"Ich bin ein Baghdadi"

I guess you all know by now that the Iraqi election went exceedingly well. There were a lot of high-fives this morning here at the White House. Just forty or so Iraqis died on election day. Heck, more folks than that die on the opening day of hunting season in Waco. And can you imagine the honor of dying for democracy on election day? As far as I'm concerned, those dead folks are all Iraqi Nathan Hales. I'll bet they all regret they've only got one life each to give to their country.

Word around here is that President Bush may actually travel to Iraq to deliver a speech to the new government. One of the fellows I work for, Jimmy, is the President's speechwriter — one of them, that is. He's been asked to come up with something rousing, something memorable. So far, all he's got is "Ich bin ein Baghdadi". I guess the President wants to say something in Arab. That's real considerate.

The other day, I wrote that there was no likelihood of the Republican administration running a deficit. Rick Bob, my angelic but discouragingly retarded brother happened to notice my comment and emailed me to point out that President Bush is running the biggest deficit in history. Rick Bob means well but his brain just doesn't function like yours or mine. I asked around the White House about this supposed big deficit. Turns out, it's nothing but bookkeeping stuff. Any time he wants, George Bush can plug in a few numbers and that supposed deficit will disappear.

Exciting sightings around D.C.

While I was walking toward the bus stop, I spotted Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice entering a hair salon. Until that moment, it never occurred to me that anyone actually styled her hair. (Daddy always says her name sounds like an Eye-talian renting an apartment.)

This afternoon in the White House cafeteria, I walked past Donald Rumsfeld. He seemed to be reading the Careers section of the newspaper.

The other day, I saw a crowd of people gathered at a street corner. When I got there, it turned out that Ann Coulter had accidently slipped through a sewer grate up to her butt and was stuck. She continues to be my slimness idol. Every time I see her, I always think how little is there.

I'm probably mistaken about this one but I could have sworn I saw Dick Cheney biting a pit bull.

Before I left for Washington, my little brother Rick Bob who suffers from retardation told me to keep my eyes open for terrorists. Rick Bob's heart is in the right place but unfortunately his mind is a little off kilter. Under George Bush's watchful eye, there's as much chance of a terrorist getting into Washington as there is...a Republican government running a deficit.

I'm part of democracy in Iraq

Wow! What an honor I had today. Ballots for this week's Iraqi election arrived and I got to deliver them personally to the secretary who sits outside the Oval Office of Dick Cheney and George W. Bush.

I've got to admit, the ballots looked a bit strange. There were four boxes on the ballot and beside each box was a number: 1, 2, 3, 4. That was it. No names, nothing.

I was so excited about handling those ballots that I called home to Waco to tell the folks. Rick Bob, my lovable but inauspiciously retarded brother answered. When I told him about the ballots he asked, "How do Iraqi voters know who they're voting for?"

He is so simple. I explained that for America's purposes of bringing democracy to Iraq, it's not important that Iraqis vote for anyone in particular; only that they vote. "Once they check off a box, they've got democracy and we can get the heck out of that heck-hole," I said.

I just hope that when the Iraqis vote for the number of their choice, they're not voting for a Communist number.

The tsunami hits the White House

Here's an amazing story I just heard on the intern's grapevine. It seems that an aide to the Attorney General, a man named Tod, had gone to Thailand on his honeymoon over Christmas-New Year's. On THE morning, he and his new wife, Charlene, went down to the beach to sunbathe. When Charlene looked through her beachbag, she realized that she had left her sunglasses in their room. She was about to get them when Tod said he's go back for them leaving her to enjoy the beach. As Tod climbed to the top floor of the hotel, the tsunami hit the beach. Charlene was found dead two weeks later.

I say it was the hand of God that saved Tod's life. After all, if God had not made Charlene forget her sunglasses, Tod would have died.

Trisha thinks God had been trying to save Charlene because it was her sunglasses left behind and Charlene had started to get them but Tod butted in.

But I say God, like President Bush, doesn't make mistakes. He knew exactly who He wanted to save—Tod. My feeling is that He already had a place for Charlene by His side (assuming she was a Christian in good standing) and that Tod was meant to stay on earth doing God's work in the Bush administration.

