Saturday, December 23, 2006
In the beginning...
...
I hear that on your world, there was a war in Iraq just after the tragic events of September 11th.
On mine it didn't happen... Here's why.
...
It all started, or so I believe... on the day our Bono and his U2, were set to perform at the White House.
I was watching the coverage live on C-SPAN. Now normally I am not a fan of the SPAN, but anything for Bono.
And there was a photo op for the performance. All the cameras were there flashing away as Bono shook the President's hand. The president smiling, and Bono not. The sight was a little unsightly.
"Ah kin't begin ta tell ya how much've an honer it is to have you fellers here!" Bush blathered. "I'm yer biggest fan!" he announced producing a copy of U2's greatest hits from the pocket of one of his secret service men. As if everyone didn't have one! "Ah'd be truly honered if you boys'd sign this!" he gushed, handing Bono a pen.
"Oy'm afraid not sir. We didn't her t'sign autographs or play for ye. We came here to ask ye one question in front of all these good people,
and here it is, boyo....
Why are ye tryin' t'kill me sir?"
A grim silence filled the room. The cameras stopped flashing. I stared at my TV screen, my jaw wide open with shock.
Suddenly a large man charge the stage.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!" he screamed. And punched Bush in the face, shattering his nose and sending the President to the ground. No secret service man had moved to step in his way.
"D-Dick..." Bush said, staring up in terrified shock at his vice president staring down at him. "W-why'd you do thet, buddy?"
"WHY???! YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!! WHY DON'T YOU TELL US ALL WHY YOU TRIED TO KILL THE GREATEST ARTIST WHO EVER LIVED!!! HUH???! WHY DON'T YOU FUCKING TELL US THAT!!!?"
"Ah... Ah di'int, Dick." Tears were trickling down Bush's face. "Come owwn buddy, you know me... I woud never try to hurt Bono... Ah love U2..."
"ARE YOU CALLING BONO A LIAR???!" Cheney spat at the top of his lungs.
"N-no... Ah would nevur call Bono a liar... it's just Ah... Ah mean he must be mustaken is awll."
"BONO IS NEVER MISTAKEN!!" There was a vein on his forehead the size of Texas. His eyes were wide with fury. Fists clenched. In all my life I'd never seen a man that scary.
But he was right. I nodded in agreement. Bono could not make mistakes. It was impossible.
The president also nodded in agreement. "Yuh... yeah buddy... Ah know thet... Ah mean... Ah guess must'a done it... but Ah guess I kin't remembur doin' it... I guess I must have thet... thet whatchamacallit... thet Eminem-esia or sumpin'."
"That's it..." Rumsfeld said walking up to the stage. "I'm sorry I ever stole the ellection for this inbred fucker in the first place. I'm gonna go snap this hillbilly's neck like a chicken, and put him out of his misery. He's my dawg, and I shoud be the one put him down.... Anybody got any objections?"
Dick Cheney shook his head no, as did his wife Laura, the secret service men, and myself. Though no one could see me doing it, since I was only watching through my TV. Killing the president live on national television was the only thing to do to protect the life of our most treasured rock star.
Rumsfeld cracked his knuckles, and approached. "This'll only hurt a little bit," he muttered with that twistedly psychotic Republican grin on his face.
"R-Rummy don't," Bush said crawling backwards.
That was when Bono, magnanamous rock god that he is, stepped in front of Rumsfeld. "Don't do it, Rummy," he said. Rummy stopped.
"But Bono..." Rummy said looking rather like a child who'd had his Christmas toy taken away. "He tried to kill you."
"Yea, he's ohbviously very mentally disturbed. He needs help, and we'll make sure he gets it. Roy't?" With that he snapped his fingers, and Bush's secret service men snatched ahold of Bush, and dragged him out of the room.
"Th-thaynk you Bono!" Bush called back as he was dragged. "Ah won't ferget this! Ah love you man! Hey sign my album later, ok!?"
Bono adjusted his red shades and ignored the barage of comments.
Bush on was on his way to Guantanamo. And it had begun.
# posted by Isadore Clarke @ 7:02 AM 
