On September 11 2001, Government was already back at work. Bush was doing his job as the hood ornament for the automobile of state whilst Cheney steered, Rove worked the pedals, and Condiscentia Rice waved from the back seat.
On August 29th 2005 the entire Government was still on vacation.
Having achieved the historic record of being the fittest yet most relaxed President ever, Bush finally got off his buns of steel and went back to his job of looking good at the front of a powerful, glossy and expensive machine.
Unfortunately for Bush there was no one behind the steering wheel, the car was in the wrong gear and the brakes had worn out. The “good ol’ boys” had bailed-out, the “General B” was out of control and headed straight for a swamp! Heavens to Betsy! What was Dubya to do?
Well, after a lot a hootin’ an’ hollerin’, Dubya figgered it was time to ass-wage the reg’lar folk and un-extended the hand o’ friendship to Mike “Cooter” Brown whose maintenance of the General B had clearly been lacking.
Even so, the General B was still up to it’s STP stickers in the bayou ooze, and it warn’t goin’ nowhere ‘ceptin some he’p from a friendly quarter. Unfortunately cousin ConDayzee (who could charm the pants off Strom Thurmond) had to visit her podiatrist Manolo Blahnik in Jew York on account of a rare shoe condition and was unavailable, but good ol’ suthern hospitality reared it’s deformed inbred head in the form of Karl Rove.
See, nobody knows more ‘bout how to “fix” things than good ol’ Karl, so naturally ol’ GB asked him to fix up this whole mess, by appointin’ him in charge of the recovery effort. Now Karl may be quiet, but he does know which end of the rope needs to be pulled when an overpowered and badly driven vehicle needs to be hauled out of the muck, and above all he knows slimy grease like no one else.
So in the end, everything’s working out. The General B is being restored, the swamp had been drained to prevent it from being a continuing hazard, Condayzees foot condition is cured and Karl’s got a new job. And as for the “revenooers” well they got their hands full just figgering out the dollars an cent’s of it all so they don’t have the time to stop the General B delivering the moonshine.
Sure it can make you blind, but what do you care? The gumment shore don’t. So, “oil wells that ends well” as the saying goes. See you next week, until then we’ll keep the grits warm for y’all.
