Post-pres Bush wrestles with demons
Since George Bush was FedExed to Texas on January 20, the country hasn’t heard a word out of him. I kinda wonder what he’s up to. How do you fill your days after you’ve been King of the World for the past eight years? Does he call Dick Cheney to ask directions when he gets lost going to Sam’s Club? Does he miss Condoleezza? Does Obama ever call? “Hey, George, you forgot your razor. It looks pretty expensive, so I’m over-nighting it to you.”
Does he resent Obama’s popularity? Does he sit there wringing his hands, repeating again and again: “Oh, you just wait, my little pretty—just wait a few years and see what happens to your precious popularity.” Or maybe he wakes up in the middle of the night yelling: “Give me back those ruby slippers!”
It’s hard to know. After all, Bush was our most secretive president. He made Richard Nixon look like TMZ.com. Only poor Laura Bush knows what’s truly going on at the Crawford ranch. Now that the paid personnel are gone, he’s all hers, and I’m sure she’s feeling the pressure of having to entertain him. “Thank God baseball season starts in two months,” she’s probably mumbling to herself. “Lord, please get his ass out of the house before I run out of nerve pills.”
Which brings me to Condoleezza Rice. I really don’t think Condoleezza’s ready to give up George. In a Freudian slip, she once referred to Bush as her husband. And Bush recently said she’s like a sister to him. The point is that Condi has invested too many years in this husband-sister relationship. She’s got to be callin’ him every morning with daily briefings: “Hey there, Georgey-boy . . . I saw Dick the other day and he’s looking more and more like Old Man Potter from ‘It’s A Wonderful Life.’ I wish he’d get out of that wheelchair and grow some hair before some CNN reporter notices the resemblance.”
Look for Condoleezza to use her frequent flyer miles to visit Texas at least twice a month. This will thrill Laura because she can leave them to blather on about Pootie-poot while she goes shopping: “Just leave the coffee cups in the sink—I’ll wash them when I get back.”
If Laura ever goes—God forbid—I believe Condoleezza would be the next Mrs. Bush. And I think Laura believes that too. There are some wives who know who their replacement will be once they bite the bullet. They even cultivate a friendly relationship with the future Mrs. because they magnanimously want to leave their clueless husband in the hands of someone who can competently manage his life.
But Bush needs more than Condi to calm his bad, post-pres nerves. He’s probably crying on Bill Clinton’s shoulder, calling him every couple of days and asking: “Does Daddy think I’m a failure? You know him better than I do. Whaddaya think?”
Clinton—suddenly thrown in the role of family counselor to the Bushes—does his best to reassure W that he wasn’t the worst president in U.S. history. “You really whupped terrorist ass,” he most likely tells him. “I can’t say I did that—and either can your Daddy. Osama’s been hidin’ like a badger for eight years. They were scared shitless of you, Bro. Be proud! You had the balls to stand up to ’em. Millard Fillmore—now there was a president with no balls. You were better than him! And James Buchanan—you were better than him too!”
But George can’t seem to convince Daddy that he was the Michael Corleone of U.S. presidents. Not Mr. Silent Disapproval—with that constant “My son tarnished the Bush name for all eternity” look on his face. Would he please get off George’s ass and give him a break? After all, W won two terms. But Daddy secretly wishes he had lost after the first—and spared the family and the nation his Hooveresque finale.
No, life in Crawford probably isn’t so easy for George Bush. I can see him walking the ranch, trying to channel the ghost of Harry Truman. “Harry, now help me out here. Was I or wasn’t I ‘The Great Decider?’ ”
Laura rolls her eyes every time she hears him ask that question to the wind. Then she picks up the phone and calls Condeleezza. “Catch the first flight out,” she urges.
Does he resent Obama’s popularity? Does he sit there wringing his hands, repeating again and again: “Oh, you just wait, my little pretty—just wait a few years and see what happens to your precious popularity.” Or maybe he wakes up in the middle of the night yelling: “Give me back those ruby slippers!”
It’s hard to know. After all, Bush was our most secretive president. He made Richard Nixon look like TMZ.com. Only poor Laura Bush knows what’s truly going on at the Crawford ranch. Now that the paid personnel are gone, he’s all hers, and I’m sure she’s feeling the pressure of having to entertain him. “Thank God baseball season starts in two months,” she’s probably mumbling to herself. “Lord, please get his ass out of the house before I run out of nerve pills.”
Which brings me to Condoleezza Rice. I really don’t think Condoleezza’s ready to give up George. In a Freudian slip, she once referred to Bush as her husband. And Bush recently said she’s like a sister to him. The point is that Condi has invested too many years in this husband-sister relationship. She’s got to be callin’ him every morning with daily briefings: “Hey there, Georgey-boy . . . I saw Dick the other day and he’s looking more and more like Old Man Potter from ‘It’s A Wonderful Life.’ I wish he’d get out of that wheelchair and grow some hair before some CNN reporter notices the resemblance.”
Look for Condoleezza to use her frequent flyer miles to visit Texas at least twice a month. This will thrill Laura because she can leave them to blather on about Pootie-poot while she goes shopping: “Just leave the coffee cups in the sink—I’ll wash them when I get back.”
If Laura ever goes—God forbid—I believe Condoleezza would be the next Mrs. Bush. And I think Laura believes that too. There are some wives who know who their replacement will be once they bite the bullet. They even cultivate a friendly relationship with the future Mrs. because they magnanimously want to leave their clueless husband in the hands of someone who can competently manage his life.
But Bush needs more than Condi to calm his bad, post-pres nerves. He’s probably crying on Bill Clinton’s shoulder, calling him every couple of days and asking: “Does Daddy think I’m a failure? You know him better than I do. Whaddaya think?”
Clinton—suddenly thrown in the role of family counselor to the Bushes—does his best to reassure W that he wasn’t the worst president in U.S. history. “You really whupped terrorist ass,” he most likely tells him. “I can’t say I did that—and either can your Daddy. Osama’s been hidin’ like a badger for eight years. They were scared shitless of you, Bro. Be proud! You had the balls to stand up to ’em. Millard Fillmore—now there was a president with no balls. You were better than him! And James Buchanan—you were better than him too!”
But George can’t seem to convince Daddy that he was the Michael Corleone of U.S. presidents. Not Mr. Silent Disapproval—with that constant “My son tarnished the Bush name for all eternity” look on his face. Would he please get off George’s ass and give him a break? After all, W won two terms. But Daddy secretly wishes he had lost after the first—and spared the family and the nation his Hooveresque finale.
No, life in Crawford probably isn’t so easy for George Bush. I can see him walking the ranch, trying to channel the ghost of Harry Truman. “Harry, now help me out here. Was I or wasn’t I ‘The Great Decider?’ ”
Laura rolls her eyes every time she hears him ask that question to the wind. Then she picks up the phone and calls Condeleezza. “Catch the first flight out,” she urges.
posted by Mary Paleologos at
1:03 AM
3 Comments:
Love it Mary...
That's great. But without Bush around anymore I guess we'll have to look to Blago and Burris to fill his shoes.
Well...you got "W" down...guess you won't be visiting Crawford anytime soon. I do think his brother {former FL Gov }is the most upset with Georgie the younger...he ruined his future !Just what the country wants --anothet Bush in the White House -not !
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