decisive stand against chaos and terror, we must not waver," Bush shouts. "I took out the crawdads when some pantywaists argued we should wait and do more inspections. In my view, waiting is the riskiest of all options, because the longer we wait, the stronger and bolder the overgrowth will become."
"Okay, I've had it George," Laura explodes. "That's enough, you put a cork in it, hear me? And your toy soldiers that are all over the house, well, back in the boxes they are going and then to the shed. You don't have a clue how silly it looks when my friends visit and see plastic army men all over the house."
"I think it kinda impresses 'em," Bush replies tartly. "It reminds people of who they're dealing with, of all the power I had at my command back then. Them were the good ol' days, yeah."
"George Bush, you've really and truly lost it," Laura says, pointing an index finer directly at him. "Get real. Do you realize nobody wants to come and visit with you. Do you know why? Guess how come we never get invited to tour any foreign countries?"
"Dear, you don't understand," Bush replies condescendingly. "That's because I overshadow 'em. Sure, Blair won't respond to the folksy e-greeting cards I send him. Guess he's not a rach kind of guy. Merkel refuses my offers of, (clears his throat) spiritual laying on of the hands. All this because they can't stand my crowding them out of the limelight--can I help that?" he bellows, spittle flying, as he loses his footing and tumbles into the water. He pleads, splashing around, "Laura, help, help me, there might be some rogue crawdads still left."
"George, you're all wet, that's all I can say" Laura says quietly, turning away and heading back to the house.
To be continued.