During the dark time of the Big War, all Texans were asked to “Remember the Alamo.” And all who have kept the faith still remember it in song and prayer. But in history, the great siege of the Alamo was successful, and the tiny fort fell and all the Alamonians were killed, which launched the Great Depression.
Of course, this was all in Biblical times.
I have always loved the state of Texas. It is one of our country’s large states. It is also a state that borders another nation. That nation is the nation of Mexico, where great alcohol is made and consumed by a people with almost impossibly large hats.
Growing up in Texas, I had no way to know that I would one day become its Governor. Jesus knew, as it was part of a larger destiny that He had set before me, but these were plans made at a much higher level than my understanding.
When I was called to serve the state of Texas by entering the governertorial race, I did it for one reason: To hunt down and kill retarded outlaws. Hunting is a great tradition in Texas. Big-game hunters in the state have been known to bag rabbit, squirrel, and armadillo.
But this time, it would be dim-witted human prey, those that deserved to be hunted down, because they did not have the good sense to obey our laws—laws that did not apply to the vermin and other animals I just listed.
As a young person, I fantasized about being an owner of the Texas Rangers baseball team, but never in my wildest imaginings did I expect to fulfill an even nobler vision: to be a Texas lawman.
So when they told me I had a chance to win the office, I began to imagine what it might be like. I would pin my Governor’s badge proudly on my leather vest and I would ride into the dry Texas badlands to dish out bullets of justice to all the criminals who came across my path.
Of course, the most famous Texas Ranger of all was the masked hero named “The Lone Ranger.”
The Lone Ranger was one of our great political leaders in Texas history. Some say he was even a President of the United States. There is no way to know, because he never took off that mask. He could have been anyone. There were family whispers that indicated he might have been a distant relation to the Bush family tree. It is highly probable, because the Bush men have been known to both kill the unjust and wear masks at secretive gatherings.
He rode atop his mighty steed, Tonto. He brought order to the Frontier, punching the criminals and knocking them down. Sometimes he would use his quick draw to shoot the guns out of their hands. They would continue to fight, for they were outlaws. But he would continue to punch them.
In the end, when justice had to be served, he would punch them so hard that they would fall into a creek, gulch, or other body of water, and that is when one knew that the fight was over, and right had prevailed over wrong.
There is yet another famous Texas Ranger of the modern age. He is Walker, Texas Ranger. Walker, Texas Ranger kick-boxes his way to justice, with his sidekick, a black gentleman whose name eludes the stores of human knowledge. Regardless, Walker can always be counted on to Karate-kick the outlaws in the face, to mete out justice for all of Texas.
Both of these famous men righted wrongs, and strongly defended the bonnet-wearing widows and children of Texas by serving up two-fisted vengeance upon the wrongdoers.
When I faced the reality of becoming the Texas Governor, no one was looking out for the scared and defenseless townsfolk of the modern world. They no longer wore bonnets, and could not always be spotted. You had to know them in your heart for their purity. They were the lone Texas entrepreneurs.
One day, while sitting in the Owner’s Box of the Texas Rangers stadium, enjoying a hot dog and watching my team defeat another enemy, Jesus spoke to me concerning this matter. He told me that I was the one to deliver downtrodden business leaders from burdensome regulations.
“But how will I do this, Jesus?” I asked.
“Run for President,” he said.
“President of The Texas Rangers? But I am already the Owner.”
“No.”
“President of Texas? Texas is a state, not a separate country, and has not had a President in decades.”
“No.”
“Jesus, please tell me what thing you are suggesting I run for President of?”
“President of the United States,” he said. “But first, you must become Governor of Texas.”
So, Jesus had spoken. And they were wise words.
I was to become a new kind of Texas Ranger.
But this raised a troubling question: The Lone Ranger had his Indian Kemosabe, and Walker Texas Ranger had his unnamed black helper. Who would be my minority sidekick who would dispense agreeable advice in broken English? Only time would tell.
My campaign was a blur of speaking to the good folks of Texas about the facts. They deserved a square deal. Their previous Governor had given them an ovular deal, which was not sitting good with most folks.
The lady-governor and I had a fundamental difference about the issues in the campaign. She believed that she was right, and I believed that she was wrong. I do not remember specifically what her views on the issues were, or at this late date, my own. But I had a strong faith in my beliefs, regardless.
Fort Worth Star-Telegram article, October 13, 1994
The people of Texas agreed with me and gave me a mandate to implement those ideas, most of which are lost to time. But it is safe to speculate that they were tough, bold, and common-sense measures.
I do not plan ahead. I am a spontaneous kind of person. I think on my feet. When I have breakfast every morning, I do not think, “What am I going to have for lunch?” I leave that to the meal prognosticators. Or I let it happen naturally, at lunchtime. I go with my gut for any mealtime. Today, for example, my gut told me hot dogs, as it often does.
I took a similar approach to my Governorship. I did not plan what I would do each day. When I woke up in the morning, I would say to myself, “Today I am going to fix our torts,” or “Today I am going to execute somebody.” I did not read the bills that came across my desk. Instead, I held them in my hands, then let my gut get a good sense of it. Sometimes I would sign it, sometimes I would throw it up high in the air and try to shoot it with my six-gun before it hit the ground.
