PRESIDENT'S HEARTFELT PRAYER

PRESIDENT'S HEARTFELT PRAYER TO GOD TO UNIFY AMERICA FOLLOWING HIS MEGA-COMPETENT ADMINISTRATION'S TEENY-TINY NEW ORLEANS OOPSIE
Formal Presidential Prayer

THE PRESIDENT: Are you there God? It's me, George.

I want you to know, that per my election strategy, I will pass up no
opportunity to been seen looking to you for guidance and/or forgiveness. Remember that time near my 40th birthday, when I got so ripped on Tequila bombers that I stumbled home and thought Laura's underthingy drawer was the head? You forgave me then. You forgave me for all the little silly crappy selfish cokehead Princely mistakes I've made over the years – like fixing votes, strong-arming anyone who thinks off-script, starting wars, leading by dividing, running the country into the ground like the greatest DUI in the history of forever, and all the rest. You know. Well, if you forgave me then...how about one more time?

I know I shouldn't have been honest and flaunted my contempt for that part of the populace I always thought my momma made up just to scare me during bedtime stories. And I know I look like I could care less about this stupid hurricane and all the mega-bummer screw-ups that came with it. And now I'm being punished. One might say...martyred? All these folks being braised to death is a mighty sad thing, I'm told. Know what I'm saying? If not, ask your Son. He knows what it's like to be misunderstood.

So please forgive me for being me. I'm only the most powerful man on the face of the earth.

I'm on bended knee right now, asking you for the help you've given me my whole life, because that's the only way to reasonably explain how it is that I'm the bossman CEO of so many millions of people. You know, I always thought the beatitudes were just... suggestions really. Your Son thinking out loud, a Holy Brainstorm – I had no idea that the poor and meek were actually part of your plan.

Isn't. That. Egg. On. My. Face.

But before you send me a yakking burning bush or that friendly neoconservative angel who sits at the bottom of every can of Lone Star I crack, I'd like to fulfill the very minimum that's required of a fair-weather Christian. Please forgive me my itty-bitty transgressions, such as being partially mortal. I assure you that I am majorly mother-fucking penitent.

Also, please forgive the local and state authorities on the Gulf Coast, especially Mayor Freak-Out and Governor Wet Blanko, for totally dropping the ball and allowing this PR disaster to occur. Give them the wisdom to realize they prevented Tom Ridge Jr. and Brownie from doing the tremendous, magnificent, awesome, utterly competent job they told everyone they were doing. And please bestow this wisdom before the next press conference.

And forgive all the dead. Maybe if they had embraced compassionate conservatism, they would have worked harder, pulling themselves up by their basketball shoelaces by holding down three or four low paying jobs, and then wouldn't have been so poor and helpless and wrong-colored. Why didn't anyone at the local country club teach these people how to swim in the first place?

It would also be nice if you would forgive yourself, Big Guy. While I'm mostly beyond criticism and responsibility, you're not above a little self-reflection. Granted, all I have to do is make sure the Richest, Most Powerful Country In The History Of The World doesn't go belly up, yet you have to make sure the sun comes up, the seasons change, and those who deserve smiting get smoted. And while I know Katrina was just one of many ways you tick off unwanted drug dealers, voodoo witches, and rum-drinking homos, I just can't help but think you can work on your precision a little more. Think "Tomahawk Missile".

Lord, you giveth and you taketh away. You taketh my poll numbers lower than a New Orleans po'boy scramblin' through the muck to keep his family fed while a bunch of manicured DC dandies wax super-serious for the TV Disaster Show. And from what I'm told – second and third hand, of course – that's pretty darned low. And yet you also giveth – in the form of sucking up Chief Justice William Rehnquist's musical-theater loving soul into your mighty celestial vacuum cleaner, thereby giving me the opportunity to stack the Supreme Court with white dudes who want to replace the House of Representatives with the Fortune 500.

Thank you for such a gift, and I promise that very soon, every woman's womb will be regarded like a miniature American Embassy, complete with armed Marines.

Until that time, and hopefully before you FINALLY pull the trigger and start sending tornadoes of lava into the backyards of the non-believing and unsaved, please grant me the strength to distract the voters from the reality of a stumbling nation and focus them on something more important – like tax cuts.

Give me the strength to look genuinely concerned while I ping-pong between empty photo-ops with pencil-pushers and military dudes. And give me the strength to stomach those annoying, snobbypseudoo-Christians serving food, collecting donations, and offering their homes up to unwashed Delta trash instead of dutifully watching Tivo'ed reruns of The 700 Club and ordering boxes of "Pat's Age-Defying Protein Pancakes" like a REAL member of the armored Republican flock. Those show-off do-gooders really get my goat!

And finally, give me the strength to wage a successful War On The Gulf Stream. Someone has to pay for this debacle, and it might as well be the environment. Seriously, you gave us the world to butt-fuck as we see fit, and that bitch isn't playing by our rules.

Lord, Bless me. Me. MemeMemeMemeMEMEME. Extra bless me, if you could.

In Your Name, And Everybody Says...

AMEN!

http://www.whitehouse.org/news/2005/090705.asp