A Day In The Life

“I present to you, on this joyful day of intelligent recognition, the one, the only, George Bush. President of intellectual superiority. Leader of the free nation, and hierarchy of fast food compounds.”

The news anchorwoman continued to ramble. Her voice truthfully lying. Filling the empty, desolate space between each of George’s yellow, waxy ears. George lifted his feather light head and opened his swollen eyes to the sight of a new day. His straight jacket waned and cried, wishing to be released from its cage around the cupcake celebrating George. George loved his cupcakes, every morning, he was served one from a solid gold bowl, as he was set free form his restraint, and adult diapers.

“I made a messy in my pants!” George would scream frantically through the halls of the white thrown. Until finally his maid answered and tucked him back into bed with a story and warm milk.

This morning was particularly special. George was publicly speaking…. in front of people. He has been looking forward to this moment for a long time. His stuffed animals knew this, for he practiced on them every day. “The Jesus dolls represent the republicans, and the Clinton dolls represent everything else.” George played with them every day. Tea parties in the sun. Camping under the kitchen table. Though, the word ‘speak’ was never a fond part of George’s vocabulary.

This is why George had an affiliation towards counting. Yes, my children, counting. He would sit up in his bed every morning, and count aloud to himself. Slowly, as for precision, he began to count all of the molecules in his body.

“One…Two…Three…Five…Nine…Three…Whoa! Since when has that been there? Shit! One…Two….”

Usually lasting hours on end, or until George reaches fifteen. Fifteen beautiful molecules. He doesn’t count any others. Poverty driven, hungry, or intelligent molecules are non-existent in George’s world. In fact, anything with that fitting description might as well rot away now, or become a homosexual to boost their already existing “abnormal” recognition.

By midday Georgey-poo has eaten a whole three Lunchables, two granola bars, and one purple Flintstones vitamin. Purple for royalty of course. Some say that children have the uncanny ability to hear the screams of little Wilma, or Barney as they are lifted up into the dank dark hole lined with yellow rocks, and slimy doped up stank. These rare children are then sent to area 51 to be studied, analyzed, and then, of course, brainwashed into appearing on George Bush’s campaign adds as happy kids who love not having good health care.

Soon after George swallowed and savored his vitamin, a knock came to the door. George in immediate excitement, jumped to his feet, put on his booties, and wobbled to the door. The drool from his exaggerated smile hit the floor as bullets.

“Michael! I’m so happy to see you! Did you bring it? Did ya? Did ya? Did ya? Huh? Come one, show me!” George squealed.

Michael Jackson stood in the doorway, white as fresh snow, and playfully contemplate whether or not to show George his masterful plan. He walked in dragging behind him, a dart board.

“Where shout I put it?” Michael asked, grabbing his crotch and singing a high pitched non-nasal tune.

“Follow me”, George proclaimed. And they skipped hand in hand down to George’s recreation room. This room was every five year olds dream, trampolines everywhere, massive TV’s, endless amounts of video games, and cotton candy and soda pop machines. Michael’s jaw dropped almost felling off and made a quick mental note to bring his “friends” here.

Michael set up his dart board on the wall next to Georges, and opened it to reveal hundreds up cut out pictures, of animals and children. George gave a strange look to Michael, and asked “Animals Michael? There’s a giraffe right there”, he points, “what good is a giraffe? Oh, I get it, you are gong to hit the children and animals you want to kill….whoa man, sometimes my brain works so fast, I don’t even know.”

“Yeah, that’s what those pictures are for…” Michael trails of suspiciously for a moment, then asks, “What’s on your dart board George?

George ripped off the front of his Velcro child safe dart board revealing hundreds of long intellectual words. “Hehe, my mommy made it for me, she told me to use it when preparing a speech. Looky looky, all the big words are so hard, but she says I should randomly pick some and put them into my speeches. See, read this one Michael.”

Michael leans in, and reads aloud slowly, “Mol-est-a-tion…umm, George, your mommy made you this?

“Yeah, she says I don’t need to understand the words, ha-ha, I don’t even know what that one means, but I put it into my last speech when describing my thoughts towards the globe getting all hot and stuff. Every body laughed, so I’m guessing its funny.” George giggled to himself happily pondering his last public appearance.

“George, lets not read any more words, I don’t want to have to call my therapist.” Michael said nervously.

“Awww, fine, you big loser. Lets play.”

Both George and Michael picked up their darts, and tossed them at their boards.

Michael let out a giddy laugh as he aimed and let loose on a small blonde boy.

George let out a cry when he took aim and shot at Michaels face. Michael, being completely nonchalant danced a little jig, grabbed his crotched, and screamed. The dart remained erect in Michael’s non-existent nose. He looked down and rejoiced at the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was growing a new nose. Realizing that the dart had feathers and natural noses do not, he grabbed at is and yanked it out of his face. Politely, he handed it back to George, and they continued their dart game.

“hehehe,” George giggled under his breath, “look what I’ve got.” George runs up to the dartboard, and pulls down over it a world map. “Now the fun really begins.”

George picks up a remote control, presses a green button, which then reveals a giant red button appearing in the middle of the room on a gold plated mantle.

“All I have to do is throw a dart, and press the button. Then BAM! That place is blessed full of soldiers who are bringing them peace and democracy. Mmm, what a good world.”

George throws the dart, and presses the button. Never Never Land.