As we say in Maine, Howdy Y’All! Hope you enjoy your guided tour of the G. Dubya Bush Memorial Lie-Bury. No refunds.
The Bush Lie-Bury presents a ekkle-lectic collection. You are now passing between replicas of the great grinning skulls of Prescott and George H.W. Bush mounted here in the Hall of Ancestors (Barb still sleeps with the originals to keep warm).
First to greet you among our photos in honey-sepia is a young Barb Bush (old even then, but fresh from the gargoyle-facade of Notre Dame) emparting her beautiful mind to Lil Dubya by teaching him to hate to read. Here with these decorated documents you can admire the future Decider’s “C with Highest Honors” academic records. Laid out here are Dubya’s original silver coke-spoon, and his military service sheet on the head of a golden pin.
This is some bubble-gum he spat out crossing Harvard Yard for the limo outa fuckin’ Cambridge. Here’s a tiny Texas Rangers jockstrap and (drinking) cup, a gift from all the good fine taxpayers, and a miniature oil-rig clock that stops dead at random but spits gold coins. Here with a film-clip are some of the hanging chads rescued from election-recount by loyal GOP thugs in Florida: watch them smash the place up for Duhmocracy.
Here are the “three Shakespeares” Dubya sort of read, and the crotch-stuffing from his “Mission Accomplished” flight suit. For the right price or a fat donation, historians can browse a priceless trove: the collected memoranda of Dubya conferences to restore chaos in the Middle East. And this mannequin stands bedecked in the original design Dubya chose (shackles, black hood and orange prison-garb) for his Gitmo guests. Pull the figure’s chains to hear his prejudicial preen at a press conference: “They’re vicious killers, and they’ll git a fair trial.”
Here’s My Pet Goat upside-down on a WTC pedestal (it’s still smoking!). This is a travel-vial of the triple-strength Prozac that sustained years of Laura’s purty vapid grin. As you see from Laura’s own awards, when she wasn’t working tirelessly to stop the revisions of schoolbooks, she was allowed to talk beside the White House Christmas Tree. (Press to hear her annual drool: “Evera year Ah thank it’s the purtiest Christmas Tree, but this year, Ah thank it’s the purtiest Christmas Tree”).
Take a turn on the toilet-seat where Dubya thinkified a plan to privatize Social Security, and wipe with the original memo stained with his tears and spit. Next, recovered from the White House lawn is the red-bank-oyster Dubya spat for the national camera. Watch this looped tape of the 15 times that Poppy Bush smacked Shit-for-Brains upside the head. It’s like home movies on the Internets! In this shot at left, Dubya swears that Osama will be hunted down, and here at right he shrugs it off, while at center is the FBI poster not charging OBL with 9/11.
Here’s the world’s shortest film clip as Dubya visits veterans maimed in his needless wars. Press this button to hear his visionary explanation of “an Iran without Iranian influence. I mean Iraq.” Here’s the spit-up pretzel that almost choked Fearless Leader, with ol’ Barney stuffed on point beside it. This is either Dubya preparing to speak or a deer in Texas headlights. Mounted in a rococo silver frame is Take-Charger hacking down some o’ them ol’ Texas mesquite bushes, spreading civilization as he goes.
This is a wax diorama with figures of the entire Bush Administration thanking Dubya for not letting them be “drug into” the World Court. This scrotum-curdling display of lead busts—from right to right, Condi (Vader) Rice, Growlin’ Big Dick Cheney, Don “Ate The Canary” Rumsfeld and Mike “Skeletor” Chertoff—portrays how they taught Dubya their world-capturing smiles.
Here’s a scale model of Dubya pissin’ on a lamp-post marked “Bourbon Street,” but it’s not in New Orleans (caption: “Heckuva Job!”). Don’t miss the bandage from Dubya’s cheek when he fell down on an election-night bender. Here’s the gallery of Dubya’s paintin’s, featuring his everyday Happy Time Tubby, and half a nude self-portrait through bathroom fog. Here’s the fifth of Jack from Dubya’s Oval Office desk, and the golf club he swung while telling terrorized America to go shopping.
Yep—He done us proud. All in all, what you’ve seen is a true national suppository: a gatherin’ to testifah to a mendacious murderin’ moron whose life and consequences prove to the world how much you can mis-accomplish with so little. May it increasify as compost for The U.S. Constitution.
Y’All run ‘long, now. Take yer pitchers (we sure will) ‘longside the main entrance Welcome sign:
IT’S ALL TRUE. No laughing. No crying. No reading. No thinking. No questions. No conscience. No problems. Y’all can have yer focus groups! Fool me once, shame on—whatever! Have your money ready.
Is our children learning?