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Friday, February 25, 2005
Signifying Nothing
As a William Faulkner fan, I found this really enjoyable. It's a piece imagining if Faulkner were to write about the Bush White House. Here's a snippet:
"He needs his makeup," Dick said.
"I'll do it," Condi said. She put a little brush on my check and it
tickled and I laughed.
Rummy walked into the room. "Jesus, what's he laughing about," Rummy
said.
"Dont you pay attention to him, Georgie," Dick said. "They're going to be
asking you all about Social Security. You just remember what we talked
about."
"He cant remember anything," Rummy said.
I started to holler. Dick's face was red and he looked at Rummy. "I told
you to hush up already," Dick said. "Now look what you've gone and
done."
"Go and get him Saddam's gun," Condi said. "You know how he likes to hold
it."
Dick went to my desk drawer and took out Saddam's gun. He gave it to me,
and it was hot in my hands. Rummy pulled the gun away.
"Do you want him carrying a gun into the press conference?" Rummy said.
"Cant you think any better than he can?"
I was hollering and Dick was turning red and then white and the room was
tilted.
"You give him that gun back, right this minute," Condi said. Rummy gave me
Saddam's gun back and I held it my hands. It was hot like a horseshoe.
"You got the gun, now you stop that hollering," Rummy said.
Condi patted me on the back. "It sure is hot in here," she said. She fanned
herself and took off her jacket. She smelled like perfume.
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