Hello, God? It's Me, Dubya

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Hello, God? It's Me, Dubya

Lord? Bush here. I'm confused. Why won't you crush Kerry and smite the

heathens? Hello?

- By Mark Morford, SF Gate Columnist

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

 

Are you there, God? It's me, George W. Come in, Almighty. Do you read me?

 

It's about 8:00 pm and it's just after my last bubble bath of the day

and here I am again, kneeling here in the Oval Office all by myself in

my most favoritest PJs, the funny ones with the little M-1 tanks and

baseball players all over them. I gots some problems, Lord.

 

Look, I've done everything you asked. I've been good. Haven't I?

 

I take the message to the people, don't I? I spout that evangelical

born-again crap in pisswater Podunk conservative churches across this

burned-out fear-drunk nation like I was emceeing a freakin' rodeo in

Crawford. And they eat it up, Lord. They eat that stuff up. Hell, I

even believe a lot of that fire-breathin' Second Comin'

evildoer-hatin' stuff myself.

 

And looky here! Look how much dough I induce those evangelical suckers

to cough up into the coffers of the GOP (that's God's Own Party --

just for you, Lord!). Doesn't that cut me a little slack fer when I

skip over the part where Jesus says " Blessed are the peacemakers? "

 

Or when he says to turn the other cheek? Or love thy enemies? Or when

the Bible says, " The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace,

patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and

self-control " ? Or any of that other pointless pacifist hippie junk?

 

I mean, forgive me 'cuz I know your boy Jesus was great and all, but

did he have the Carlysle Group breathing down his neck, screaming for

more war profits? Did he have a million neat-o bombs at his instant

disposal? Did he have Rummy scowling down his hawkish nose at him

during naptime? No, he did not.

 

Look. I behave. I never have sex and I hate that sicko porno gay pagan

naked sexual stuff, and to this day I'm damn proud that those

disgustin' dildo thingies are still illegal in Texas.

 

Heck, I even want to change the freakin' U.S. Constitution to prevent

them icky gays from ever gettin' legally married and thus soiling the

precious institution of uptight heterosexual man-woman Christian

marriage counseling. I want to codify right-wing homophobia, Lord!

Don't that count for somethin'?

 

Hell, I'm a former raging alcoholic who stopped binge drinking years

ago (I attributed it to you! Remember?) 'cuz I got so drunk I fell

into a fever dream wherein I coulda swore I saw Jesus chattin' with

Buddha and Shiva and Allah and Isis, and they was all sighing and

shaking their heads and agreein' to send me back in the next life as a

smelly tree fungus. And that can't be good.

 

Remember, Lord, back in the '00 debates when they asked me to name my

favorite philosopher, and I said, " Jesus " ? Remember how cheesy and

obnoxious and cop-outy that was, given how Jesus was actually the

Original Liberal and given how everyone knows I haven't read a single

" real " philosopher of any note since they made me stand up in

Philosophy 1A back at Yale and read a passage from that pagan homo

Plato guy when I could barely focus due to all the gin? Wasn't that good?

 

We bombed them nasty Iraqis in Your name, Lord! Afghanis, too! Hell,

I've even gone so far as to tell anyone who'll listen that it was your

very will that we invade those countries, that you were pretty much

speaking to me, through me, when I told General Whatshisname to go

ahead and bomb the living crap outta them evil evildoers and never you

mind the women and babies you just git me some war on terror,

beeyatch! Whoops, sorry.

 

Oh, I know what them liberals say, that your son Jesus Christ was a

card-carrying pacifist, hated war and hated bloodletting and hated

hate. But damn, your boy certainly didn't know about the price of

crude, you know? I mean, a Christian's gotta do what a Christian's

gotta do to fuel up the SUV and keep the Saudis happy and keep the

Lockheed stock from steppin' in a financial cow pie, am I right, Lord?

Can I get a " Hell yeah " ? Whoops, sorry again.

 

Lord, I just don't understand. I know I'm not much of a businessman,

or a leader, or a public speaker, or a humanitarian, or a

foreign-policy expert, or a lover of nuance, or a deep thinker, or

much of anything positive or life affirming that anyone can name,

really. But I'm a darned nice guy. A " decent man. " This is what

everyone says. And I thought we had a deal.

