On Thanksgiving morning I woke up, turned on CNN and was amazed to find out that George Bush had flown to Iraq for two and a half hours without any advance warning.
CNN reported that the trip was meant to be a moral booster for the troops, but I wasn't so sure. I called my secret contact in the White House to find out what the true story was.
"Hello, Deep Throat Jr. speaking.," he answered.
"Hi Pudgy," I replied, "You know, I don't think answering the phone that way is the best idea if you want to stay anonymous."
"Are you kidding? This place leaks so much that the big problem I had was getting to use the name Deep Throat. I had to list it in the White House directory before Dubya was even inaugurated. Colin Powell really wanted it and Rumsfeld actually offered me fifty bucks for it. Condi Rice wanted it too until I explained where the name came from and that maybe it wouldn't be good for her. Too many jokes, ya know? Besides, anything is better than being called Pudgy."
"Makes sense." I acknowledged. "Look, Pudg... uh, DT, what was going on with the Bush Iraq trip? Was it really for the troops?"
"Not exactly," he admitted, sounding uncomfortable, "but you gotta promise me this one will never get out. I mean Never. Promise?"
"Of course," I lied. "You have my word. Now, what's the deal?"
"Ok, here's the scoop. Wednesday morning George and Laura were in Crawford, Texas at the ranch. Laura decided that she wanted to cook the turkey herself, you know, the whole housewife trip. She asked George to help and the next thing you know..."
"Don't tell me." I groaned.
"You got it; he dropped the bird, went to pick it up and got his foot right into the hole in the back of the bird where you put the stuffing in. He shook his foot to get it off and it flew up and hit Laura in the face. Chipped a cap on her front tooth too. Anyway, Laura went after him with a frying pan and George was outta there, hot footing to Air Force One as fast as his cowboy boots could carry him. I was right behind him and the next thing I know Dubya's screaming at the pilot, ‘ Fly! Fly the goddamn plane!' with Laura outside throwing sweet potato's at the cockpit.
The pilot was yelling, ‘Where? Where?' and Dubya's yelling back, ‘Anywhere! Just get me outta here!' It was great.
"So he ended up in Iraq? Why?"
Pudgy laughed. "Bush figured that Laura would chase him all the way to the White House and that Iraq was the last place she'd look. So off we went. Poor Karl Rove was using the planes toilet, trying get some peace and quiet and when he comes out he's on his way to a war zone. He flipped out. There we all were, trying to convince Bush that Iraq was too dangerous. ‘Dangerous?' he asked, ‘You don't know danger until you piss Laura off. Talk about thugs and evil doers. I shoulda just sent her to get Saddam.' So we were stuck spending Thanksgiving in Baghdad. Jesus Christ, what a fiasco."
"Were you scared?"
"Terrified. As we come into land, Karl's screaming at the pilot, ‘Shut off the landing lights! Shut off the fucking landing lights! Bush is sitting there with a parachute on by the door mumbling, ‘Better than Laura, better than Laura.' and clutching a plastic Jesus. So we landed ok, spent a couple of hours eating bad turkey with the troops and got the hell outta there as fast as we could. Bush spent the entire flight on the phone trying to get Laura to forgive him."
"Incredible." I said, "So what's on tap for Christmas?"
"I don't know about anyone else, but I'm spending Christmas in Aspen."