junior's notebook...entry 3  

sparkee58 59M
606 posts
8/4/2006 2:11 am

Last Read:
8/23/2006 8:31 am

junior's notebook...entry 3


Off to the ranch today; I'm so excited. But, jeez, just a two week vacation. Dick really gets in my craw sometimes. Him and Dumsfeld dropped by last week. Let me tell you, when those two get together, it's just a laugh a minute. Dick started it out.
"Donald, what're you going to say when Hillary scolds you for the cameras?"
"That witch is gonna clean Dummy's clock," I said.
Karl laughed at that; he laughs at everything now that he's out from under the shadow of indictment.
Imagine that; we can even out a CIA agent and get away with it. Well, almost. Scooter ain't none too pleased.
"Clean my clock, huh? I'll dine on her midday meal. Who the Dickens does she think she is?"
"She represents the people of New York, sir," said Karl.
"I represent the people of New York, turd blossom. And don't you forget it," I said.
I looked over at Dick and Donald. Donald had his cell phone out and they were both transfixed on the small screen.
"What're you guys looking at? Porn? Let me see."
Cheney scoffed that way he does with everybody, then he remembered who I was, sitting in that leather throne in the Oval Office, spinning around and around. I spun so hard I almost felt undizzy and paperwork flew off the desk to the floor when I grabbed it to stop.
"Uh, Karl. Was I supposed to sign that?"
"No, sir. Don't worry about it. Just some veteran affairs junk."
"Let me see what's on the phone." I said and reached for it.
Rumsfeld turned the little screen to me and there was a moving picture of a ragamuffin little boy walking barefoot across a debris strewn landscape. Wrecked vehicles and smoldering ruins were everywhere. The boy carried a big container of a clear liquid that sloshed as he hurried across the open ground.
"Who is it?"
"Terrorist, sir."
"But he's carrying water."
"Looks like gasoline to me," said Dick. "For a bomb."
Rumsfeld nodded and looked at Cheney.
"Your turn, Dick," he said.
Cheney pushed a button on the cell phone and the screen erupted in a fireball.
"Hot damn! Let me try!"
Cheney held the phone to his chest like a prized toy. The door to the office opened and JR Junior ran into the room. Rumsfeld took the phone back and put it up.
"Mr. President. Mr. President. Where's my mom?," said the little boy. He was about six years old, light skinned with a headfull of dark crinkled hair.
"She's working. Trying to make the world a better and safer place, son," I told him.
"That's right, JR Junior," broke in Dick. "She's gonna get a Nobel War prize."
Dick held up his open hand and Rummy slapped it in midair.
"Yea, Dick. How's that thing going with them Jews? Can we finish your pipeline, yet?"
"Soon, sir. Soon."
"Tell me again, Karl, about why we're cutting my vacation short."
"Well, basically sir, the world is on fire right now and your taking three weeks to clear brush and ride your mountain bike might look, how do I say it, inappropriate."
"Hell, turd blossom, I can't even spell that word. Besides, when have I ever gave a flying fuck what anyone thinks?"
I looked over at JR Junior.
"Sorry, son."
"That Sheehan wench has bought seven acres close to the ranch," said Dick. "She still thinks you should talk to her."
"Why? Just because she thinks I killed her son? If I talked to every mom who's son I killed, I'd never have time for..."
"Brush clearing," said Dick.
"Mountain Biking," said Karl.
"War planning," said Donald.
"War planning? We never had time for that anyway," said Karl to Rummy.
Rumsfeld tightened his face and shook a finger in turd blossom's face.
"One of these days, Karl. One of these days," he said.
I looked over at Dick. He scowled at the little boy, who hid behind my thone. I felt kind of bad about him being scared. Rummy just laughed.
"Don't be scared of Dick. He ain't prejudiced," I reassured him. "He hates everybody."
JR Junior peeked out at Cheney who was nodding his head in earnest agreement.
"That's true," he said.
"Look! Look! Look at the smirk on his face! Sir, he looks just like you," said Karl.
I turned and, I must say, an arrow of pure joy pierced my heart.
"Say nuclar," I told him.
"Nuclear," he said.
I shook my head.
"Say subliminable," said Karl.
"Subliminal," he said.
"Damn. Damn. There's too much Condi in him," I said.
Karl left to make a phone call in the outer office and Rummy pulled out his cell phone.
"Gotta take it, sir. It's one of the generals in Iraq."
I nodded. JR Junior climbed up into my lap and we made paper airplanes with the veteran bills. Several flew out the open window. I looked over and Dick and Rummy had their heads together again.
JR Junior jumped out of my lap and snuck up behind them. When the fireball flashed his eyes lit up.
"I want to do it! I want to do it!"
The door swung open and Condi flew into the room. Her eyes landed on the Dick and Donald. Rumsfeld closed the phone.
"Mom! Mom! I want to play uncle Rummy's game. Can I? Can I, please?"
Condi looked at Rumsfeld like he has just crawled from under a rock. He looked at the ceiling like he didn't have a thought in his head.
"You playing with the drone, again?"
"I don't know what the Dickens you're talking about," he said.
"He was gonna blow up a little girl that was carrying plastic explosives molded to look like food," said JR Junior.
I swallowed and Dick and Rummy were silent.
"You know I don't approve of this."
We all hung our heads and looked at the carpet.
"We know," we said in chorus.
"Okay. One terrorist."
We all breathed a sigh of relief.
"Yea!" yelled the little boy.
"I mean it though. Just one."
Condi came over to the desk and as the three patriots were ridding the world of another potential evildoer she got in close enough to whisper.
"He's just like you, George."

