being there by David Hochman

A WEEK OF EXCITEMENT AND SUSPENSE IN THE RE-ELECTED BUSH WHITE HOUSE
or
How Laura Bush Might Just Cause an Invasion of Iran

(A one-act play which probably makes the White House appear far more intellectual than the author intends).

I
(Bush enters the Oval office at 6:30am, yawns, farts loudly and chuckles. As he turns on the lights, he is startled to find Cheney, Powell, Rumsfeld, and Rice already sitting there).

Bush: Jesus Christ, you guys scared me, what the hell you already doing here?

Rice: You told us to be here for a 6 o’clock meeting, sir—a matter of national security, the memo said.

Bush: Did it? Did I? Oh, yes, of course I did. National security. (Reflects) Jesus, why were you sitting in the dark?

Powell: You said the government’s so much in debt, we have to be careful with the electricity.

Bush: Yeah, that’s right. Good thinking. Uh, anyone hear me fart?

Rumsfeld: (Blushing) If we did sir, we’d deny it to the end, believe me.

Cheney: I didn’t hear shit.

Bush: (Chuckling, along with everyone else) Good one, Dick, although it was a close call.

Powell: (Still chuckling, almost to the point of choking) We can always blame an explosion like that on the Koreans.

Rice: Leave the Koreans outta this. Their army’s too darn big. Better the Iranians, easier target.

Bush: No question about it. Also, it’s his goofy look—their leader, whathisname? Dang, that guy gives me the creeps. Like father like son.

Rumsfeld: No comment.

Cheney: (Giving Rumsfeld a high-five) You said it, baby.

Powell: Hell yeah he said it.

Rumsfeld: You bet I did.

Bush: (Pleased with himself) Hell yeah, baby, I did say it, didn’t I? (Pauses) Uh, what?

Rice: (Puzzled) What do you mean, what? You said nothing. Sir.

Bush: Did I? Say nothing?

Powell: Anyway, sir, I think we should get to the point of this meeting. Your memo said it was urgent.

Bush: Of course it’s urgent.

Powell: So…what’s so urgent?

Bush: What do you mean?

Powell: What do you mean, what do I mean?

Cheney: (Annoyed) Quit pestering the President, you wanna lose your job or what?

Powell: Jesus, Dick, no need to get all…sensitive, I was just wondering what the meeting’s about.

Cheney: Well quit wondering, that’s not what we pay you for.

Bush: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not what we pay you for.

Rice: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not what we pay you for.

Rumsfeld: Yeah, quit wondering, that’s not what we pay you for.

Powell: I’m sorry.

Rice: You should be. (Sighing heavily and rolling her eyes) God.

Bush: Well, I guess that’s about it for now. Gotta go. Playing a round of golf with Falwell this morning.

Powell, Rice, Cheney, Rumsfeld: (Simultaneously, full of cheer) Ok, see ya! Good luck!

(Falwell and Bush playing golf, a healthy respect and bonhomie between the two men).

Falwell: Good shot.

Bush: (Uncertainly) You pulling my leg?

Falwell: Would I do that, sir?

Bush: (Picking the ball from the pond, surly) Nevermind.

Falwell: Mr President, I’ve been thinking—and please hear me out, but what if you are the Second Coming of Christ? Ever consider that?

Bush: Wow, that’s freaky dude. Because lately, after the elections, I’ve been wondering that more and more myself. And now that you’ve also mentioned it--and you know how much I respect your opinion--I bet we’re on the right track. Only thing is, I can’t grow my hair long, it’s grey, and my beard is way too thin.

Falwell: No problem. These days, there’s nothing that a little plastic surgery can’t fix. You know what I mean?

Bush: (Slicing the ball) Goddamit. Uh, sorry. That’s not a bad idea. You know any good plastic surgeons? Someone discreet? Also, someone gentle, I don’t like pain.

Falwell: Sure. I know a guy. Fixed up my…a Doctor Naidoo.

Bush: Fixed up your what?

Falwell: Nevermind.

Bush: Naidoo, huh. What kind of name is that?

Falwell: I think he’s from Calcutta. But he’s lived here for some twenty odd years. Pretty much Americanized. Only eats curry on Fridays—and even then it’s beef. Went to their place one night with my wife. Had the shits for three days.

Bush: Jesus, Jerry, you outta your mind? You sending me to some goddam—sorry— quack from Calcutta that gave you the shits? Where the hell is Calcutta anyway?

Falwell: Somewhere…far away, I guess.

Bush: Well I’m not doing it.

Falwell: Suit yourself.

Bush: (Slicing the ball again and storming off) And I’m not playing with you again. You cheat.

III

(Laura Bush, sitting in a hospital room, by her husband’s bed, looking at him lovingly).

Laura Bush: Wow, you really do look like Him.

Bush: Christ?

Laura Bush: Who else, Pinocchio?

Bush: (Chuckling) Cut it out, Laura, it hurts when I laugh.

Laura Bush: (Stroking her husband’s new, thick, long golden hair lovingly) Of course I meant JC. Wow, your hair’s so nice and long--nicer than mine. I’ve always wanted hair like that. It’s not fair. But the beard: I’ll have to get used it. (Pauses) Did you get that implant like we discussed?

Bush: (Horrified) Laura, you crazy? Somebody might hear you.

Laura Bush: (Getting amorous, touching his arm) C’mon, baby, you know we spoke about it. It would…spice things up…you said so yourself.

Bush: Is that all you think about?

Laura Bush (Persevering): Well, did you?

Bush: Yes, dammit. You happy now?

Laura Bush: Can we…try it out?

Bush: Have you gone completely nuts? That thing’s sensitive as hell. I need time to recover. My God.

Laura Bush (Disappointed): How long do we have to wait, baby?

Bush: Laura, please, I got the damn thing done, didn’t I? Can’t you be a little patient? You make me so damn angry I could invade…Calcutta…if I only knew where it was!—dammit! No, I know…Korea—no, no, not Korea—wait--I’ll invade Iran, yeah, that’s it, I’ll invade Iran…I don’t know where Iran is either, but who cares, our boys will find it. Get me Rumsfeld on the phone…