Dear Diary,
Just got back from the wedding of the year at GW’s “ranch” in that god-forsaken, asshole-of-the-world known as Crawford. I realize little Jenna has a mind of her own, but rejecting a White House wedding is just dumb loco. Why have leftover nachos when you can have the whole enchilada? Oh well.
We flew into GW Bush international airport (International because of it’s non-stop flights to the Cayman Islands and puddle jumpers to Mexico for all the “legal” hired hands.) Greeting us at the airport were the boys from Blackwater, who strip-searched everyone. The Boys In Black also ripped open all the gifts to make sure there were no explosives and nothing under $1000. They were kind enough to have a rewrapping service available on the premise. That Erik Prince thinks of everything.
Because of all the VIP’s in attendance, housing was at a premium and we were shuttled to Betty’s Pistol Dawn Motel on the outskirts of Crawford. The Ol’ Ball and Chain went down to the bar and discovered it’s not called Pistol Dawn for nothing as she downed shooters with bridesmaids Sarah Taylor, Monica Goodling and Andrea Mitchell.
Off to the pre-wedding dinner, held in the basement of the Crawford Methodist Church, which also happens to be where the Bush family holds its private Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. The meeting started out like all AA meetings do, but soon everyone decided to get shit-faced for the occasion, including the fella in charge who hadn’t had a drink in nineteen years. Things got a little out of hand when a few gunshots rang out. The secret service rushed in and wrestled the mother of the groom to the floor, breaking her arm in the process. (Unfortunately she wasn’t responsible for the shots. It was Karen Hughes who was sitting next to her just letting off some good Ol’ Texas steam because she said vodka makes her trigger finger itchy.)
We went back to Betty’s Pistol Dawn where I received a complimentary “magic fingers” massage in my room. Not exactly like the massages from Francisco, my trusty manservant, but what the hell, what do you expect from a machine for seventy-five cents?
Wedding day! The bells were chiming, the horses were neighing and the protesters were chanting as we made our way to the ranch. The ceremony was nice. A beaming GW strode down the aisle, proudly waving to everyone until he realized that he forgot that he was supposed to escort Jenna, who was left standing in the back of the chapel. He laughed, blamed it on congress and ran back to fetch his daughter. GW’s mother, Pruneface started crying not because of the wedding, but because hundreds of fire ants were crawling up her leg. Those are some nasty critters.
We all headed into the tent for the reception. A large banner over the dais proclaimed “Mission Accomplished”. I was seated at table nineteen along with Mary M. and her husband Lunkhead, General Petraeus and his wife Misty, Bush contributors wrestler Ric Flair and Coach Bobby Knight, Neil Bush who was banished from the family table after he was caught stealing some of the envelopes meant for the newlyweds and Barney.
As the appetizer, boiled armadillo was brought out, I noticed a familiar brown face among the sea of waiters. My old pal Alberto G! He was a bit humiliated when I recognized him. I asked him why he was working. He told me he was invited, but since nobody in the law business would hire him, he’d be better off making some money waiting tables. The little guy was hurting so I left him alone to clean up after Barney, who had taken a dump on the dance floor.
Time for some entertainment. The Young Republican Country Ho-Down and Economic Reform Band took the stage. They played a couple nondescript tunes until Pruneface staggered up to the podium. She admonished them that this was a wedding, damnit! Let’s get down with it! Hokey Pokey time!
The band struck up the hokey-pokey as Pruneface dragged an embarrassed Clarence Thomas onto the floor to pokey with her. He was game for about a minute, but then begged off. The band started to play something else but Pruneface barked at them and they continued to play the hokey-pokey for the next hour and a half while she danced by herself until she fell and broke her hip, thankfully.
After the main course of franks and beans, GW and Missy made the rounds to the tables to greet the guests. Thanks to the beans, his famous “Pull-My-Finger” bit worked every time at each table. And he only had to change his pants twice. I knew the kid had talent.
By the time he got to our table he was drunk and made some disparaging comment abut LSU’s basketball team. Lunkhead took exception and mentioned that at least they had a coach who wasn’t a quitter, a not so subtle jab at tablemate Coach Knight. Words became heated and before you knew it, they started to fight. Well, it wasn’t much of a fight. Lunkhead started to explain the Marquis of Queensbury rules and Knight sucker-punched him in the face, breaking his nose.
Soon it was time for the toasts. Pappy Bush got up and started to speak, but the old fart started sobbing uncontrollably when he started rambling about how Jebby probably will now never get to run for national office. He was led off the dais by someone from the Carlyle Group and sat down at his table with his friends the Bin Ladins, who offered him a hanky.
Prince Bandar sacrificed a goat in the happy couple’s honor and soon it was time for the father-daughter dance. There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as GW and Jenna waltzed to Tony Bennett’s “If I Ruled The World”. GW slipped on some of the leftover goat blood, but Alberto rushed out with a mop and cleaned up the mess.
Then it was time for the kids to rock out as teen favorite Pat Boone took the stage. The Ol’ Ball and Chain tried to drag me out to do the hully-gully but I begged off so she danced with “Twinkle Toes”, AKA Alan Greenspan. I got up and wandered outside to get some air when I discovered Rush L and Neil Bush’s teenage son Pierce kissing behind one of the port-a-johns. They saw me and quickly broke the embrace. Rush explained that he was showing the kid some of the recent dental work he had done. I believe him.
I went back to the table where Pierce was sitting with his parents. He told them Uncle Rush told him to take some magic pills. He did and now his tummy ached and his wee-wee felt strange. Hmmmmm.
Time to throw the bouquet. As the girls jockeyed for position, Jenna closed her eyes and tossed it over her shoulder. Former RNC chairman Ken Mehlmann wrestled it out of sister Barbara’s hands and ran around the room proclaiming to all that he was “floating on air’.
Soon the happy couple was off to Dubai for their honeymoon. Hopefully the intense sun will help clear up the groom’s acne. The Petraeuses offered to give them a ride since the General said he had to get back to the office in Iraq to take care of some busy work.
The magical evening was winding down. Gold plated hand grenades inscribed with the happy couple’s name and wedding date were handed out to all the guests. A nice touch. A wonderful time was had by all.
Except for Little Alberto. The last time I saw him, he was caught up in the rush of illegal waiters being herded onto a prop plane to take them back to Mexico. He was yelling “I used to be Attorney General” but one of the Blackwater boys told him to shut up and tased him. His limp body was thrown into the plane and they took off for who knows where. Adios, Little Amigo.
Dick
