Magellan's Log: GWB's 2004 To-do List

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GWB's Secret 2004
To-do List

by Doc Cuddy, Editor

One of the few advantages of having a token Republican from the president's hometown (Midland, Texas) on our staff is that she is privy to a lot of gossip that most of the mainstream media never hear about. If you don't believe, check out any of Ora Shay's eye-opening columns that she's done for us.

Another advantage turned up last week when the following White House memo was mistakenly forwarded to Ms. Shay's Magellan's Log email address. One of our interns spotted it and passed it on to me.

I, as editor, am--I assure you--more than happy to pass it on to you, dear reader, for your further political edification.

From: Mrs. George W. Bush To: Karl Rove Re: GWB's To-do List FOR YOUR EYES ONLY Dear Boy Genius, George and I know how impossibly busy you are these days what with the election and all—and we are of course just impossibly grateful to you for the $100,000,000 you’ve managed to raise so far—but we’ve been talking a lot evenings after George comes home from another of those wonderful fund-raising events you’ve arranged for him to appear at. He kicks back, takes his shoes off, grabs a handful of Frito pretzels, takes a sip of his ice-cold Dr Pepper, and unburdens himself to me of the cares of the leader of the War Against Terrorism. I know how good you and Dick and Donald are at anticipating his wants and needs governance-wise (I mean, most of the time you all do stuff even before he thinks about it), but the daytime hours are so formal and so filled with him getting out and pressing the flesh of his supporters and thanking them for their continuing generosity that maybe just a few of The President’s desires haven’t been addressed with quite the directness and speed that they should have been. I’ve drawn up a little wifely to-do list that I’ve gleaned from our pre-pillow-talk chats that I suggest you and your people might want to hang in all your cute little cubicles and see about getting the items on it ticked off p.d.q., if you get my drift.
	1. Find you-know-who. Mustering all my Dallas daintiness, I don’t know how else to put this, but if you-know-who isn’t found by you-know-when (hint: it’s an IMPORTANT date this coming November), you and your minions may be sure that enough heads will roll come next January that even the head of a certain boy genius may not be safe, if you get my drift. I did lunch with Peggy Noonan the other day and she told ne all about Paul Wolfowitz’s plan that is already in the works about how you all already have some tall, gangly Arab undergoing extensive plastic surgery and coaching down at Guantanamo Bay but she said there’s not much left of Paulie’s fingernails because the doctors can’t guarantee he’s going to be ready to be "captured" and revealed to the world press in time for that IMPORTANT date this coming November. Karl, you sweet thing, I know one way or another you’re going to make George’s 2004 a year to remember by presenting him and that world with you-know-who in chains, aren’t you, dear?
	2. Please see to it that that dreadful Michael Moore person comes down with avian flu ASAP. And while you’re at it, find some way to shut what’s-his-name Franken up. I’m so tired of turning on the TV and finding one or the other of them spouting their obscenities. Even though I mostly only watch Fox, even their on-air personalities frequently play clips of these two ugly people in order to rebut their childish, naive charges. While you’re at it, maybe you could also talk to that nice Mr. Murdoch and see about cleaning that little mess up too. Knowing you as I do, I know you’re already onto CBS’s case, but I have to say I was shocked, shocked by what happened at the otherwise lovely Houston Superbowl. How many hard-working middle-class housewives like myself who are dedicated to home-making for their hard-working husbands had, like myself, thought they could surely get through this life without ever see the bare bosom of a female pop singer of color? Please check with you female staffers if you don’t think this symptom of rampant media indecency is not a hot, hot, hot campaign button that we ought to start pushing RIGHT NOW.
