Written by Neil Levine
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Topics: Texas, Washington

Thursday, 4 August 2005

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Washington,D.C. and Crawford, Texas---Laura Bush, the First Lady of this great land, is tired of the drudgery involved in being the wife of a world leader. She is demanding help. Not just from anybody, but from the Big Man himself, the one and only Mr. Butch, Gee Dubya Bee You Ess Aitch.


She has gone public with her complaint that her hubba bubba, George W. Bush, doesn't help with the housekeeping, the cleaning, the laundry, taking out the garbage, not even errands, the little things that always need to be done around the house that he does not want to do. The petty details of modern life that have to be attended to. He doesn't help the girls, Barbara or Jenna, and he doesn't work the yard. All he wants to do is look at the B I G picture and play ball. But not with her or anyone else in the family.


Mostly he talks with his federale experts. He claims it helps him get a better grip on his job And he is in the best shape of his life.


Not only that, but all he does talk about are W. M. D. with Dick Cheney when not plotting defensive strategies with Don Rumsfeld or talking about possible Administrative positions with Condoleeza Rice. Will the rough and tumble work never end? Is there no mercy for the weary in this world?


Laura wants a break.


"Sometimes I wish he was back running the Texas Rangers. There were only twenty-five players and most of his business dealings were with other rich capitalist owners in major cities like Los Angeles, Chicago and New York. George Steinbrenner can be a gracious host even if New York is a hell of a town. And don't forget what the Texas Rangers stand for! Truth, justice and the American way, things we need more of around here!"


"But where is the domestic bliss in that? Where is the home cooked tenderness? I want to know! How can you eat without cookie books?"


"And now he's got a Congressional recess on his hands! Will the injustices never end?"


"I need to get away from his inveterate, incessant jogging."


"So I may go out on the comedy circuit permanently."


"George has no sense of humor whatsoever. He is S o o o Drop Dead serious. And he couldn't tell a good joke, even if his dignified self image depended on it!"


"Since we're gone on vacation at the ranch, George is becoming worse. All he does now is count the cattle and watch the grass. You'd think he would change for the better. But Nooo. Same Old George W. Bush."


"I'm telling you. There is no rest for the weary, especially now that he's switched from jogging to biking. Imagine me as a Biker Babe! No Way!"

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The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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