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22 December 2023
Greetings, mere mortal men and women. ‘Tis I, the world’s mightiest super-duper hero, Dubya Man! Here to protect good, honest, and wealthy Americans from all the world’s evils with my super-duper powers.
Sike! It’s just me, Georgie. “Dubya Man” is my secret super-duper hero name.
Last week I was just plain old President G-Dubya-B: Leader of the Free World, puppet of the mighty Texas oil man. Then, something happened that changed my life forever: I saw Beaches.
Also, Congress, that club of old men who hang out about a block-and-a-half from here, had a meeting. In their meeting, they decided to grant me powers. That’s right: powers. Super powers.
“But, Dubya,” you ask, “aren’t powers something only fictional superheroes have?”
To which I say, “No. Eddie Rabbit loved a rainy night, too.”
My powers are mighty and wicked-awesome. Like my Bionic Invasion Hearing, which allows me to listen in on all phone conversations between young, independently wealthy Middle Eastern immigrants and their families overseas. I also have Super Threat Throat, which allows me to talk “mad crazy smack” to all world leaders who have the means to assemble a nuclear arsenal more powerful than mine.
Heh-heh. I said “arsenal.” Arse-enal. Arse.
I also have one final power, which Dick Cheney says I must never use, except in times of great struggle and strife. (Dick’s super-duper hero name is “Chick Deney”. He has the powers of a transsexual zombie with a magical Swatch watch. When you change the bands, his powers change, too.) My last resort power is the Ultimate Jeb Blast Ray. With it, I can create havoc in any situation which may result in my defeat. A small troll named Jebediah shoots out from my eyes, and creates some serious bull-in-a-China-shop hell for all in his path. Sweet!
So speak not a word of this to anyone, you blind, mush-minded voters. My powers must remain secret. Otherwise, democracy might once again prevail, and my family will be relegated to living the life of disgustingly wealthy black gold farmers, with some serious covert ops connections.
Excelsior,
Dubya
Sike! It’s just me, Georgie. “Dubya Man” is my secret super-duper hero name.
Last week I was just plain old President G-Dubya-B: Leader of the Free World, puppet of the mighty Texas oil man. Then, something happened that changed my life forever: I saw Beaches.
Also, Congress, that club of old men who hang out about a block-and-a-half from here, had a meeting. In their meeting, they decided to grant me powers. That’s right: powers. Super powers.
“But, Dubya,” you ask, “aren’t powers something only fictional superheroes have?”
To which I say, “No. Eddie Rabbit loved a rainy night, too.”
My powers are mighty and wicked-awesome. Like my Bionic Invasion Hearing, which allows me to listen in on all phone conversations between young, independently wealthy Middle Eastern immigrants and their families overseas. I also have Super Threat Throat, which allows me to talk “mad crazy smack” to all world leaders who have the means to assemble a nuclear arsenal more powerful than mine.
Heh-heh. I said “arsenal.” Arse-enal. Arse.
I also have one final power, which Dick Cheney says I must never use, except in times of great struggle and strife. (Dick’s super-duper hero name is “Chick Deney”. He has the powers of a transsexual zombie with a magical Swatch watch. When you change the bands, his powers change, too.) My last resort power is the Ultimate Jeb Blast Ray. With it, I can create havoc in any situation which may result in my defeat. A small troll named Jebediah shoots out from my eyes, and creates some serious bull-in-a-China-shop hell for all in his path. Sweet!
So speak not a word of this to anyone, you blind, mush-minded voters. My powers must remain secret. Otherwise, democracy might once again prevail, and my family will be relegated to living the life of disgustingly wealthy black gold farmers, with some serious covert ops connections.
Excelsior,
Dubya
artid
1113
Old Image
5_6_dubya.jpg
issue
vol 5 - issue 06 (feb 2003)
section
stories