Lowering the Bar
Lowering the Bar
DEEP BACKGROUND: The President said he was going to fire anybody in the White House that had anything to do with the Plame Affair, then he started parsing that threat and promising to fire anybody who was convicted of a crime in L’Affaire Plame, or maybe he promised that if anybody on the staff actually managed to smuggle a Weapon of Mass Destruction into the White House he’d fire them, and then he thought better of that and suggested that if anybody on the staff smuggled an A-bomb into the White House and detonated it during a State Dinner he’d fire them……unless Wayne Newton happened to be giving a command performance at the time, because it might be a GOOD thing if somebody managed to vaporize Wayne Newton, but then he thought better of that exception because he didn’t want to lose the Wayne Newton vote, and finally he remembered that clear back in 2003 he said he would “take care of” anybody who was involved in Plamegate, and what’s more he remembered that he and Dick Cheney were probably involved, so, because he was a straight shooter, and because his credibility in the polls on Plamegate had dropped to 25%, he went ahead and made good on his promise to “take care of” Dick and himself:
So W drops by Dick’s bunker, but he finds the front gate locked and has to buzz him through the speaker: “Hello, Dick, it’s George. Can I come in?”
“Hello MISTER President. I’d love to let you in. But I’m not sure you have the proper security clearance.”
“If I’m not cleared, who is, Dick? I’m President of these United States.”
“Well, I am, for one, Mr. President. So what does that tell you?”
“That you’re not going to let me in? That you’re going to make me talk to you through the speaker?”
“You know, I was doing very important stuff in the Ford Administration when you were coking your brains out in Midlands or wherever the hell you were in the mid-70’s. Do you even remember where you were?”
“Do you remember where you were?”
“I was in the White House, working cheek by jowl, as Chief of Staff of the White House, with POTUS.”
“Well la dee da. If you were such a big f…ing deal in 1975, why am I, not you, POTUS?”
“Why are you on the outside trying to buzz in? Why do I have a better security clearance than you? Why am I sweating my balls off in this bunker, trying to run this nation and THIS WORLD with a 5 alarm ticker while you ride around Crawford on a f….ing mountain bike?”
“Dick, please buzz me in. We have to talk. If we don’t talk, you may just find yourself in another kind of cell……one that has cameras looking IN instead of OUT. Like in Gitmo. Now do you want that?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Buzz me, Dick.”
“Because my cardiologist says I should not have undue excitement. My death would be on your hands. And if it was, you’d have to do this job, down in some godforsaken hole working 24/7 with the fate of the Free World, or maybe even the Whole World, Free and Unfree, in your sweaty little hands, bearing down on your candyassed-cowboy shoulders…..”
“You gonna buzz me in or do I have to call the Secret Service to batter the door down?”
Dick buzzes W in. W finds Dick in an Aeron chair, staring at hundreds, maybe even thousands, of monitors. Dick and his minions seem to be tracking the lives of every Democrat in the capital. “I thought you were tracking Arabs with your jillions of surveillance cameras.”
“Arabs schmarabs. We didn’t come to power by tracking Arabs. The less we know about Arabs the better we do in the polls. The more we know about Democrats and their filthy, dirty, insanely sensuous, personal lives, the more elections we win. Look what happened to Clinton.”
“OK, Dick, you’re the boy genius.”
“I thought Karl Rove was the boy genius.”
“Well then, you’re the other boy genius, Dick. Especially since Karl got all tangled in Plamegate. I mean, these days he’s looking almost too smart for his own good. Whereas you, you always seem to be just smart enough, no more, no less.
Dick is staring very hard at a monitor which shows a famous Democratic Senator in flagrante delicto with a young woman not his wife. “It used to be J. Edgar Hoover that kept track of reprehensible shenanigans like this. You oughta see his JFK tapes. But now it’s me and Scooter that have all the critical intelligence.” Dick sits there in silence, hypnotized by the scene unfolding on the monitor.
“Dick, it’s like this. I told the world that I would take care of anybody on the White House Staff in involved in Plamegate, and we both know that includes you and Scooter…..”
“….Yeah, right. Like it doesn’t include YOU, too.”
“Well, yes. It DOES include me. I’m here to take care of me, too. Because I’m a straight shooter that’s as good as his word, no matter WHAT the public thinks of my credibility.”
“OK you candyassed Crawford cowboy. Go ahead and take your best shot. TAKE CARE of me.”
“Well, how would you and Lynn like to go to a spa outside Scottsdale with me and Laura this weekend? The girls could share girltalk. And you could use some pampering Dick. You’re always thinking about others. Isn’t it about time you and Lynn shared some quality time? And we could golf, or ride mountain bikes….”
“Are you trying to KILL me? Quality time with Lynn would KILL me. Golf, in the broiling Arizona sun, in a cart or on foot, would KILL me. Mountain bikes would KILL me. The only thing that wouldn’t kill me is sitting here in my Aeron, ruling the world. You want to ‘take care of me’? Then leave me the fuck alone.”
“Wow, Dick. What would Jesus say?”
“I have no fucking idea what Jesus would say, all right? Jesus speaks to YOU, not me. That’s why I’m the helmsman of this outfit. You know who speaks to ME?”
“Dick Cheney, that’s who. And once in a while Don Rumsfeld. And sometimes my bunboy over there, Scooter. As for the rest of the world, it can fucken stand in line, and that includes my pornographer wife and her dykey daughter and that moron, Ken Lay, and…..”
“I promised the White House Press Corps and the American Public I would take care of you Dick, and I’m not backing down on that promise. And leaving you the fuck alone won’t do.”
“OK, George. Here’s what you do. You take off my boots and socks and you suck on my ten toes, and you take no less than five minutes on each big toe and three minutes minimum on the pinkies.” And no sooner has Dick spit this out then W is on his knees, pulling off Dick’s cowboy boots and socks.
“GodDAMN, Dick, don’t you ever wash these things?” says W, gagging but still gamely sucking on his VP’s toes.
“Never,” says Dick. “I guess I’ve been waiting all these years for YOU to take care of that.”
“I mean, this is bad! I’m spitting up in my mouth! You got enough toejam for a whole loaf of toast. You mean even when you went in for your many heart attacks the nurses didn’t sponge your toes off?”
“I told ‘em I wanted to die with my boots on.” Dick hardly bothers to look down at W sucking his toes. He is still too fascinated with the sight of the silver-maned Democratic Senator on the monitor, making love to his teenaged mistress. Many minutes roll by.
“OK, Dick. All done. I took care of you. I made good on my promise to the American people.”
Dick rouses himself from his hypnotic trance and stares down at his feet. They are the cleanest they’ve been in years. “So you have.”
“Jesus was a footwasher, too,” says W.
“Yeah, but he had a better security clearance than you, George. Now take care of Scooter. Then get your candyass outta my bunker.”
“Yes sir, Mr. Vice President!” says W, getting to his feet and giving Dick his snappiest military salute from Texas Air National Guard training. W starts to move toward Scooter.”
“Get the fuck outta here! I’m kidding about Scooter. Scooter can take care of his own toes!” And W rushes out of the bunker and hurries back to the White House and immediately calls a Press Conference to announce that everything and everyone has been all taken care of, just like Jesus woulda done.