To the Liberal Guy In The Basement
Bumfuck, Indiana 42578
Hey there, Asshole:
Negroponte brought me your letter. Said you scored big with it on DailyKooks yesterday. I read it. Didn't like it. Didn't like him giggling about it, either.
If you're wonderin' how I'm writin' this so good, I'm not. I just talk into this little recorder here, and hand it to Harriet. She puts it all on paper in five minutes flat. Brings it back with a little sticky note on top tellin' me how wonderful I am. Every single time. She's a great girl.
I just dictate everything. That's what I do -- I'm the Dictater.
So -- you think YOU"VE had enough? You think YOU'RE miserable? I thought nothin' could me more miserable than the years I spent in the Governor's Mansion in Texas, but this White House gig is way worse than workin' nine to noon ten days a month, turnin' my thumbs down on every execution, and trying unsuccessfully for three years in a fucking row to get creation science into the classroom, all rolled into one. This is HARD.
I mean, here I am halfway through my second term, and I still can't get my mitts on that Social Security fund! I coulda spent the whole thing by now if it weren't for dipsticks like you raising a stink. That's why I hate you.
Yeah, I admit it, I don't like you, cuz you didn't vote for me. And now you went and made fun of the way I walk. Whattayoo know? Just look at some of the queens around here -- Ken Mehlman swings his hips around like Mae West. He sits on Cheney's lap, for Chrissake. Jeffie Gannon minces like a little girl when he's naked, especially when he's just out of the shower and crossin' that slick tile floor in the Lincoln Bathroom. That's walkin' funny. I don't walk like that.
And don't you talk to me 'bout bein' strung out. I've done more pills, powder, pussy and straight Jack Daniels than you'll ever see, and it didn't do me one bit of harm. Nuthin' to it. Made me sharper, if anything. I can stop one of those egghead discussions that go on around here just by askin' a couple simple questions. No one has anything to say after I speak up, let me tell you.
Like all non-alcoholics, I always knew I could stop whenever I wanted to, and that's exactly what I did. Me and Billy Graham had a little talk one day, and he told me there was a bunch of kin-makers wanted to make me President of the United States. Right then, I knew it was high time for me to straighten up and fly right if I wanted to own the whole country, not just Texas. After I went and met them kin-makers, and gave 'em my patented Bible codewords speech, they was just a fallin' all over themselves to pass the plate and anoint me and get that good government money flowing into the churches. Turned out none of 'em was actually kin to me, so I still don't know why Billy called 'em that.
Whatever. I just gave 'em the old hand job and got handed the job -- heh heh -- and I'm keepin' it no matter what it costs you.
Listen, I don't care about you, and I sure as hell don't care about your father. If he voted for me, well good for me. Other than that, fuck him and the horse he rode in on. That's how it works in the Bush clan. I gotta tell ya, he sure sounds like my old man, the bastard. That cheapskate, skinflint, penny-pinching dried up old geezer couldn't even kill Saddam when he had him hiding in a Baghdad outhouse.
You know what my old man tried to do to me one time? Tried to tell me to quit drinkin' and drivin' and havin' a little fun. I had to steal the keys a few times just to get wheels to get me into town. I put up with his shit for years, and When I finally challenged him to settle it mano a mano, he refused, just like the CIA pussy he is. Which means I won the fight. I won in Iraq, too, and I got Saddam. I've got Saddam's pistol right here in the Oval Office. But do I get so much as a nod from the old bastard? No -- him and that broken down old fossil Brent Scowcroft keep sending me letters and notes saying watch out in Iraq. Be careful over there. Slow down.
Hell, We killed Zarqawi just the other day, and we're gonna flatten Ramadi all next month. We're killin' Iraqis so fast there won't be enough of 'em left to work the oil pumps before long. Letters -- let those old farts send me letters. You and them can go to hell. Know why? Cause when you believe you're right, then you're right, and I believe that I'm right when I say I'm right about what I believe. Can't say it any simpler than that.
Big deal. Gramps is moving in with you. But what about you? Why do you stay there if you aren't having fun? Why don't you do what I did, and just go live in your parents other house? If they come to visit you there, just go live in a hotel, or go hang out in Tijuana for a few weeks for some real party action. If your parents bug you, avoid 'em -- and then send 'em the bill, that's my method. What are they gonna do, not pay it?? Ha! That's rich!
Kid, I don't know who made up that "guy you'd have a beer with" jingo, but it's bullshit. I don't drink no kind of beer, and sure as hell wouldn't drink in the same room as any goober pie American citizen. Not me. I'm royalty. I'm the red hot chili pepper of a true American dynasty. I'm Presidential timber. And if I ever get tired of this Presidentin' job, I'll just call up my brother Jeb or one of his youngun's and hand it off. Job Numero Uno stays in the Bush clan from here on out. There's enough stupid people in this country to vote for us out of fear every time, enough morons to make it a close election -- and with Diebold and ES&S and Sequoia, close is all we need. We'll take it home from there. Just watch us this November.
You "simple people" don't get it, and you never will. It's an ownership society now, and I. Own. You. Got that?
Oh, you can use the phones, and the internet, and the airlines, and walk down the street, but we're watching everything, and the minute you are any threat to me is the minute you are up shit creek. What the hell protection do you think you have from me? The police? I own 'em. The courts? I own 'em, all the way to the top. The military? I own 'em. Congress? I own 'em. That rag you call the Constitution? I've got more than enough signing statements in place to paper over that piece of shit. I own it now. It says whatever I say it says.
Yeah, people like to make fun of me. I don't forget, I get even. It makes me real mad, that real quiet mad like you see in the old western movies. I've heard people whispering and giggling from the corners of every room I've been in, ever since I was old enough to stuff firecrackers in frogs. Been there, done that. Now I'm the President, which means I own the whole country. I run it, and you pay for it. Now go ask your Mom if she wants to watch non-stop Fox News in a 3 by 6 cell down in Cuba, hey?
Bottom line, you're living in your parent's basement in Bumfuck, Indiana, and not working up to your potential. Then again, maybe you are, because if you had any courage you'd have done something other than bitch about me on some blog I can turn off any time I want to. But you haven't, which means you won't, so I'm in charge, and I'll be in charge as long as I want to be. It's my government, and it's my country, 'cause I took it all legal, fair and square. Nowadays, you're breaking the law just by accusing me of breaking the law.
Oh, yeah. Go salute your cannon fodder cousin Joe for me. Or not. I don't give a flip. When he's been knocked down, I've got a few million poor kids coming along who'll put on the uniform and go fight overseas just for some decent food and a GED. Rummy calls it our Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner Draft.
Don't give me any New Orleans crap, either. I don't make storms, and I don't clean up after people too lazy and stupid to get in their car and drive out of town. You know, there's a point when you have to ask yourself whether people who can't come up with the money to address their own problems ought to be living among the rest of us who can. It may be time to just put them somewhere else, for their own good. You sure can't expect busy people to be compassionate more than once or twice. There are limits, you know. When I see lazy, poor people walking around, acting like they own something, acting like they matter, I don't even feel like I'm living in America anymore, and neither do a lot of my friends.
So, yeah. I just wanted to write to you, man to man, and let you know that you and your kind piss off every one of the truly good people in this country, the ones who are working to move money and power into higher, tighter, whiter and righter hands. I wouldn't have a beer with you or your cud-chewing family if you were the last Americans on Earth. You and everyone like you are only worth your vote to me, and only for as long as we count votes. After that, you can fall down your own asshole and break your fuckin' neck.
I've got mine, baby. And I've got yours, too. And that's not ever going to change.
Hey, Harriet! I need this back pronto!
Your President,
George W. Bush