One day I got a feeling that I should reform the Texas schools, and make them work. It broke my heart that our education system betrayed the trust of our young people by failing to teach them to read. I resolved to do something about it, Texas style. I instituted simpler reading tests at our schools, ones that more students could pass. This brought the literate level of our students up significantly.
Reading is the key to faith. If children cannot read the Bible, they will grow up to be tools of evil, and will be executed under Texas law.
One of the most important pieces of state legislation that I championed while Governor of Texas was the “Governor Must Wear a Ten Gallon Hat” bill. I spoke for all Texans when I demanded that an official cowboy hat be worn by the sitting Governor at all times. I worked hard convincing legislators to pass this bill, and in the end, I brought Republicans and Democrats together to sign it into law.
The state legislature tried to get a rider on the bill, which stipulated that legislators were also permitted to wear tengallon hats, as well as cowboy boots and spurs. But I vetoed that portion of the bill, because I believed it went too far. It was vital that only the Governor got to wear a large cowboy hat while in office. Later, I strengthened the law so that it stipulated that the hat must be triple-sized.
While I resided in the Governor’s mansion, there was a bipartisan effort to get me a great steed to ride. I refused to sign the bill, because I am deathly afraid of the beasts.
Thankfully, a superior piece of legislation crossed my desk that nullified the Great Steed Bill. It allocated funds for a Cadillac convertible with big steer horns on the hood, a vehicle that honked the state anthem. Getting this vital legislation passed was one of my proudest achievements as Governor.
A certain day of my Governorship was the toughest
of my career. It was the day an inmate was scheduled to be executed for a terrible crime. The inmate was a woman. Her entire family, as well as many leaders in the community, had come to me and appealed for mercy.
The appealers said that this lady-prisoner had repented and learned her lesson, and had found the Lord. But she also confessed to the crime for which she was going to be executed.
The day, which was to be one wrought with wrenching decisiveness, began innocently. On my way to work, I passed an ice-cream store on the street. I recall thinking that ice cream was delicious, and perhaps I would have some later. It is funny how, in the face of grave decisions, sometimes the mind focuses on certain details.
My funny Indian sidekick, Alberto Gonzalez, approached me with the official papers for this woman’s appeal. I looked long and hard at that first sentence. And I prayed for guidance from the Lord for the decision that was before me.
It was a tortuous day.
The decision I had to make was a fateful one. I was faced with a choice that, without question, would have serious and long-lasting ramifications.
But when it came to be about dinnertime, the decision could no longer be delayed. I had to act. The question, put simply, was should I have the chocolate ice cream or the vanilla ice cream for dessert? I had been unable to think of anything else all day. I sequestered myself in my office, and refused any outside contact while I wrestled with the dilemma.
Finally, I decided. I would have a little of each. That is the kind of fair Governor I was. I did not show favoritism in any circumstance. And I liked to swirl the flavors together with my spoon to see the patterns develop when they are blended.
As I sat back in my chair and put my feet up on the big Governor’s desk, enjoying my delicious ice cream, I noticed the lights dim for a moment. I knew then that the electric switch had been pulled down on death row, and the highly efficient machinery of government was indeed working. It made my dessert treat all the more delicious.
I was proud of the prison system in Texas. Our inmate population was the hardest working in the nation. And I worked hard to increase their numbers. They laid highways, and also picked up garbage along the side of those highways.
By the time I left office, 87 percent of Texans were imprisoned, and we had the densest network of highways in the nation. We also had the orangest-suited workforce. And for that we could be proud.
Through it all, Laura continued to be my wife, showing her support for my important programs. I was comforted to have her propped up beside me when I spoke. But I told her, “You are the First Lady of the State of Texas now, you have got to pursue your own pursuits.”
Fortunately, Laura took the hint and got involved with several different ladies groups, and things concerning flowers and polite sit-downs where tea is served. I believe she did some good work for some noteworthy causes. She helped with the Please Care Foundation, I believe. And the Texas-based Be Nice Association.
She would travel the state of Texas, passing out pins and pamphlets about her organizations. She would dress in robes and loiter at the airport, hawking her good deeds with a shaven skull.
This gave me much-needed time alone to strike down the evildoers and the criminals. I did not shirk from my duty. I issued many reforms to the capital-punishment institution in the great state of Texas. For example, instead of using the electric chair, I proposed a method by which the Governor himself had the option, at his discretion, to gun down the condemned at high noon in the center of town.
One day I remember particularly, as it was Take Your Steer to Work Day, Kemosabe Gonzales had reviewed several death penalty cases and gave me his considered legal opinion that these heartless killers ought to be dragged behind a pickup through the town square until dead.
Gonzales was a fair man. He would show me the reports and I would give the signal, yea or nay, like the emperors of old. I would decide if the prisoner would live or die.
To my recollection they all died.
I was not one of those types of emperors who much cared for saying “yea,” because it is not as much fun to watch the games when all the contestants are freed to go home.