I remember right after the tsunami, my good-hearted but retarded brother Rick Bob asked why God would kill hundreds of thousands of innocent people? Rick Bob really has trouble understanding the simplest things. I explained that everyone dies. And for Christians in good standing, to die young is a reward because you get to God's side earlier than anyone else spending more of eternity in God's light. Rick Bob then asked if good Christians are rewarded in Heaven for eternity, why are people afraid to die? He's always asking dumb questions. I told him to shut up.

A funny thing happened on the way to the Ball

Sorry I haven't written for a while. I've been a little depressed.

Last week, I attended the Christian Inaugural Eve Gala. It could have gone better. Unfortunately, Mr. O'Reilly called just before he was to pick me up to say he couldn't attend. Something about a loofa accident and the need to see a proctologist right away. But he said the limo had already been booked and I could have both tickets. All I needed to do was find an escort with one hour's notice. So I knocked on the door of my neighbor, Bruce Berg, and asked if he wanted to go to a Presidential Gala. He jumped at the chance. I asked if his fiancee might be jealous if he went out with me. "Not a chance, sweetie," he said.

Within the hour, Bruce was ready to go meet the limo. I've got to admit I've never quite seen a tuxedo like the one he was wearing. The jacket was burgundy velvet with black satin lapels. His cummerbund was flowery. And I think the pants were spandex. But what could I expect with no notice?

Inside the limo, the driver handed us our tickets. "This says 'Christian Gala", Bruce said. "It sounds...fun. Will there be any booze?" I pointed out that Jesus did turn water in wine, not into Gatorade. And then for the first time, I began to suspect something. "You're not Christian, are you?" I asked Bruce. "No, sweetie. But you people did descend from my people. Do you think there'll be any problems with me mingling with the righteous?" Of course not I said.

The ballroom was beautifully decorated. Every table had a tasteful centerpiece of Jesus's crucifixion surrounded by lovely carnations and candles. There were fortune cookies at every place setting. (When we cracked them open after dinner, everyone got a different Bible passage. How classy!) There were trays of foie gras sculpted into the shape of John the Baptist's head. Behind the stage was a magnificent mural of God reaching out to touch the hand of George W. Bush. Waiters carried trays of Bloody Mary Magdalenes. The Lord's goodness was bountiful.

Dinner was announced and we went looking for our table. We were at table 665. I was told the table next to ours was reserved for any Democrats who might show up. When Bruce and I sat down, all the folks introduced themselves. There was a fellow from an organization called No Gay Left Behind. I guess they strighten gays out. A couple were from Abortion Freedom. They were working to make America free of abortion. There was a fellow from Don't Cross Us. I think his group were Christians who were just really angry. And we had the head of Jews of Jesus at the table. "Are you Jewish?" Bruce asked.
The fellow smiled and said, "Does Jesus eat pork on Fridays?" whatever that was supposed to mean. A few minutes later, the woman from Abortion Freedom asked Bruce if he were pro choice. "Absolutely not," he said. "I think abortion should be mandatory." We didn't have much conversation with the others after that and I was a little bit peeved with Bruce.

After dinner, Bruce and I danced, almost. The music was supplied by a band called the Only Living Members of the Lawrence Welk Orchestra. I thought they sounded pretty good. But Bruce went up to the bandleader and asked if they could play something "hip" like "YMCA". A couple minutes later as we stood on the dance floor waiting for the band to play something hip, a Secret Service agent came up to us and told us to leave. "We don't want any subversives in the room when the President arrives," he said. I was mortified.

When I got home that night, I called Waco to tell my folks how bad the night went. Rick Bob, my sweet but sadly retarded brother answered the phone. He said that he'd been watching the news and the reporter said that the Inaugural parties cost $40 million dollars while American soldiers still didn't have armor to protect them. Rick Bob can be so naive. I explained that if the United States protected all the soldiers too well, the enemy would just build more powerful weapons. And we wouldn't want that, would we?

I'm working for Karl Rove

I got my first real assignment today. Another disappointment. When I came to Washington, I thought I was going to be working directly for the President, sort of like Charlie in "The West Wing", only white and female. Instead I am Karl Rove's filing clerk.