 

I thought we had an understanding that if I took my narrow

hypocritical bloody misinterpretations of the Good Book's teachings

and spread them all over this planet like Johnny Ashcroft anoints

himself in Crisco every night, I thought if I mocked the separation of

church and state at every turn and brought a twisted version of your

Word to the huddled masses who weren't blessed enough to be in me and

my daddy's tax bracket, you'd sorta, you know, help me out a little.

 

Like, maybe you'd finally get this ugly Iraq quagmire thing taken care

of for me. Maybe get those scary godless Islamic peoples to see the

born-again light. And maybe in the process guarantee me a first-class

seat on the glory train to salvation? Or at least a friggin' second term?

 

Hello? Lord? You still there? God's Own Party, remember? We're all

about you, baby. Except for the blood and the tortures and the

warmongering and the homophobia and the misogyny and the raping of

Your glorious planet on a daily basis. Besides that, you rock!

 

So, again, before I rush off to bed so Laura can read me another page

of " Goodnight Moon, " I just gotta ask: What gives, Sir? I pray every

night that you'll smite my enemies and hold back the heathen liberals

and Democrats and also them idiot environmentalists, the ones who want

to protect the forests and clean up the air and save the freakin'

whales, when, hellfire, I ain't seen a whale here in D.C. since Teddy

Kennedy cannonballed in Senator Leahy's pool. Haw! See? I still got my

God-given sense o' humor! People love that hokey Texas crap! Bless me,

Jesus!

 

But nothing seems to be working anymore. S'cuze my French, Lord, but

dammit, why you lettin' that cheap Catholic wanna-be Kerry hone in on

me? Why is that commie Michael Moore's 9/11 movie so damn successful,

despite all of Uncle Dick's promises that the party would shut it

down? Why is my " easy " little war only getting worse, and bloodier,

and more confusing, and why is it giving me rashy itches in my nether

parts? Why are my approval ratings slipping down lower'n a altar boy's

pants in a Catholic rectory?

 

Don't you approve of my religious zealotry? Of how we slam Islam every

day? Didn't you like it when I let Gen. William Boykin say, when

talkin' about hammering them nasty Iraqis, that " my God is much bigger

than their Allah, " and it got splashed all over the Arab media? Two

million Muslims hate me like a cancer, Lord! If that don't get me some

bonus points in your book, I don't know what does.

 

And yet you're still lettin' scandal after scandal stain my pure, holy

name. Rummy and his rape and torture, Wolfie and his Chalabi, Cheney

and his Halliburton, Ashcroft and his Guantánamo Bay, Powell and his

vial of anthrax, Rove and his very existence. Why, it's a gul-dang

rogue's gallery of beady-eyed mean-ass misprision! Hey! Check it out!

I said a neat word! Misprision! I wish I knew what it meant.

 

You hafta save me, Lord. You have to pump up my poll ratings, get the

damned liberal media off my back (but not Fox News! Never them), make

the people believe again.

 

See, they're not falling for the fear crap quite so much anymore. The

bogus Orange Alerts and terror warnings ain't having the same effect.

They're seein' through the dumb-guy schtick. They ain't buying any of

the 1,001 reasons we made up to launch war on Iraq. Seems most

'Murkins don't really like being internationally loathed,

disrespected, mocked, being made into a sad global joke. Go figger.

 

Maybe it'll help when we " capture " Osama bin Laden just before

election time, when we finally " discover " him in a remote hilltop cave

deep in Afghanistan -- a.k.a., a secret basement somewhere in Jersey

where we've had him stashed for months for just this occasion. You

think that'll help? Rove says it's a lock. I ain't so sure.

 

I guess that's it for now, Lord. I'm getting' sleepy from all this

hard thinkin'. Thank you for listening, Lord. I know you're up there,

right now, waving a little American flag and admiring your NRA

lifetime membership plaque and voting Republican and givin' them icky

gay people some nasty STDs and completely ignoring the rest of this

big scary unpronounceable planet. Gul-dang heathens!

 

You're the best, Lord. Bless me, one more time, OK? I'm gonna need it.

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