	3. As you may know, The President and I recently received the nicest note from Mr. Mel Gibson, who thoughtfully enclosed a DVD of his lovely new religious epic which George and I stayed up way past our normal bedtime to watch, and what an inspiring work of truly great art it is. How fortunate we are to be living in an age that produces immortal things like this! The President wishes you to see to it that Mr. Gibson receives some kind of Nobel Prize for this masterpiece of American religious art. When The President mentioned this wish to me, I responded by pointing out that HE was the one who should be getting a prize, and he with his typical modesty reminded me that he and Tony have already been nominated. Anyway, sweet thing, I look forward to opening the newspaper next winter and seeing Mr. Gibson all smiles as he’s anointed (or whatever they do) by the King of Sweden. I know they don’t have a prize for movies but knowing you as I do, sugar, I’m sure you can work something out.
	4. I’m really, really sorry to say it, but George and I both feel that a certain party in the House of Representatives (whose initials are T.D.) is getting a little too big for his britches. We’d really be grateful if you could take him down a notch or two. I don’t mean anything like having him lose his seat, but I’m sure you and your staff can think up something that’ll put that little pipsqueak exterminator in his place. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s been going around talking about how HE’s the federal government. George has never taken kindly to this kind of unfounded self-promotion.
	5. Ever since we moved into this house, George, as I’m sure you know, has benefited greatly from the daily news summaries that you and Condi and Andy provide. Lately though he’s been complaining to me that you all are definitely falling into what he calls the 5-S-W (Five-Syllable Word) Rut. Do I need to remind you that The President always says, why use five, four, or even three syllables when one or two will do the job? May I suggest that you designate one of your hard-working staffers as The President’s official syllable counter for everything that’s going to cross his desk. Thanks, honey.
	6. Admidst all this negativity (but I know you understand that in this Important Election Year we can’t let ANY details slip past us), let me pass on one compliment. I just received the nicest thank you note from Mrs. Kenneth Lay expressing her gratitude for the way you’ve been able to keep, as she put it, "the heat" off of Ken. Though they’ve managed to retain possession of their lovely 6,000-square-foot penthouse in Houston and several tropical and Rockies vacation retreats, they are still very much in shock over what happened to Ken’s great company. Apparently the real life-saver for Ken has been his religious faith combined with his 10,000-DVD library (note to myself: Be sure to send the Lays our DVD of Mel’s lovely movie). She says she just doesn’t know how they’d manage if they had to face the prospect of, well, you know, a t-r-i-a-l. Anyway, she said to be sure to thank you.
	7. You are certainly well aware of with what awe The President and I view your abilities and accomplishments on our behalf, sweet thing. But this last item may, I’m afraid, be beyond even a person of your means. You recall I made a sort of peace-making trip to France last year? On the whole, it was a lovely experience (the twins made some lovely new friends—as they do everywhere they go of course, but you know how those French boys are!). But when I returned home, as soon as I walked in the front door, I knew trouble was brewing, bigtime (as Dick loves to say). The President was really, really steamed. Why? Because of all those pictures beamed all over the world of Jacques giving me a French kiss, so to speak. Of course you and I know it was just the lightest of busses, his lips barely touched my cheek and certainly didn’t linger with a promise of future delights or anything like that! I tried to reassure George but you know how these West Texas boys are with their irrational possessiveness of their women. The President’s grumpiness went on for several days (it was only one of the bigger bomb attacks on our boys in Iraq that finally got his mind onto other things). Anyhoo, sweet thing, I know it’s still bothering him A LOT that those big old droopy French lips touched the cheek of his woman. It’s asking a lot but anything you can do France-wise will be much appreciated in these quarters. I’ve been thinking about it—maybe float a rumor about a tourist catching bird flu from drinking champagne on the Rive Gauche? Or come up with some possible connection between those uppity French commie intellectuals and 9-11? Or how about this: we appoint T.D. himself (see No. 4 above) ambassador to France and kill two birds with one stone. Can’t you just see ol' Jacques having to try to make suave small talk with a pipsqueak roach exterminator from Lake Jackson, Texas, who thinks he’s God’s gift to America?
Sincerely, Mrs. George W. Bush

END

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