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Depends on Your Definition of High Poll Numbers The Godfather of Presidential Soul |
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Harlem was the last place anyone would ever expect to find the current President of the United States. But the current President was here precisely because the previous President was here. The previous President was the only one who could help him now. Dubya's "trifecta" of war, economic recession and national emergency was "so 2001!" Signs were everywhere that the Prince of eternal darkness was beginning to wear the patience of the American people. Poll numbers that once seemed higher than oil futures were now sinking lower than Baghdad time shares. There was only one man who knew about the relationship
between sinking polls and presidential behavior, and that man was not
Karl Rove. "Mr. President, "the current chief executive stood
up with all the aspirations of a condemned man desperately waiting for
a phone call from the governor," I am so glad you agreed to see me."
"No trouble at all, Dubya," Bill Clinton opened
the deep mahogany doors to reveal an exact replica of the fast food restaurant
in the building's lobby. "I want to show you all the respect you
showed me," Clinton said. "I thought you said you'd help me?" Bush, slightly
startled, blurted out. "That depends on what your definition of 'Help' is," Clinton responded. "Would you like a donut?" "Thanks, I'd rather have a pardon, er, ooops, I meant
Paula, er, pistachio nut." Bush was losing his grip. "You gotta
help me, everything I've ever worked for seems to be slipping away,"
Bush responded.
"YOUR Presidency?" Clinton asked. "Seemed
like Al Gore's presidency to me." "Let's not split hairs here," Bush responded.
"I'm in trouble." "I can see that," Clinton said, looking down
on the quickly graying hair of the commandant in chief. "Well, I
like Al Gore a lot, so I'll do what I can to save his presidency…
what seems to be the trouble?" "Well, I seem to have bitten off a bit more than
I can chew with all these foreigners I never heard of trying to confuse
me with war stuff and trying to get my attention without paying a single
dime into my campaign treasury," Dubya noted. "It's bad enough
that some of my most reliable donors may be doing ten to twenty years
before they can drop ten to twenty million into my campaign - but people
are mad at me because I can't find that Osama guy. "Osama, was he an intern?" Geesh, I don't know," Bush said, " I have enough
trouble trying to remember the name of that guy my daddy wants to knock
off - the one from Sodom or Gomorrah!" "You ARE over your head, aren't you?"
Clinton was scratching his head. "I think it's time for a "Hail
Mary!" "YOU'RE giving confessions now? I thought the Catholic
Church had enough trouble already," Bush responded. "No, stupid!" Clinton responded. "I'm referring
to a 'hail mary' pass where you distract the opposition by throwing the
football in a completely unexpected place, catch it and score a touchdown!" "The last government employee that called me a moron,
got fired," Bush said. "And she wasn't even US employee."
"Hey man, I'm trying to help you, do what you want…"
Clinton answered, walking back to the door. "So, what are you suggesting? I don't want to be
a one-term president, like my daddy," Bush was near tears now. "There
is so much more I want to do to the American people." "I was afraid of that, "Clinton said. "
I think your only hope then is to do something so low, so miserable and
so evil, that no one will ever remember how you attempted to undermine
the economy and the constitution, put the entire country at risk and associated
with criminal elements…" Clinton was looking clearly at the
deep, plush oriental carpet below him. "You mean…?" "Yes, indeed, it worked for me…" "But I couldn't!" "You'll just have to!" "I don't know the first thing about…." "That's OK, only because I'm concerned about your being a one-term president, I'm going to fix you up with an intern… but you're going to have to do the lying on your own!"
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It
was not a neighborhood where Dubya would knowingly tread if he wasn't
wearing a burqa to keep himself from notice. It was certainly not a neighborhood
where even his daughters would tread, no matter how freely and cheaply
the alcohol flowed here. For Condoleezza Rice, the experience was also
quite unusual, but at least she could find acceptance in this neighborhood
as long as she didn't make herself known.