MAYDAY!! Mayday!! Pooter Stomps GW!! Babs Bombs the Bolshoi!! Pooter and Cooter ChaCha Like Lucy & Ricky!! George W was beyond frantic when I took his call direct from his crib in Kennebunkport. Some Russian guy named Putin-who GW insisted on calling Pooter 'cause he was a charter member of my good ole boys page on Facebook-had talked GW into playing a "Russky" version of Yahtzee that had George totally confused. Dick Cheney-Chains to his MySpace pals-grabbed my precious iPhone and really gave LittleBush the business:
"Georgie, you cannot trust Putin to play the game by our rules. He's worse than Al Gonzo when it comes to making up his own rules and then accusing you of being a Big Fat Democratic Cheater if you win playing his game. So tell me you've outflanked him and are kicking his ass as we speak."
"Dammit Chains I'm getting toasted!! He keeps changing the rules-like when I had a flush last hand he said that in Russia 2 stinking pair automatically beat a bunch of cheap diamonds. Is that right?"
"Yahtzee!!"
"Oh my gawd-I just lost half of Rhode Island, most of Crawford, and every Victoria's Secret east of the Mississippi. And before that, I practically gave away Brittany Spears, Anna Nicole Smith, and the starting 5 of the New York Knicks. Jeez Loueeze, he even cheats better than Laura playing UltimateBunco with her librarian posse."
"Come on GW-Anna Nicole is a dead. Pooter will be plenty pissed when he finds out the 38DD of his dreams is a goner that you used as cheap chips in a soon-to-be-seen episode of Kremlin Yahtzee."
"Hey Dickie Boy--you think I'm dumb as a post or what? I think he will be impressed with my creative use of our most treasured national properties."
"You just crossed the line GeorgiePoo-I'm calling Laura right now to break up this Yahtzee debacle."
"Please Chains. You can't-I'm sitting here in my skivvies-all I'm wearing is my Tony Lama G Man boots and my Transformer boxers-I'm working on winning back my Levis, but I'm telling ya he's like the Tony Soprano of Yahtzee. Every time I win, he finds a way to make it worth my while to lose. And BOOM-he pulls out this machine pistol, fires off a few rounds, and, before you can say Odessa blows, I've lost another piece of my Tejas wardrobe. Plus he starts trash talking me in Yiddish-he is one big showoff let me tell ya-and he's as arrowgant as those Mexcans in Midland who used to whip my ass at recess in my first year in 1st grade."
"First year?"
"You have no idea how hard learning English was in the MidlandISD-my 1st-grade teacher made Nancy Pelosi look like Auntie Myrtle."
"GW-I'm sending Annie Cooter and my Rambo Pediatric SWAT Doctor up there ASAP to save your bacon. You need bigtime help. Do not make any more ridiculous bets till they get there. See if you can talk Pooter in to playing NoHoldsBarred Bunco with George Hermann, Babs, and Laura-let him get a taste of his own stinking medicine."
Chaos does not begin to do justice to the soiree that Cooter and yours truly encountered when we walked into the Bush Rancho Norte front door. For one thing, we almost plowed into a For Sale sign on the front lawn offering the "Best BearStearns Subprime ARM on their entire balance sheet to the lucky buyer of our little Rancho Norte-will accept all offers, Democrats and immigrants included-Bienvenidos a todos con mucho dinero."
Plus the guy opening the door bore a striking resemblance to-I kid you not-Bill Bellichek. He was wearing this ragged sweat shirt, a huge scowl on his face, and videoed our every move the entire time we were there.
"Bunco!!" Babs screamed when we entered the game room.
"Beano?? I don't need any stinking Beano!!" George Hermann screamed back at his LifePartner.
"Dammit, GH. Turn up the volume on your Beltone and focus. I said Bunco."
"Bingo? Dangit, Babs-we're playing Bunco."
"Whoa DaddyG-I take that back. Laura, would you have Coach Bellichek open up a fresh bottle of Beano for George Senior. I told him that Lactaid was not optional and he just totally blew me off!!"
Parenthetically, I have to give Pappy Bush full credit for his ecumenical ability to fund his escalating like there's no tomorrow mortgage payment. Jimmy Carter and Al Franken were mugging for the Food Network cameras in the kitchen while OprahObama made Genetically Modified Peanut Patties "just like your Momma used to make" for sale to all registered voters in New Hampshire.
But I digress. By the time I got GH a fresh glass of Lactaid (spiked with a rather generous dose of Ambien CR per Babs), the negotiations were complete and George Junior, Pooter, Annie C, and some guy named Drew Rosenhowski (who turned out to be Pooter's new agent) walked out drinking shots of Southern Comfort with big ole grins on their faces.
Reading the Red Zone blitz that Pooter had just engineered, I immediately headed for the exit, only to run into a forearm shiver from Coach Bellichek followed by a very sneaky knee to my groin that the Food Network cameras totally missed. Here's the scoop on the 4-year deal Drewski extracted from George Junior:
1. Both GW and Pooter get to Threepeat. Sort of. George Jr signed "one of those Executive Orders that Scooter Libby and Big Al Gonzales told me were drawn up to simplify and detoxify the lives of all true Americans." Uh-oh-see #2.
2. Drew R worked out a trade that I think the Russians may throw up in their throat when USSR Today prints the Gorey details: GW, Laura, and, yes, Al Gore (not a good fit but I was in no position to critique the deal) to Russia for Pooter, Cooter, and 3 guest appearances for Pooter and Annie C on Dancing with the Stars. Included in the fine print is a guaranteed victory over Marie Osmond and any partner of her choice as well as the right for Pooter to do his own Pooter Putty infomercial during which he gets totally smashed but still has the moxy to trashtalk all the people of Russia who will never feel the joy of plugging their leaky toilets with PooterPutty.
3. George Jr not only gets to be President of the USSR for 4 years but also gets to take the heart and soul of the US healthcare system-United, Aetna, Cigna, and BCBS-with him (including Al Gore as Czar of the whole mess and vowing to wear green daily, partly to match his new dentures) to show "all those Russian peons what a real MRI sounds like when you get a headache from paying your Gasprom bill and you harass your PCP into ordering that MRI you deserve--the best scam-I mean scan that your plan will cover, with or without contrast." And 20% of every MRI goes straight into George W's secret account at the 1st National Bank of Chechnya. (Drewski and Pooter gave Junior the option to move his brand new 14 x 70 doublewide to either Georgia or Chechnya and, of course George chose to "live with my Chechen brothers cause Laura can't stand Atlanta and all those peanut farmers down there.")
4. President Pooter also gets 4 years and the right to move the White House to the Boardwalk at Disneyworld in Orlando ("to be closer to my people and, most importantly, Space Mountain-they just don't make rides like that in Petrograd") as well as a new dance partner that can "cha-cha like there's no tomorrow. And who understands her place on the dance floor and off."
Annie C immediately called Pooter a pygmy Democrat with a pea-sized brain and challenged him to a Russian death match. Our new Prez calmly declined-he had to attend the Grand Opening of the Kennels--I mean Offices-of his new National Health Company-PetCo: Bark Once and We Are There for You.