Craig Crawford: George Bush: What I Did On My Summer Vacation
Craig CrawfordThu Sep 1,11:56 AM ET
Just imagine how President Bush would write the traditional back-to-school assignment, What I Did On My Summer Vacation: My five weeks on the ranch started with an angry war mom exciting the farm animals (the press corps), and ended with New Orleans turning into a swamp. So I guess I’d have to quote the old joke about what they said to Mrs. Lincoln: “Other than that, how was the theater?”
First, my ace staff tells me this Cindy Sheehan is just a crackpot anti-war person, and the national media will be afraid to give her any play because we’ve bullied them into thinking they’ll look like they don’t support the troops if they cover the critics.
But just in case we send a couple of folks out there the day after Sheehan sets up her little squatters place. They get photographed “listening” to her. Sure enough, all was quiet for a few days.
Big mistake though, when Condi and Rummy show up at the ranch several days later. With the secretaries of Defense and State on property, guess we should have figured that having our own war confab could spotlight an anti-war mob down the road.
Even bigger mistake when I motorcaded past the little woman’s camp on the way to a fundraiser. Lousy picture, there. Maybe I should have stopped and delivered some ice -- always works with those hurricane people. Still, we bagged $2 million for the party. But would have been better to take the helicopter.
Thought about sending the First Lady out there for a smackdown with Cindy, but worried Laura might end up on her side. She’s been kinda feisty lately, getting all the laughs at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner and going public on how I should pick a woman for the Supreme Court.
When Cindy had to go back to California to see her sick mother, we thought this whole mess would go away without her around to feed the buzzards. But then Joan Baez shows up. Geez, nothing like an old hippie from Vietnam days to stir up even older hippies at the New York Times.
At least Lance Armstrong didn’t make trouble on our bike ride. Heard he might be against the war. And I look more manly in that silly biking helmet when I’m riding with a champion, so it made a nice picture. (Maybe Karl Rove was right -- should have learned to ride a horse, be a real cowboy, but only bought the ranch in time for the 2000 election, so never got the chance.)
Finally got Karen Hughes out here for some quality time, and she suggested I go on the road for another “We’re Winning” tour. Also got those right wingers fired up to take on Cindy, make her look like a nut so we could say sympathetic stuff about her great loss. That seemed to do the trick for a little while.
Good move inviting the press to the ranch for an off-the-record barbecue. Those suckers always fall for that one. They like hearing me call them by my pet nicknames for them, and never seem to mind that we won’t let them write about any of it. A little private joshing around with reporters, and just in time they started getting bored with protester mom.
Nice thing about Cindy Sheehan is how she says we should bring all of the troops home right now. Pollsters say most people disagree with her on that. So we set it up as “stay the course” vs. “cut and run.” We always win that argument.
Just when I thought things were easing up, and I could get back to clearing brush, those propeller-head pollsters tell me more people than ever think I’m a screw-up. Why do they even tell me these things? Hard to keep up with who the heck I am, when you listen to the number-crunchers. It is such a roller coaster.
We were doing fine back in 2000 when I was a compassionate conservative and a uniter-not-a-divider. Won that election, even though brother Jeb almost blew it for us in Florida and forever gave my enemies ammo to say I wasn’t legit. Won reelection against that weenie Kerry, and then I was a force to be reckoned with, a two-termer with a mandate to remake the country. (Note to self: Gotta ask Karl what happened to Social Security? They haven’t been putting it in my speeches lately. Must be something wrong).
Then I go on vacation, and instead of getting to play the kick-butt second-termer on break I am spending all my time worrying about a dang war mom taking pot shots at me from a stupid tent. Maybe that’s what they mean by lame duck. (Note to self: Next summer it’s back to Kennebunkport. My real mom is a pain, but nothing like this.)
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