I'd heard of Mr. Rove from my Daddy. He had always said that Mr. Rove was George Bush's shepherd. Mr. Rove tends the President like a shepherd tends a flock of sheep. He makes sure there are no stray thoughts, so no Democratic wolves can run off with the election. Something like that.

Anyway, I showed up at Mr. Rove's office and the place looked like a suicide bombing in Baghdad. You'd think there'd be some TexMex cleaning people in the White House to straighten up the offices of important staffers like Mr. Rove. Turns out, I'm the cleaning people. And what I was looking at were all the campaign files for President Bush's re-election.

It was pretty straightforward job as Dixie, my boss, explained. There were two filing cabinets: one normal size and the other massive. The normal filing cabinet was for manilla file folders. The really big cabinet was marked "Plumbers' Supplies" for some reason and all other colors of file folders went into it. There weren't that many manilla folders, so that part of the job was done pretty quickly.There sure were a lot of red and green and blue and yellow folders. I've got to admit I was kind of curious about what was inside them. But I never opened any. I just filed them alphabetically. For instance, under K, they had names like: "Kerry having breakfast with Osama", "Kerry giving blow--- to Saddam" (it must mean something different than the filthy expression used in Waco), "Kerry murdering his Swift Boat crew" and "Kerry burning the American flag."

As I filed these folders, I realized just how genteel and gracious the Republican Party really is. I mean the GOP had all this evidence against John Kerry, yet the Party never made it public. I must admit that a photograph did accidently fall out of the folder marked "Kerry having breakfast with Osama " and I was truly surprised to see John Kerry seated at a Denny's having pancakes with Osama bin Laden who was sitting across the booth dressed in his desert robe, an automatic weapon across his lap, and eating ham and eggs. I'll bet if the Republicans had run that picture on TV, there wouldn't even have been a need to have the election. President Bush would have been democratically acclaimed by voters from both parties. Plus, he's already got God's vote.

By evening I still hadn't finished all the filing. There looked to hundreds of folders under T: "Talking points for Hannity", "Talking points for Limbaugh", "Talking points for Coulter", "Talking points for..." on and on.

Just before I left work, I got a call from my brother Rick Bob. Even though he's retarded, he knows what an honor it is to call somebody at the White House. He was very excited. Of course, being retarded and all, he was having trouble understanding something the rest of us find easy to understand. He said that he was watching the news and there was a report that President Bush had selected for his attorney general someone who did not believe in the Geneva Conventions. Was this true? I said of course not. The Geneva Conventions will always apply whenever America goes to war against civilized countries like Canada or New Zealand or even France. But you can't expect the Geneva Conventions to apply to a bunch of heathen desert people who probably never heard of Geneva and don't know it's the capital of Austria.

My first day at the White House

I'm a little riled up about some of the comments I received about my first posting. Some of you readers seem to think I'm writing "satire" or something funny. If that's what you're looking for, you've come to the wrong place. This diary contains my sincerest thoughts on what it means to be a patriot and serve America's greatest president of the twenty-first century.

Anyway, I settled in pretty easily at my apartment on Saturday. Fortunately, I have a great neighbor who knows something about decorating. Bruce Berg. Actually, he seemed pretty excited to help me decorate. (He even offered to help me do my hair but I said no thanks.) Although my place is all furnished, Bruce helped me move things around to make the apartment more me, "more Christian" as he said. I never thought furniture would work as a big cross in the middle of the living room. But it does! I don't have to worry about Bruce putting the "moves" on me thankfully. He's engaged. He and his fiancee are expecting to get married in June. Why they're going all the way to Canada to get married, I don't know. I guess they've got family there.

Funny thing happened. I told Bruce that I had started this blog diary, so he immediately went to his computer to read it. He came back about five minutes later and his face was whiter than a freshly washed diaper. I asked him what's wrong. He said he was shocked that I had written "Monica Jewinsky". So I asked what was wrong with that. He said the name is Monica "Lewinsky". Heck, I guess my daddy had it all wrong because all he ever said was "Jewinsky". I told Bruce I'd straighten it out and now I have. (I wonder why Bruce took it so personally?)

