The Secret Life of George W.

[GaYellowDawg]

With apologies to James Thurber, and none to the Pretend President.

"I've got him in my sights!" The pilot's voice was manful and commanding. He wore his flight suit, with the straps pulled painfully over his nether regions. "The G forces are killing me, but I've... got... to... get... him... before he drops that bomb on Kennebunkport!" "Lieutenant Bush, this is ground control. You are authorized to fire." "I've got tone! Preparing to fire!"

"MR. PRESIDENT! Hands away from the missle controls!" said the real pilot. "What are you targeting our own carrier for?"

"Hmm?" said George W. Bush. He looked at the pilot, in the seat in front of him, with shocked astonishment. He seemed grossly unfamiliar, like a strange man who had yelled at him in a crowd. "You targeted the Abraham Lincoln," he said. "You know that you shouldn't paint them with radar. Not even the President can do that." George W. Bush rode on toward the Abraham Lincoln in silence, the heroic last stand of Kennebunkport fading in the remote airways of his mind. "You're tensed up, Mr. President," said the pilot. "I'm sorry, but I've got to be the one to land this plane.". . .

. . . George W. Bush wound up on the mound. He cast his steely gaze at Barry Bonds. Two 105-mph fastballs had just blazed past baseball's best home run slugger. But wait! There was a nervous glint in Bond's eyes. Could it be... yes, it was fear! Smirking, Bush wound up and blazed another fastball screaming for the plate. . .

. . . the catcher stood up, catching the slow, high pitch. Washingtonians applauded, but jeers and laughter intermingled with the clapping. In the Nationals dugout, one player leaned over to another. "What a pansy-assed throw. Now we gotta put up with his dumb ass for a whole game". . .

. . . Bush gritted his teeth, bowed his head and pedaled like mad. Was that a yellow jersey up ahead? Yes, it was! Inexorably, Bush drew closer and closer. On the last day of the Tour de Freedom Fries, George W. Bush was closing on the world's best cyclist in a stunning upset bid. As he drew alongside, Bush smirked manfully. Armstrong glanced over, his expression wild with panic. "See you later, Lance. I'm headed for victory!". . .

. . . CRASH!! "Mr. President, are you all right?" Concern creased Armstrong's face. "Yeah, dammit, I'm fine," Bush replied, blood trickling from previously abused patches on his face. "This riding is hard." Armstrong said, "Do you want to stop? That's four crashes in a half mile, and we haven't even gotten off of level pavement yet." "No," said Bush, as he got back on his bike. . .

. . . George W"alter Mitty" Bush looked back at the yellow jersey fading in the distance. This trophy could go up on the mantel, along with the Distinguished Flying Cross, Medal of Honor, MLB Hall of Fame bust, assorted Nobel Prizes, and various accolades for the greatest war and Christian and bestest ever President. . .

[WannaJumpMyScooter]

1. Along with Saddam's alleged gun...

This trophy could go up on the mantel, along with the Distinguished Flying Cross, Medal of Honor, MLB Hall of Fame bust, assorted Nobel Prizes, and various accolades for the greatest war and Christian and bestest ever President. . .

[NMMNG]

self-delete/dupe

[NMMNG]

2. Bwahahaha

Too funny!

Now here's a set of wheels even Dumbya couldn't fall off of

[pnorman]

3. That was GREAT!!

It must have been at least 50 years since I read the original Walter Mitty story, but it was right on. I just "shop-lifted" it, and will pass it on.

pnorman