The Bushiad
Chapter 3: Entreaties Rejected

The Idyossey
Chapter 1- Ichor of the Gods
Chapter 2- The Price of Peace
Chapter 3- Empyre
Chapter 4- Woeful Warrior
Chapter 5- Mitzvah
Chapter 6- News Analysis
Chapter 7- Strategic Planner
Chapter 8- Aristea
Chapter 9- Last Supper
Chapter 10- Skullduggery
Chapter 11: Family Reunion
Chapter 12- Black Goddess
Chapter 13- Saboteur
Chapter 14- Glossolalia
Chapter 15- Visitation
Chapter 16- Dead or Alive
Chapter 17- Across the Border
Chapter 18- The Unraveling
Chapter 19- Summer in the City
Chapter 20- Wolf and Jackal
Chapter 21- George Gloats
Chapter 22- Surreality
Chapter 23- Kidnapped
Chapter 24- Denouement

Comments and Email?
Click here

Want a printed version of
The Bushiad
and The Idyossey?

A formal note from Iraq arrives at the White House:
“Consider please this, our most sincere offer, in full settlement of our conflict:
For those who through reason would care to choose peace instead of
       resorting  to warfare,
With utmost respect and provision for feelings and mindful of past indiscretions,
We humbly request your most close attention to matters of mutual profit,
A chance to amend our poor past relations and build toward a more stable future.

We wish to arrange a small meeting in secret, only those present who matter,
To offer appropriate measures, fair payment, for some goods and services rendered,
Build peace between nations, once close friends, but engaged now in near-combat,
A moment to place swords in scabbards, step back, stand down our gathering armies,
With honor a part of the overall planning, and always with hearts filled with caring,
Our offer includes countless valuable riches, and honor beyond all computing.

Mistakes have been made, we freely admit it, and humbly apologize for them,
Our misguided effort to blow up your father exhibits poor judgment, it’s certain,
And if it were under our province to undo such unkind behavior, believe us
We’d make it our duty to do so, and promptly, without even wasting a moment.
What’s done is done, though, that’s the painful truth, not even Allah can change it,
Our most current effort is geared to repayment, in fashion designed to your liking.

Our land is old land, the famed fertile crescent where mankind received his first blessings,
Resources have limits, we have lots of sand and some date palms of rather fine features,
The camels still range between scattered oasis and carpets are loomed in some cities.
In short we are simple and quite undemanding, a people accustomed to desert,
Hard working, quite honest and not prone to lying, we note we can make one concession:
Oil sits all below us, the fuel of the world, and it’s yours at a rather steep discount.

In short, we beseech, we request and entreat you to give peace a chance and consider
A fair and quite generous offer of black gold, delivered direct to your country.
And based on your background and that of your comrades whose own jobs included
         some drilling,
We know you appreciate valuable assets, especially those that are liquid.
Please give us reply at your early convenience, since time, as you say, is the essence,
We remain at the ready to convene this discussion, with fondest regards, S. Hussein.”

The ashen face of George says all. Sweat
Gathers on his upper lip, dry tongue licks his lips,
His nostrils flare and he looks as if to speak
But only silence and rasping breath escape.
Stopped short and lacking words,
He must remind himself to breathe.

At last, composure brought to bear, he speaks,
But in a whisper, barely audible. “This
Is some kind of trick, and I’m not fooled.
No way Saddam wants to negotiate. Besides,
After all the time and money we’ve put into our plan,
We can’t afford the loss.”

Like a small child caught in a big lie,
He looks around searching for support.
His eyes dart from face to face, but finds
Uncertainty from those around him. “Oil is the prize,
And now it’s on the table, a deal might make
More money in the end,” says Condi Rice.

Despite rumors of the curse of Condoleezza,
Others listen when she forecasts the future.
Investing power in her passionate pronouncements.
Her female wiles keep the room of white men
Nervous about the future as they attempt
To possess Saddam’s deep pools of oil.

Foul Rumsfeld turns from Condi’s low-cut blouse
(It’s been a while since he’s felt a woman’s warmth),
And, shifting his seat he starts to speak. “I
Sincerely disagree, though I value Condi’s opinion,
Sly Saddam is a master of the masquerade, besides
I’ve planned to test some cool new weapons.”

“Our weapon sales bring us many billions,
And nothing helps as much as live demonstrations
Before an enthralled world.” he leans back
Grinning widely, as heads nod in agreement.
Meanwhile George, eyes closed,
Looks like he’s listening, but he’s not.

Inside his head Simple George has
A rockabilly tune that’s stuck. Something about
“Loving her so much it hurts, but it feels good.”
His tapping on the table draws attention and
Heads turn towards him sensing his deep thought.
The room is silent. He looks up.

He makes desperate attempt to push away the song,
But one phrase escapes and leaves his lips,
“There’s gonna be just one of us left standing in the end,”
No steel guitar accompanies the line. All
Bow their heads in solemn acquiescence,
A resolute decision has been made.

They stand in deference to their valued leader.
A wise decision has been made. In keeping
With tradition in these halls of power,
Their leader has shown trademark determination,
(This despite the underestimation of his critics
Who label him lightweight with Attention Deficit Disorder.)

Simple George is confused though pleased,
Thinking, “This governing thing's not so hard
As long as I surround myself with loyal, informed staff.”
It’s twenty-five to twelve; I’ve made a big decision.
I’ll work out now, then scarf a taco salad.
Is it cool the be the free world’s leader, or what?”

Next >