FrankPicasso 53M

8/4/2006 6:00 am

Sure is comforting to know that the Neocon thought process, or lack thereof, has indeed been passed down to yet another generation. Don't know if Karl has any kids, but maybe they'll clone him or something.

sparkee58 replies on 8/4/2006 8:28 am:
imagine a whole brigade of Rove clones spreading out to manage campaigns

FrankPicasso 53M

8/4/2006 7:22 pm

Don't have to imagine it, man. The clones are all automated now. Ain't that a kick? Gotta love those Diebold voting machines, huh?

In a fall 2003 fundraising letter sent to Republicans, from Diebold CEO Walden O'Dell:

"I am committed to helping Ohio deliver its electoral votes to the President."

Mother Jones, I do believe.

sparkee58 replies on 8/5/2006 2:33 am:
between Diebold's math and the throwing away of provisional ballots they stole 2 elections, alright
the real scary thing is it doesn't bother them a bit
If you haven't already read Greg Palast's new book, "Armed Madhouse."

catseyes23 62F

8/4/2006 9:34 pm

You never fail to amaze me-your writing is so well-thought out, wonderful.
BTW, your comment on my new post has disappeared.

sparkee58 replies on 8/5/2006 4:58 am:
thank you for the compliment, cats
i looked and
it's back

FrankPicasso 53M

8/5/2006 5:41 am

Palast really is something, huh? "Best Democracy Money Can Buy," is also great. The guy can't even get a job here in the states anymore. Had to go to England.

sparkee58 replies on 8/6/2006 2:42 am:
i read his columns on bushwatch
he reminds me of Jim Hightower the way he can cut right through the bullshit

canyaz 50F
17087 posts
8/5/2006 7:11 am

I love your blog! Too bad this couldn't be aired on Comedy Central.

There is a difference between a good BJ and a bad BJ.

sparkee58 replies on 8/6/2006 2:42 am:
...ya never know

thank you


8/5/2006 8:18 am

the sins of the father and such

just a squirrel trying to get a nut

sparkee58 replies on 8/6/2006 2:44 am:
sins of the father and the brothers

Nina_Dee 62F

8/5/2006 9:49 am

I enjoy reading your writings-but for the life of me, being a Brit I hardly know of this stuff. Thanks for putting it on the page.

sparkee58 replies on 8/6/2006 2:43 am:
well, it is satire.

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