Thursday, November 17, 2005


George Dubya Bush awoke in the middle of the night in his White House bed, in fright and dread, surrounded by ghosts of the GI dead. He was in a cold and slimy sweat that wouldn't let him rest. He shook his head in grief and disbelief and this is what he said:

"I am the blame. I am the shame. I am the cause. Because of me and my ignorance, my arrogance the GI bodies have risen from their graves to tell me I cannot be saved for have lied and they have died. I have defied the Lord. I have slain not with gun or sword but with words I knew were untrue."

Guilt and pain were driving him insane as they pounded on his inane brain like a hurricane thundering in his flapping ears, forcing fear from his squinting eyes, all mixed with his sobbing cries as he moaned, "Why did I lie? Why did I lie?"

Bush looked into a dresser drawer, where he kept news clips and magazines galore deploring what this boring, unrepentant president had done. He grimaced a sneering grin. "My nickname's proof of fame or, is it shame? It's all the same. They dubbed me Dubya. What would Shakespearmint say? I'll have to look it up someday. They all say I don't care. That I don't share the pain they feel. Can't they see the fake pain that my sneer reveals?"


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