Arriving at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue on Monday morning wasn't quite as grand as I had expected. It was kind of like checking in at the airport, but with less respect. Anyway, I was expected. A handsome, young marine led me to the intern's bullpen where I met about a dozen other interns just starting out and my boss, Dixie. Dixie explained our duties and they're kind of boring. Basically, we have to do what anyone who gets a White House salary says.

The day was spent pretty much get orientated. In watching "The West Wing", that "liberal claptrap" as Daddy calls it, I always assumed the President used the Oval Office. Turns out, it's Dick Cheney's office which President Bush gets to use from time to time, when he's up from Crawford. Until today, I did not know that. Another thing I learned: Laura Bush has her own library upstairs so she can keep in practice putting books back on the shelf. It seems that once you forget the Dewey Decimal System, it's real hard to get get it back. I truly feel honored to be in the same White House with a First Lady like Mrs. Bush (although I've kept my Daddy's words in my head and if Mrs. Bush offers to drive me somewhere, I will refuse her offer.)

As the day went on, I asked Dixie which of the Inaugural Balls I'll be attending as an intern. Turns out, interns are not invited. I have never been more disappointed in my life. When Dixie saw my face drop, she said that if going to a ball was so important to me, she'd see what she can do. A while later, she came by and said some fellow by the name of O'Reilly was looking for a date for the ball. Normally, I don't like being fixed up on blind dates. But when Dixie told me Mr. O'Reilly works at Fox News, I knew everything would be okay. After all, Fox News is the official word of God and President Bush. I'm sure Mr. O'Reilly is a real gentleman. I'm sure dancing with him will be like dancing in the arms of Jesus. (Funny thing: when I told my new friend and co-intern, Trish, about the date, she told me to watch out for "loofas", whatever they are. Then she just giggled and told me to get a tape recorder for my phone.)

Rick Bob, my unfortunately retarded brother just called to wish me well in my new apartment. He's so sweet. But again, he has so much trouble absorbing the simplest ideas. He just heard that the government has reported there were no weapons of mass destrustion in Iraq. "Why," Rick Bob asked, "did the United States of America attack a country without weapons of mass destruction?" I told him if America goes attacking countries that actually have weapons of mass destruction, a lot more of our brave soldiers are going to get killed. It's just so obvious.

President Bush...Here I come!

Just think, a few short months ago I was studying at the DeVry Evangelical Institute in Waco, Texas and I suppose it was the hand of God that made me write to President Bush asking for a job. I just couldn't believe I got a response with a beautiful machine generated signature saying my application had been accepted. The PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES had accepted me for a job as an intern. And you know what? It didn't hurt that I happened to mention that I've got a cousin whose married to one of Ken Lay's kids. Small world. But in the end, I'm sure I got the job on merit, unlike some. I know, ever since Monica Jewinsky, the word "intern" can't be said without sniggers. But I believe I'm going to bring all new dignity to the post.

I've been packing for the last two weeks. Last month, Daddy came up with me to Washington to help me find a place in a good neighborhood, an apartment with good Christian values. He's afraid that Washington talks Christian but when it comes to doing Christian, Washington may be a challenge to my virtue. But I say, if I'm good in Waco, I'll be good in Heaven and I'll still be good in Heck, if there ever was a chance that's where I might end up, which there isn't. Like I said, I'm packing but I've never packed to leave home before so I just don't know what to take. Will I be going to a lot of balls? How many ball gowns will I need? In the guide the White House people sent, there's no section on balls. To be safe, I'm packing four formal gowns.

Rick Bob, my little brother, just dropped by my bedroom to say how much he'll miss me. What a wonderful brother. I know God does everything for a reason. I know I shouldn't question the Lord's mysterious workings. Still, why did God have to make Rick Bob retarded? He has so much trouble understanding the simplest things. How many times have I explained to him that on September 11, 2001, God used Muslim terrorist to attack the World Trade Center as punishment to New York for housing liberals, gays and other assorted sinners. It was for this reason we had to attack Iraq because Saddam was working with the terrorists who God sent. Can it be any clearer?

Anyway, I'm leaving for Washington in the morning. I'm so excited.