Restoring the Good Name of a Retired President

"Mama. How come I look like I’m a hundr’d years old or more and you still look the same as you did when Daddy was president? No, that’s not the question I wanted to ask you. Darn this old failin’ mem’ry. What I wanted to ask is, you’re not really my mama, are you? I mean, are you one of them space aliens? Not illegal are you? I remember there was this big ol’ set to about illegal irrigation back when I was Mr. President. El Presidente. The Presidio.

"No, no. That’s not it either. It’ll come to me…

"Mama, what ever happened to that Mr. Cheney? What was his name? Dick. And what do you mean when you say he was aptly named?

"Did Rumy ever get that real estate deal he was workin’ on done? Seems to me he should be swimmin’ in oil by now. Can you do that? Swim in oil, I mean. Is that possible? Man, what a lucky guy. To find that much oil that nobody owned and nobody wanted. The Shock and Awe Ranch must be huge. Is that how we got our oil, Mama? By findin’ it somewhere that nobody else had thought to look?

"And the rockets red glare. The bombs bursting in air… That was a catchy tune that Rumy used for his theme song for his ranch, wasn’t it, Mama? Did we ever have a theme song for any of the houses we lived in while I was growin’ up? I wish I’d a thought of a theme song for that ranch down there in Crawford. That would have been nice to have music playin’ every time Laura and I pulled into the driveway.

"I miss ol’ Rumy. Secretary of D-Fence. Just like in a football game. D-Fence. D-Fence. Yay! Go Team.

"Now I remember what I wanted to ask you, Mama. Do you think I was a good president? I mean, I never really wanted the job, but I was more than happy to take it. I always tried to do the best job that I could, just like you always taught us to do. Set your sights on a goal and never wave. I mean never waiver.

"Just like Guantanamo. Sounds kinda like Geronimo, don’t it, Mama? I remember there was a short name for it too, ’cause nobody could get the real name right. We used to call it Guano, I think. Wasn’t that it? No, it was something else … what was it? I know. Gitmo; short for ‘git more info’, I think.

"Mama, am I old enough now to be eligible for Social Security? Oh, no, never mind. I remember now, that went belly-up – why do they call being out of money going belly up? – just a few short years after I was done being the El Presidio. I really like that word.

"Did we ever manage to balance the budget, Mama? How’d it get over or under or imbalanced in the first place? I remember all them numbers I used to have to look at and approve. I usually just picked the highest one. You know me an’ math. But I figured bigger is more and more is better, right?

"How come Conde doesn’t come by any more, Mama? Boy she was so smart. I’m not sure I ever understood a single sentence of hers, but she was so smart I just kinda figured she had to be right. It really didn’t matter what the subject was. She kinda reminded me of you sometimes. ‘Cept she doesn’t look much like you. She always knew what she wanted, though, just like you. Is she an alien like you, too, Mama?

"Mama, just one more question. Did Karl ever write that tell-all book about that president he used to work for? I think that would be a great book to read, full of intrigue and espionage. I always did like espionage stories like the ones Daddy used to tell. Good night, Mama."