What Bush Doesn’t Understand About America


Let us say, and why not, that President George W. Bush was more than just the delusional dry drunk with a bipolar narcissistic personality disorder that we’ve all come to know and hate. Let’s say that he was a completely bugfuck, eat-his-own-feces psychopath.

Now let us say, and, indeed, why not, that the President believed that his semen had magical properties. Not just any magical properties, but the ability to bring the dead back to life. However, in his psychopathic state, Bush knew that it wasn’t just a question of spreading his mystical jizz on a corpse like a moisturizer of the damned. No, no, Bush knew that he had to fuck a corpse in order for it to receive the benefit of his wondrous spunk.

So, and we’re still in “let us say” land here, George W. Bush began to fuck corpses, brought to him by his staff and Secret Service agents. Just random hobo corpses – homeless people dead on the streets of the nation’s capital. The cadavers would be collected, washed clean, of course, before being presented to a wizard-regalia-wearing George W. Bush. And the Leader of the Free World began to shove his hard cock into the bodies, male and female, ejaculating in their mouths, their asses, their pussies, their ears, fer chrissake. But, no, no corpse would reanimate. The dead would not rise.

A semi-coherent man might come to the conclusion that his semen was not the triumph of life over death that he had imagined it might be. In fact, the stacks of dead hobos, crusted with dried executive ejaculate, would be evidence enough. But, remember, in this “what if” scenario, the President of the United States is too far gone to believe that he might be wrong. No, as far as Bush was concerned, the fault was with the corpses, not with his splendiferous seed. Maybe they were laying wrong, legs too far akimbo or mouth held too tightly (pity the intern tasked with that duty). Maybe it was the wrong combination of multiple meat injections. No, no, the only real answer was to keep fucking corpses, knowing, just goddamn knowing, that at some point, one of those carcasses would suck in air (after, you know, Bush removed his dick from the mouth) and turn to the pantsless President to say, “Thank you, Mr. Bush, for fucking me back to life.”

Now what if the public, perfectly willing after 9/11 to give Bush the benefit of the doubt and let him try out his highly-touted testicle tea on a single body, now found the whole ordeal repulsive. And they wanted him to stop. Bush, though, would not stop, going through corpses so quickly that the FBI had to go out and start killing the homeless so that Bush could fuck some more.

Maybe pundits on TV and on the Internet would declare that Bush should be allowed to continue fucking corpses because what if he’s right? And what about the dead? Should they just be left to rot unfucked? The citizens of the country would say, “We don’t care about the dead. Bury them already and let nature take its course – let trees or flowers or weeds grow from their rotting remains. But let us stop the fucking of the corpses. George Bush doesn’t have magic sperm.”

When George Bush says of leaving Iraq, “Withdrawal would do nothing to prevent violence from spilling out across that country and plunging Iraq into chaos and anarchy,” when Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice says, “the withdrawal of our forces…would send the wrong message to the Iraqis, the wrong message to the neighborhood and the wrong message to Iraq’s enemies,” when Dick Cheney and every necrophilia-lovin’ pundit attempts to say how anarchy, death, and destruction will rain down on Iraq if we leave, what they’re not getting is that the American people don’t fucking care what happens to Iraq.

The citizens have moved beyond that. Bad shit happens to countries. The American public has accepted this, time and again, and we know that, no matter how many times we try, like trying to dam the ocean, the tide’s gonna do what it’s gonna do in Iraq.

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