From the Lips of Bush

Predictions About George H. Bush's Term in Office

By Mike Walsh
Published in Scan magazine just a few months after George H. Bush was sworn into office in 1989.

You are invited to enter comments about this article below.

Folks, when George Bush said, "Read my lips," during his campaign, I read them very closely, so closely that I was able to detect an ancient spirit speaking through his lips. This ancient spirit told the tale of George H. Bush's presidency in all its sordid detail, and this is what his spirit infested lips said.

Like his predessesor he will destroy several Latin American economies.

He will fund death squad wielding military tyrants in strategically placed locations around the globe.

He will ignore Pentagon corruption.

He will urge the CIA on to terrorist activities.

He will make sure we remain the number one arms supplier in the world, a source of great pride for America.

He will keep the minimum wage below the poverty level.

He will take many vacations.

He will lavish billions on expensive weapons systems while the homeless remain on the streets.

He will fantasize about adding a 51st state.

He will veto all proposed national health plans.

He will yearn for a minor military skirmish of predetermined outcome and minimum risk, something like Grenada.

He will wonder what to do about all the pollution in America.

He will send millions in beer money to the Contras.

He will do little or nothing about our rotting environment.

He will cut funding to the arts.

On several occasions he will tell us amusing stories about the White House pet, Millie.

He will wonder why the homeless don't just go out and get themselves a job and nice apartment in the suburbs.

He will weasel his way out of the Iran/Contra scandal.

He will occasionally wonder what life would have been like had Dan Quayle never been born.

He will wonder why there are more blacks and Chicanos in prison than whites, and he will wonder if there is something wrong with them.

He will first double the deficit. Then he will triple it.

He will whine about interest rates, OPEC, prayer in school, the Democratic Congress, and the liberal media every couple months or so.

He will allow mining companies to pillage our national parks.

He will cut funding to crumbling, overburdened cities.

He will say to himself, "No, Puerto Rico's out as the 51st state. They had their chance and blew it. The same with Guam. They can have their stupid little island, who cares?! The Philippines? No, they're are a mess.... Hmmmm.... Let's see..."

He will not understand why blacks keep complaining about racism.

He will encourage police departments to confiscate the belongings of drug addicts.

He will get stiffer sentences for drug addicts, so that they can continue their suffering and their addictions in prison.

One night he will have a dream about a minor, Grenada-like military foray of pre-determined outcome and little risk. He will wake with a start, pound the bed, and shout, "I want my Grenada, by God, I want my Grenada," waking both Barbara and Millie.  He will then roll over and go back to sleep. Barbara and Millie will exchange worried looks.

Every couple months or so he will remind us that the rising deficit is actually the fault of all democratic administrations since FDR.

He will secretly believe that AIDs is a punishment from God sent to purge mankind of the infidels.

He will enjoy himself immensely.

He will wonder what to do with all the nuclear waste.

At least once per year he will demonstrate the correct delivery of the Pledge of Allegiance.

To set an example for school children, he will voluntarily take a urine test.  The results will be inconclusive.

He will be re-elected in a landslide.

He will do his best to prevent peace in Central America.

He will wonder why those wacky native Americans on their nice, big reservations get drunk all the time.

He will allow the chemical and oil companies to continue to pollute while announcing record profits.

He will wonder why there are more blacks and Chicanos living in ghettos than whites, and he will wonder if there is something wrong with them.

He will think, "Darn it, I really would like to get a 51st state. New Zealand's too far away…Borneo? Nah, that's a weird place. How about a small country in Africa? Nah, too hot. Nothing near the equator. I hate that damned equator. Scotland? Now there's a nice place. Nah, England's got dibs…"

He will watch silently as Pentagon corruption whistleblowers lose their jobs and he will think, "That's what you get when you rock the boat."

Keystone cop-type CIA fuckups will embarrass him, and middle-level CIA functionaries will lose their jobs.

He will propose lower taxes for the rich as a way of lowering the ever-burgeoning budget deficit.

He will allow the automakers to continue making cars that pollute.

One day while fantasizing about a minor Grenada-like military foray of pre-determined outcome and little risk, he will suddenly realize that he is drooling on his tie. Barbara and Millie will exchange worried looks.

He will wonder what to do with all the convicted criminals. Visions of gas ovens, penal islands, and spaceships packed with thousands of criminals blasting into space will dance through his mind.

On numerous occasions he will tell us amusing stories about his grandchildren.

He will wonder why women continue to complain about sexism in the workplace.

He will deliberately misrepresent and exaggerate his accomplishments knowing that most American's will believe him.  After a while he will not be able to differentiate between the accomplishments and the exaggerations.

He will get very tired of meetings, memos, fighting with in Congress, compromises, photo taking opportunities, flights on Air Force one, Doonesbury, shouting journalists, and he will quietly mumble to no one in particular, "I can't go on like this anymore." An aide will say, "What was that, sir?" And he will say, "Oh, nothing." Then he will go into a restroom and shout, "I am not an animal! I am a human being!" When he comes out he will faint.  He will start taking even more vacations.

He will say to himself, "Now, Portugal wouldn't be a bad state, but they don't speak English. Damnit, those people don't even speak Spanish. There's Canada. No, too cold. Mexico, no, you can't drink the water. Taiwan?  No, the Chinese would be pissed…"

He will let Exxon get away with it.

One one such vacation he will say to himself, "This isn't quite how it was supposed to work out. Now why it was that I wanted to be President in the first place? Was there something I wanted to do once I became president?”  Then he will think of some new ideas about peace and the deficit and about the role of government in people's lives, and he will realize that these ideas are quite different, quite unusual, that these thoughts would normally be consider "radical." Then he will think, while casting into the serene, Secret Service-surrounded waters of a trout-stocked fishing pond, "No, I can't propose that. My staff would go nuts, my cabinet would rebel, the papers would laugh, and Reagan would call me up and yell." He will become quite agitated and while casting, he will catch the hook on the seat of his waders. As it is being extracted by a Secret Service emergency team below a hovering helicopter, he will think, "I wish I hadn't even thought those thoughts."

He will think about history and how it will treat him. He will wonder to himself, "What can I do to make sure that history thinks highly of me?" He will assign the task of finding the answer to that question at his next staff meeting.

He will wonder why blacks and Chicanos score lower than whites on scholastic aptitude tests, and he will wonder if there is something wrong with them.

He will never, ever see 1,000 points of light. Instead, he will see 100 obstacles and he will think, "It's not fair. I am supposed to be a man of vision, but with all this fighting, I don't have time for visions. I haven’t had time for a vision in years. In fact, I can't remember when it was that I last had a vision. That's what I'm supposed to do during those damn vacations, I'm supposed to have my visions, but all I can think about are those Democrats and the liberal press and my vetoes that I know those bastards will override. I'd like to take all those damn naysayers and string them up. I'm so wound up, I don't know if I could have a vision if I tried. Wait a second," he suddenly thinks, "I've got a vision: What about Tahiti? That would be a nice state. Plenty of beaches, cheap restaurants. No, no it's too far away. The airfare would be murder. What about Greenland or Iceland?  No, too cold. Think of the heating bills…"

After finally achieving his minor, Grenada-like, military foray of predetermined outcome and minimum risk and turning the previously unheard of country into the 51st state, he will award several hundred Purple hearts and brag incessantly. That night he will jump up and down on his bed shouting, "Yes, yes, yes, I finally got my Grenada!" Barbara and Millie will exchange worried looks.


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