A WEEK OF
EXCITEMENT AND SUSPENSE IN THE RE-ELECTED BUSH WHITE HOUSE
Laura Bush Might Just Cause an Invasion of Iran
(A one-act play which probably makes the White
House appear far more intellectual than the author intends).
(Bush enters the Oval office at 6:30am, yawns, farts loudly and
chuckles. As he turns on the lights, he is startled to find Cheney,
Powell, Rumsfeld, and Rice already sitting there).
Bush: Jesus Christ, you guys scared me, what the
hell you already doing here?
Rice: You told us to be here for a 6 o’clock
meeting, sir—a matter of national security, the memo said.
Bush: Did it? Did I? Oh, yes, of course I did.
National security. (Reflects) Jesus, why were you sitting in the
Powell: You said the government’s so much
in debt, we have to be careful with the electricity.
Bush: Yeah, that’s right. Good thinking.
Uh, anyone hear me fart?
Rumsfeld: (Blushing) If we did sir, we’d
deny it to the end, believe me.
Cheney: I didn’t hear shit.
Bush: (Chuckling, along with everyone else) Good
one, Dick, although it was a close call.
Powell: (Still chuckling, almost to the point
of choking) We can always blame an explosion like that on the
Rice: Leave the Koreans outta this. Their army’s
too darn big. Better the Iranians, easier target.
Bush: No question about it. Also, it’s his
goofy look—their leader, whathisname? Dang, that guy gives
me the creeps. Like father like son.
Rumsfeld: No comment.
Cheney: (Giving Rumsfeld a high-five) You said
Powell: Hell yeah he said it.
Rumsfeld: You bet I did.
Bush: (Pleased with himself) Hell yeah, baby,
I did say it, didn’t I? (Pauses) Uh, what?
Rice: (Puzzled) What do you mean, what? You said
Bush: Did I? Say nothing?
Powell: Anyway, sir, I think we should get to
the point of this meeting. Your memo said it was urgent.
Bush: Of course it’s urgent.
Powell: So…what’s so urgent?
Bush: What do you mean?
Powell: What do you mean, what do I mean?
Cheney: (Annoyed) Quit pestering the President,
you wanna lose your job or what?
Powell: Jesus, Dick, no need to get all…sensitive,
I was just wondering what the meeting’s about.
Cheney: Well quit wondering, that’s not
what we pay you for.
Bush: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not what
we pay you for.
Rice: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not what
we pay you for.
Rumsfeld: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not
what we pay you for.
Powell: I’m sorry.
Rice: You should be. (Sighing heavily and rolling
her eyes) God.
Bush: Well, I guess that’s about it for
now. Gotta go. Playing a round of golf with Falwell this morning.
Powell, Rice, Cheney, Rumsfeld: (Simultaneously,
full of cheer) Ok, see ya! Good luck!
(Falwell and Bush playing golf, a healthy respect
and bonhomie between the two men).
Falwell: Good shot.
Bush: (Uncertainly) You pulling my leg?
Falwell: Would I do that, sir?
Bush: (Picking the ball from the pond, surly)
Falwell: Mr President, I’ve been thinking—and
please hear me out, but what if you are the Second Coming of Christ?
Ever consider that?
Bush: Wow, that’s freaky dude. Because lately,
after the elections, I’ve been wondering that more and more
myself. And now that you’ve also mentioned it--and you know
how much I respect your opinion--I bet we’re on the right
track. Only thing is, I can’t grow my hair long, it’s
grey, and my beard is way too thin.
Falwell: No problem. These days, there’s
nothing that a little plastic surgery can’t fix. You know
what I mean?
Bush: (Slicing the ball) Goddamit. Uh, sorry.
That’s not a bad idea. You know any good plastic surgeons?
Someone discreet? Also, someone gentle, I don’t like pain.
Falwell: Sure. I know a guy. Fixed up my…a
Bush: Fixed up your what?
Bush: Naidoo, huh. What kind of name is that?
Falwell: I think he’s from Calcutta. But
he’s lived here for some twenty odd years. Pretty much Americanized.
Only eats curry on Fridays—and even then it’s beef.
Went to their place one night with my wife. Had the shits for
Bush: Jesus, Jerry, you outta your mind? You sending
me to some goddam—sorry— quack from Calcutta that
gave you the shits? Where the hell is Calcutta anyway?
Falwell: Somewhere…far away, I guess.
Bush: Well I’m not doing it.
Falwell: Suit yourself.
Bush: (Slicing the ball again and storming off)
And I’m not playing with you again. You cheat.
(Laura Bush, sitting in a hospital
room, by her husband’s bed, looking at him lovingly).
Laura Bush: Wow, you really do look like Him.
Laura Bush: Who else, Pinocchio?
Bush: (Chuckling) Cut it out, Laura, it hurts
when I laugh.
Laura Bush: (Stroking her husband’s new,
thick, long golden hair lovingly) Of course I meant JC. Wow, your
hair’s so nice and long--nicer than mine. I’ve always
wanted hair like that. It’s not fair. But the beard: I’ll
have to get used it. (Pauses) Did you get that implant like we
Bush: (Horrified) Laura, you crazy? Somebody might
Laura Bush: (Getting amorous, touching his arm)
C’mon, baby, you know we spoke about it. It would…spice
things up…you said so yourself.
Bush: Is that all you think about?
Laura Bush (Persevering): Well, did you?
Bush: Yes, dammit. You happy now?
Laura Bush: Can we…try it out?
Bush: Have you gone completely nuts? That thing’s
sensitive as hell. I need time to recover. My God.
Laura Bush (Disappointed): How long do we have
to wait, baby?
Bush: Laura, please, I got the damn thing done,
didn’t I? Can’t you be a little patient? You make
me so damn angry I could invade…Calcutta…if I only
knew where it was!—dammit! No, I know…Korea—no,
no, not Korea—wait--I’ll invade Iran, yeah, that’s
it, I’ll invade Iran…I don’t know where Iran
is either, but who cares, our boys will find it. Get me Rumsfeld
on the phone…
David G. Hochman 2004