The Idyossey
Chapter 21: George Gloats


 

 
The Bushiad
Foreword
Chapter 1- The Rage of George
Chapter 2- Rattling of Sabres
Chapter 3- Entreaties Rejected
Chapter 4- Osama Speaks
Chapter 5- The Underworld
Chapter 6- Fatherly Advice
Chapter 7- The Gods of War
Chapter 8- Juggernaut
Chapter 9- The Prisoners
Chapter 10- Interrogation
Chapter 11- George Dreams
Chapter 12- In the Clouds
Chapter 13- D
éjeuner
Chapter 14- Secret Agent
Chapter 15- The Tyrant Flees
Chapter 16- Out of Order
Chapter 17- George Descends
Chapter 18- Master Kim
Chapter 19- Uncurious George
Chapter 20- Asana
Chapter 21- Doing the Patriot Act
Chapter 22- Immaculate Reception
Chapter 23- The Little Prince
Chapter 24- Mission Accomplished

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

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“Now this feels good!”
Simple George exclaims. In one day
We knocked off two miserable pricks,
And got that damn uranium
Off the front page. We may have
Finally turned the corner!”

George gives a thumbs up to
The White House inner circle.
Foul Rumsfeld to George’s left, attention
Focused on his Black Goddess, Condoleezza;
Hard-hearted Cheney chats with Sly Ashcroft,
Who nods sagely.

Cunning Wolfowitz stands alone,
Scans the room, takes in the scene.
Proud Powell is conspicuously absent.
Not invited to this small affair, he’s isolated
Shut out, marginalized, not part
Of the in-crowd, the self-anointed.

“I want to talk to the commander,
The guy who stormed that house in Mosul.”
George laughs, animated and upbeat.
“No way I wanted those Hussein sons left alive
To shoot their mouths off at some trial.
We killed them like the rotten dogs deserved!”

Revenge tastes sweet, George is buoyant.
Ever since Saddam planned to kill his father,
George has sought one goal, to hurt the man.
The killing of his only sons feels good,
But now one overriding task remains,
To find and kill Saddam Hussein.

Iraq has been no cakewalk,
Peace harder to sustain than war.
Day by day Americans are dying
And the costs keep rising higher. Then again,
The Black Ichor of the gods
Is under United States control.

“It’s only a matter of time, Mr. President.
Saddam is on the run, we’ll find him.
When we do he’ll end up like his sons,
Bullet-ridden, lifeless, draining blood.”
Foul Rumsfeld is dramatic, loves attention
To his macho showman’s style.

“I want that scum bag dead!” Prince George snarls,
”He tried to kill my daddy!" He
Jams his finger into Don’s chest,
The pain makes Rumsfeld wince.
An embarrassed silence fills the office,
As the others shift and squirm.

“So, what’s up with the WMD?”
His question falls into the silence,
Speaks volumes about his simpleness.
Complex plans many hours in the making,
Suddenly become an uncomplicated question,
Puncturing the hubris in the room.

Dick Cheney clears his throat, “Well sir,
We’ve put that off. Remember we decided,
September ‘04 would be the best,
Reverberating well with 9-11. The plans
Are all in place, be patient.” His tone
Stops George cold.

“OK, OK…that’s right, I remember.”
The mood broken, George looks chastened.
Hard-hearted Cheney rules the roost,
“I think it’s time we all got back to work.”
The others all know who’s in charge,
Move towards the door to leave.

“Good job, boys and girls, keep it up!”
George sounds forced and artificial.
The others turn and smile, some wave.
George is left alone with Cheney.
“Shit, Dick, I’m just anxious to move on,”
George slumps down in his chair.

Cheney moves behind the chair,
Puts his hands on George’s shoulders,
Leans down and whispers, “C’mon, Kid,
Hang in there. It’s the seventh-inning stretch,
No time to panic. You’ll have your revenge.
I promise.”

George nods, but his mood blackens;
His jubilance now turned to doubt,
He stares off into space, descending.
“Hey!” Cheney slaps George on the back,
“Come with me, I’ve got some cool photos.
Naked body shots of Udai and Qusai.”

George looks up, a small smile on his face.
Like a child beckoned by his father,
Anxious for approval and acceptance,
Seeking love, George nods his head,
Stands up, turns toward Dick, and asks,
“Are they in color?”
 
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The Bushiad and The Idyossey - Copyright 2004 by Victor Littlebear - All rights reserved