SCRIPT OF PRESIDENT BUSH'S SCENIC TELEVISED ADDRESS UNVEILING INSPIRED PLAN TO COMBAT PLUMMETING POST-HURRICANE POLL NUMBERS
Address by the President
[CUE COBALT BLUE LIGHTS ON CHURCH]
THE PRESIDENT: What's that McKinnon? My shirt collar? What about it? Oh Jesus. Gimme a second here. Huh?
We're live? Shit.
Good evening. Tonight I'm addressing the American people on the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina – a lightening-quick
two weeks after that cruel storm forced the premature termination of my much-deserved five week vacation.
In Katrina's wake, we have seen the kind of erosion of political support that no Republican of this
intolerant, selfish pseudo-theocracy should ever have to suffer. We've also witnessed my meticulously fabricated
image – the ultra-competent and compassionate
leader – smashed to pieces like so many cluster-bombed Iraqazoid babies and grandmothers.
Yes, if you can believe it, some folks think I've been a little heartless, even after I
took the time to buzz the Gulf Coast devastation in my 747, and my darling
momma broke out her world-famous Mother Theresa impersonation.
To combat this, I will be opening my remarks tonight by shamelessly tugging at your heartstrings.
Despite incredible death and destruction across the Gulf Coast, my speech writers have assembled
feel-good anecdotes to conjure thoughts of kitty cats lapping from saucers of warm milk, and even cuter
puppy dogs wagging their tails and saying "woof, woof!" Anecdotes of blue-eyed, apple-cheeked
boys and girls venturing into the warm sunshine, gazing heavenward, and thanking Jesus not killing
them – at least not yet. Such is the spirit of America. [Dabs tear from eye.]
[BRING UP AMBER FOOTLIGHTS ON PALMS]
Our first commitment is to the task of recovery and rebuilding, to meet the immediate needs of the
corporations that are hemorrhaging money every day their operations are adversely impacted by the storm.
For these businesses, most of the sweetest no-bid contracts
are yet to be awarded, and that will require the creative skill and
mendacity of a united plutocracy.
To begin rebuilding at once, I have asked for, and the Congress has rubber-stamped, more than $60
billion. In keeping with my administration's sound fiscal policies, these funds will materialize
not from taxes, but from an enchanted pot of gold – that is continuously replenished via a magic
time-travelling Leprechaun, who weilds an enchanted ATM card to make daily withdrawals from the retirement accounts of our still-unborn
grandchildren!
[CUE HAIR-TOUSLING FANS STAGE RIGHT]
Our second commitment is to help the displaced unfortunates of the Gulf Coast put their lives back
together and rebuild their communities – lest all those colored Democrats still be hanging around
Houston next year when Tom DeLay is up for re-election. Rest assured that the Department of Homeland Security is registering these
people on "caging lists", and that I've instructed FEMA to waste no time assembling a task force that will explore the creation of a committee
that will investigate the establishment of a team that will lay out a timeline for the
hiring of people to formulate a strategy for the rapid distribution of requisition forms to regional aid
consultants.
[BRING UP SPOTLIGHT]
Our third commitment is this: When communities are rebuilt, they must be even more profitable and gentrified
than before the storm. Within the Gulf region are some of the most beautiful and historic places in the
Confederacy, places whose culture was savagely gutted during the War of Northern Aggression. So let us
restore all that we have cherished from yesterday, and let us rise above the sad legacy of Reconstruction.
To that end, and under the feel-good banner of a "Gulf Opportunity Zone", I am proud to have exploited this
crisis to achieve the long-time robber-baron goal of abolishing the minimum wage.
Moving forward, when the streets are rebuilt, the jackhammers will be wielded by hungry, desperate coloreds toiling
for slave wages. When Trent Lott's antebellum mansion is rebuilt, the original houseboy barracks can and will
finally be restored. And when the regional economy revives, local businesses can count on their payroll costs
to be but a fraction of their formerly burdensome selves.
[POWER UP FOG MACHINE]
The work that has begun in the Gulf Coast region will be one of the largest reconstruction efforts
the world has ever seen. And it is my so-called "Armies of Compassion" – McJesus charities and houses of worship, and
unctuous shysters parading as humanitarians – who are destined to give this effort my trademark politically
opportunistic spice.
The cash-money needed to support the Armies of Compassion is great. Fortunately, the private fund-raising effort led
by my poppy and Bill Clinton has already received pledges of more than $100 million. Some of that money is going to the
Governors to be used for immediate needs within their states. A portion – OK, the lion's share – will be sent to local houses
of worship to "help reimburse them for the expense of helping others." Because God forbid that churches should
put even the tiniest of dents in their Swiss bank accounts by throwing money away on all that nonsense about helping
the poor and downtrodden. After all, What Would Jesus Do? He'd send an invoice to the U.S. Treasury, of course!
Four years after the frightening experience of 9/11®, I am admittedly annoyed that events should
conspire to expose that despite all my election year posturing about "safety" and "taking charge", that America
under my watch is as well-prepared for domestic disasters as it is for keeping the peace in Iraq. So I've ordered
all my Cabinet Secretary yes-men, along with the Republican leadership of the Congress, to begin a charade investigation
which, I'm confident, will lay blame elsewhere and recommend further budget-blind ballooning of the Federal bureaucracy.
[CUE WAGNER SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA]
In this place, the Crescent City, there's a custom that precedes the faithful observance of Christ's miraculous resurrection.
A custom in which I myself participated many times. Millions of blacked-out drinkers stumble into the streets of the French
Quarter, heralding the somber arrival of Lent with tacky beads, rivers of vomit, and dignified calls of "SHOW US YOUR TITS!"
Tonight the Gulf Coast is still stumbling blacked-out, yet we will live to see the triumphant flashing of tits once again.
Thank you, and may God Bless America.
[CUE FIREWORKS]
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