Last month, dozens of white scribes employed by the white-owned media wrote thousands of paragraphs of whitewash about our white president, George Bush II, who wore white formal wear to a White House reception for the Goddess of All That Is White: Queen Elizabeth II, the wicked witch who killed the good white witch, Princess Diana, figuratively, if not literally, but probably the latter since the martyred Di was banging a black man.
Days later, we were treated to an onslaught of white noise about a White House meeting between lame duck British prime minister Tony Blair and the psychopathic Bush–the lying, hydrogen bomb-armed architects of Armageddon in the Middle East, North Africa and beyond. The Oxford English Dictionary defines “psychopathy” as “a state characterized by persistent egocentric, irresponsible and antisocial or aggressive behavior and an inability to form normal relationships with others.” Sound familiar?
There is, however, one person upon whom the presidential psychopath has bestowed personal intimacy. According to a May 18 New York Times puff piece headlined “Odd Couple Formed Bond in Response to Terror Attacks,” the two leaders of the white world were asked what they had in common: “‘Well, we both use Colgate toothpaste,’ Bush said wryly, prompting Blair to interject, ‘They’re going to wonder how you know that, George.'” While it is not surprising that the toothy duo use the same brand of sugary tooth-whitener, it takes genuine white-boy balls to pass off corporate product placement as diplomatic banter.
The Times gushed: “There were gifts in private as well. The president and the prime minister shared an intimate dinner in the White House residence . . . just the two of them, dining on she-crab soup and Wagyu beef, without spouses or aides,” after which Blair slept in the Queen’s Bedroom.
Last week, the Bohemian received a CD in the mail postmarked “Langley, Virginia.” It is a recording of the dinner with Bush and Blair. Here are some highlights:
“God, George, this she-crab is divine. But not as tasty as he-crab, if you get my drift.”
“Later for that, Tony. We have to talk about your new career in advertising.”
“OK, George, but please pass the Wagyu beef. It is so piquant and chewy, kind of like a meat cigar.”
“Ha, ha. More Parks Sausages, Mom!”
“Good to the last drop!”
“Pop, pop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is!”
“Do I get the Queen’s boudoir this time, George–or the Oval Office rug?”
“Boudoir, babe. Hey, do you really use Colgate?”
“Did Saddam really have weapons of mass destruction? Ha, ha.”
“Good one, Tony.”
“Hey, George, when are you going to nuke al Jazeera?”
“After I get crowned. Check it out: the stupes actually think there is going to be another election!”
“I’m ready, George. Put me on the right hand of your throne.”
“You picked the right team, Tony. After I get through dealing with evil anti-me traitors like Hillary Clinton, John McCain, Arianna Huffington and Peter Byrne, Guantanamo Bay will seem like Club Med.”
“You know, George, your dad made my mate, former prime minister John Major, a partner in the Carlyle Group. Johnny says he finally made his bundle, and he is very grateful and he asked to be remembered to you.”
“I guess Dad made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
“Yes, George, just like you did with me. Uh, so what’s it gonna be? A posh pad on Park Avenue with a no-show job at Goldman Sachs? President of the World Bank? That would be cool, ripping off the wogs and calling it charity. Maybe I could be on the board of ExxonMobil, what say George? I adore oil.”
“You fucked the pooch on that one, Tony.”
“What do mean, George? I stood by ExxonMobil when we took over the Middle East and made their day.”
“The global warming thing, Tony.”
“Come on, George. You know as well as I do that the planet is heating up like a furnace, and if we do not do something about it megaquick, all life on earth is doomed.”
“Stuff it, Tony. Do you think for one second that I give a fig about ‘all life on earth’?”
“Well, now that you mention it, George, you never were a sentimentalist.”
“There is only one thing I really care about, Tony. And it is not you, not Dad, not ExxonMobil and not global warming.”
“What is it, George? Have you finally found love?”
“Yeah, but I don’t know how to break it to Laura. I suppose she will have to disappear, like the girls did.”
“Who is it, George? I won’t tell a soul!”
“A match made in heaven, dear boy. Pass the gold toothpicks.”