“The narrative of the Iraq invasion, properly told, resembles a story out of Shakespeare” — that jackass Ross Douthat, New York Times.
BUSHLET, PRINCE OF A GUY
[The ghost of WMDs flits about the White House]
It started like a guilty thing
Upon a fearful summons.
Good enough for me! Let’s away to the sitch room!
[The court of KING SADDAM and MOMMA]
You look a mite peaked, George.
It’s Warshinton. The air ain’t right or somethin’.
Yeah, whatever, outie.
[Exeunt all but BUSHLET]
Sometimes I wish I could just disappear. Know what I mean?
[CHENEY enters, disguis’d, waving the World Trade Towers]
Woohh! Mark me, Saddam needs an ass-kickin’.
My fate cries out. I say kick ass!
[Later, somewhere else]
Hans Blix and Whatshisname are here.
The world’s grown honest.
Yeah, well, we’ll see about that. What a piece of shit is man! Haw, just funnin’ y’all. Hey, Colin and his pitcher show is here!
[Enter COLINPOWELL and the Players]
Hey, fellers, “The rugged Pyrrhus, he whose sable arms/ Black as his purpose, did the night resemble” [winks broadly] Y’all take my meanin’?
We do, my lord.
Great. See you at the U.N. [Exeunt PLAYERS.] I’m a rogue and peasant slave, gol-durnit. Well, let’s see if we can’t catch the conscience of the whatchamacallit, that guy they got there.
[Dumbshow at the U.N. Everyone freaks out.]
Haw! Frighted with false fire and whatnot! In your face!
Your momma wants to talk to you,
You have thy father much offended.
Aw, quit it, Momma, I’m a man grown! I — hey, who’s that?
[Stabs, waterboards, smashes fingers, and dehydrates to death SOME ARAB WHO DIDN’T DO ANYTHING]
Aw shoot, now look! Hey, look at this picture of Poppy. He kinda knew what the score was, right? Don’t make me get heavy with you now.
[CHENEY enters waving the body of GB1]
Woooooh! Leave her to heaven!
Whatever you say, Dick! OK, I’m off to the gym. [Exits]
I’m not dead, you know.
I’m back, what’s up?
[They wrassle. BUSHLET kills KING SADDAM.]
[Dusting off hands] Well, that’s that. It ain’t braggin’ if you can do it. Hmm, don’t feel so good. Uh-oh, looks like I done something to my whatchamacallit — my reputation. Gotta take a lie-down.
[Poll numbers swoon]
The election lights on Obama; he has my sympathy, haw! The rest is silence
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night, sweet prince;
As reams of bullshit sling thee through the rest.