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EXCLUSIVE COMMENTARY
MEIN CHUMPF
a presidential prayer diary
by Gary L. Coffman
Author’s note: The following is, as in all good writing and television
psychic readings, for entertainment purposes only. Any similarity between
the living, dead, and brain dead living is purely coincidental.
Day 2010, B.T.: What the hell! That wasn’t what I prayed to You about
this morning, but I’m sure there is a silver lining you planted in there for
me somewhere. I mean, don’t I have my hands full with this Iraq crap, and
that bit.., I mean that poor, suffering mother camped outside my five week
vacation spot when I’ve got work to do? Who do they think they are? Freedom
is at stake here. Don’t they realize they are dishonoring the sacrifices
their sons and daughters made because they were foolish enough to be taken
in by my (actually, Karl’s) jingoism? Thank You that there will never be a
shortage of them. It really aggravates me that I had to turn down the
proposed drive-by shooting by my advisors, when there were so many available
suspects on which to pin the blame.
Day 2021, B.T.: Whose side are You on anyway? Can’t You let me just
deal with one crisis at a time? After all, I’m not the smartest man in the
world. I need Dick for that, and he’s not always available, hiding out as he
does. National security, hell! I get tired of him telling me what to do. Who
did Florida elect anyway: Him or me?
Now I’ve got all these wimpos claiming to be experts telling me, “We warned
you about cutting back on the wetlands.” How many times do I have to tell
the American public that we have the problem under continuing study? Just
because a major American city is inundated and thousands are starving and
hundreds of thousands homeless, does that mean it is my fault? After all,
didn’t I set up the Homeland Defense department to safe guard us? Just
because all our systems failed to move any faster or more efficiently than
our aid to foreign catastrophes, or to provide food and necessities to
American citizens only a few hundred miles away, does that mean I’m inept?
Trust me, I am ept! I am a leader!
Day 2023, B.T.: Christ! Oops, sorry, Big Guy, but I got another nasty
call from those global warming idiots. They never seem to get the picture
that I am never going to listen to their facts. Jobs are at stake here, our
economy is recovering, and my plan to get my wife, I mean my Secretary of
State, Condi, elected President is on track. All those hurricanes of
escalating violence have nothing to do with industrial pollution. Didn’t You
tell me so Yourself? What matters is that we stay in power, and the way to
power is through fear: fear of attack, fear of economic collapse, and fear
of four dollar gas prices. I guess I owe You an apology: The hurricane was a
brilliant stratagem. Now, no one is looking at Iraq, or Karl, or De Lay.
Thanks, Pal. Guess I can get a few brownie points if I make a quick flight
down there and declare the disaster is over. Or, I could send the little
woman. She’s good at nodding agreement and smiling, even when I’m talking to
her, although sometimes I think she’s just asleep in her rocker at Crawford.
Glad it ain’t Florida; couldn’t stand another visit with Jeb! I’ve milked
him for all he’s got - - Suckkah!
Day 2052, B.T.: You can’t be serious! After all the promises I made
of pay back to my billionaire buddies in the top one per cent, You think I
should propose they return their hard earned tax refund to help pay for the
needy, homeless, and destitute in the Delta? Who do you think you are
talking to? I’d call some one higher up, if there was anyone higher up!
What? What do you mean I’ve not been talking to the Higher Up? A different
kind of hot line? Who have I been talking to then? What? What?
Karl. Karl? KARL!
Gary L. Coffman is a writer, poet, and retired English teacher.
GARY L. COFFMAN ARCHIVE:
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Mein Chumpf: A
presidential prayer diary
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