I was governing proudly in those years, dispatching justice on the high plains. I was riding on a horse—metaphorically, of course, for the horse is a terrible monster that haunts my nightmares—straight and true through the lawns of Texas to ensure the protection of all citizens of this great state.
And when these figurative Texans saw me symbolically riding down their main street, they knew that they were theoretically safe.
Sheriff Bush was in town. The Lone George Walker Bush, Texas Ranger, who would not hesitate to karate kick his imaginary colored sidekick in the face for justice.
13
Bush for President:
Champion of the
Little Guy
My country called me to serve, and I felt a duty to answer that call. It was just like when my country called me to serve in the dark days of the Alabama War.
In both instances, I answered the country’s call for one reason, and one reason only: to defend the people from evil.
During the war, I was asked to defend a way of life against a terrible enemy who threatened our Southern states: the Kong people of the skies. Now, in the year 2000, I was being asked to defend the country against a culture of governing in Washington.
There were many in the country who felt the out-going President had not served our nation. A decade which saw a moral weakness in the highest house in the land had hurt our nation’s standing in the world. Many saw their traditional values eroded and their time-honored sanctities threatened by disgraceful behavior and unspeakable stains.
Moreover, a decade of skyrocketing economic growth had hurt the little guy. The mom-and-pop oil company had been asked to pay taxes. The family pharmaceutical firm, who had worked so hard to heal the sick with their homemade medicinal remedies, was being restricted by burdensome laws. These Americans had struggled to stay afloat in the 1990s.
To bring a light of hope to these down-and-out folks was my Christ-inspired calling. I would bring Republicans from both sides of the aisle together and solve the nation’s ills.
When the voices on high commanded me to run for the office of the Presidency of the United States of America, I knew right away that a great sacrifice would have to be made: I would have to give up the most prestigious office in the land, the Governorship of Texas.
When my top campaign advisors met in the late 1990s to discuss my possible run for the office—and I am speaking here of my core team: Karl Rove, God, Jesus Christ, and the Easter Bunny—they all agreed not only that I should run, but that I was destined to win.
So the wheels were set in motion.
God was dispatched to file the necessary paperwork with the Federal Elections Commission, the Republican Party, and other such organizations with which one must file papers and such. Meanwhile Jesus and Karl planned a strategy for victory. The Easter Bunny and I went on a golfing trip to Baja California to discuss important issues relating to golf.
While I had good people like Karl Rove and the Easter Bunny running my campaign, and God doing much of the busywork, I considered Jesus my most indispensable political advisor. He was involved in every aspect of the campaign. He punched up every stump speech and kept me “on message,” as they say, but He also handed out flyers and put gas in the bus. And He was the first to show up in the office every morning, often with bagels and wine for everyone.
Most importantly, He helped me reach the people’s hearts.
In my daily bullpen sessions with Jesus, we would strategify about the day’s events and how best to get the message across. Jesus would give me strength during those stressful times. He would remind me of my purpose, telling me that I was to be God’s puppet on earth, to help battle evil with a plastic sword in my tiny puppet hands, and eventually bring about the Rapture by defeating another puppet, a dragon, or other such sock-based creature.
But befor
e I could wield that little plastic sword, I faced a tough primary challenge. One must first be nominated by one of the major parties before one can take the office. I received numerous assurances from both Jesus and the Easter Bunny that my selection in the primaries was assured. But first, I had to be tested in the fires of a primary battle, and only then would I be readied for ultimate victory.
A powerful army of seasoned challengers would face me in the race for the Republican nomination.
There was a proud war veteran named John McCain who had been tortured and abused by his Chinese captors. Would this strain on his senses allow him to conduct the affairs of state with a level head? Or would frightening hallucinations of Mongol overlords appear to him in the Oval Office, telling him, “Press the nuclear button, American Rat-Dog, or we will poke at you with our bamboo sticks again!” Would he buckle under such pressure? American voters would have to look into their hearts and answer that matter for themselves during the primary.
There was a powerful calculating engine created by the Forbes fortune who could compute 17 percent of any number, no matter how high. I felt strongly that the American people would not accept an adding machine as President.
There was also a black man, and other challengers as well. At the time of this writing, the names of these other worthy challengers are lost to the sands of time.
As the primary election campaign got underway, I utilized my time-tested techniques of campaigning, which served me so well in the past. I went out, door to door, and announced, “My name is George W. Bush, and I am asking for your support in the 19th district of Texas.”
But I soon realized a great flaw in this plan. I was no longer running for the office of Representative of District 19 in Texas. I was campaigning to be the President of the United States.
I worked long and hard to rework my strategy. Many nights I would lie awake practicing the new words, “My name is George W. Bush, and I am looking for your vote as President of the United States.” Many times it would still come out the old way. Or sometimes, I would get it mixed up, and I would say, “My name is George W. Bush, and I am looking for your vote as the 19th district of President of the United States,” or “My name is George W. Bush, will you vote for me for President of the District of the 19th United States of Texas?”
Destined for Destiny Page 7