Location: Oval Office, White House
Bush: TURD BLOSSOM! Get your ass in here!
Rove: Yes sir. Is there something I can do for you sir?
Bush: There damn well is. Look across the street there. Those people are out there burning flags in full view of the President of the goddamn United States. What the hell is going on in this country?
Rove: Sir, I believe those people are simply having a Fourth of July barbecue in the park.
Bush: You sure? That looks like a goddamn big fire for grilling a couple of wienies and that guy looks Arab. I don’t trust them, there’s a war on terror you know.
Rove: I’ll check into it sir. (audible sigh)
Bush: Karl, I still don’t understand why we can’t go back to Crawford for the holidays. The brush is likely to get out of hand if I don’t go back and trim it. It’s a damn fire hazard, you know that your own self.
Rove: Sir, it looks bad for you to go to the ranch at this time. Your enemies will attack you for callously relaxing while our brave men are sacrificing their lives half a world away. The Fourth of July is an important time for us to grab some media attention and press forward with our agenda.
Bush: Dammit Karl, you know how cranky I get when I can’t cut the brush. Besides, Crawford’s so damned pretty this time of year. The long brown grass swaying in the hot breeze … sweat glistening on your balls … the cattle just shriveling up and dying from the heat and lack of water. It’s a damn pretty place I tell you. Dick likes it a lot. Says it reminds him of that undisclosed location where he spends all that time. Where the hell is that place anyhow?
Rove: Sir, it’s undisclosed. If I told you that, I would be disclosing it. That would be leaking sir, and you know we’re not supposed to do that. Perhaps we could spend the afternoon at Camp David instead. We could have a nice little get together, maybe have the Cheney’s over for a cookout?
Bush: Could we get us some of them little cocktail wienies and maybe a little “tater” salad like Laura used to buy down to the grocery store when I was a poor student at Yale? No pretzels though. NO GODDAMN PRETZELS! I hate pretzels. One of them sneaky bastards tried to kill me. Damn near managed it too. I bet Al Qaida made them. Pretzels look like some kind of foolish food them Arabs would eat.
Rove: Sit, I believe pretzels came from Germany.
Bush: Shut up Karl! I know what I’m talking about. If they came from Germany, it must have been East Germany. Sneaky commie bastards. You can’t trust sneaking commie Germans with pretzels! Thank the good Lord that Ronald Reagan fellow shut those Godless bastards down. Great man. Hell of a communitater (phonetic spelling)! Can’t we name something after him, an airport or something?
Rove: I believe that’s already been done.
Bush: Well, hells bells man. The man was famous! He can have more then one airport named after him, can’t he? When I’m out of office they’ll be building airports right out in the middle of nowhere just so they can name them after me. Damn they love me, Karl! Can’t you just feel the love from the American people?
Rove: Er, no sir. Your poll numbers a quite substantially down and it looks like people aren’t actually lovi…
Bush (interrupting): Shut up Karl! If I asked for your damned opinion I would have asked, um, if I had an opinion, no that’s not how it goes, if your opin … Dammit Karl! Just shut the hell up! I say the people love me and I’m the President so I can decide things like that! That’s why they call me the Great Decider! I decide things, you know?
Rove: Yes sir. You stupid motherf…(inaudible).
Bush: Karl, rustle me up Marine One! I guess I’m ready to haul ass to Camp David. This working stuff is hard work and by that I mean I’m working hard, trying to look like I’m working hard at working.
Rove: Yes sir. Should I notify Mrs. Bush?
Bush: Hell no man! Just fetch Barney. I love that little dog! By the way Turdie, what are you doing for the holiday?
Rove: Well sir, I thought I might accompany you to Camp David, perhaps to oversee the arrangements.
Bush: You can come if you want Karl, but this is a barbecue for the big folks and I suspect you’d be a might uncomfortable, being as you’re a piddling little shitheel. And you can’t sit at the rich folk’s table neither Karl. You’re there to work, nothing more. You can grab a hot dog from one of the plates when you’re cleaning up if you want…maybe eat it later out behind the barn.
Rove: Yes sir. I’ll just be making the arrange……..(tape ended because junior field officer forgot to bring fresh tape)