Late Wednesday night at President George W. Bush’s convention hotel. Laura is off in SoHo trying to rescue the twins from their latest party binge and the President falls asleep on the couch while watching a DVD of “Patton.”

Suddenly, he was started awake by a stage whisper of a voice.


“Huh? Who is it?”



“That’s right doofus. God.”

“You can’t be God. I’ve talked to God many times. God has a powerful, booming voice.”

“At my age? What gave you that bright idea?”

“You did.”

“Not me bub. Must be someone else claiming to be me.”

“Can’t be. There’s only one God.”

“Yeah? Sez who?”

“You did.”

“Not really. That was some line the PR guys came up with.  I’m not really sure anymore.”

“You have to be. You’re God.”

“Are you sure? A few minutes ago you said I wasn’t God.”

“Hold on. You’re confusing me.”

“Like that’s material for news at 11? Never mind that, we have to talk.”

“Wait a minute. You can’t be God. Where’s your apparition?

“My what?”

“Your apparition. The last time we spoke, you appeared as a burning bush at the foot of my bed.”

“That old saw again? That was some hype by Moses. I’ve never been a burning bush. Lord, I would never do anything that hokey.”


“Now, can be get back on topic?”

“Sure. What do you need?”

“I need you to stop claiming everything you do is in my name. I’ve got enough problems keeping this universe in one piece without loose cannons like you declaring every fruitcake decision of yours is my will.”

“But you told me to do it.”

“I told you no such thing.”

“I was sure it was you.”

“Sounds like a hallucination. Are you drinking again?”

“No way. I found God…I mean I found you. You must have read about it. It was in all the papers.”

“Sorry. I don’t read the papers. Too much violence.  Anyway, I never told you to bomb Suddan Hussein back into the Stone Age. Why in heaven’s name would I give a rat’s ass about a two-bit dictator who doesn’t have the firepower to swat a fly?”

“But we thought he had weapons of mass destruction.”

“Don’t think George. It’s not your strong point.”

“OK.  Anything else?”

“Yeah. Fire Dick Cheney.”

“I can’t. Halliburton won’t let me.”

“Figures.  OK, let’s take this one step at a time. Just go on stage for your acceptance speech tomorrow night and tell the nation that you were wrong about Iraq and you’re bringing our boys home. That will get you re-elected in a heart beat.”

“OK. As long as it’s God’s will, I can do it.”

“It’s a start. More later.”

After a few minutes, Bush realizes he is alone, picks up the phone and called Karl Rove’s room.

“Karl, I’ve just talked to God. We’ve got to change the speech for tomorrow night.”

“George, what the hell are you talking about?”

“God came to me and told me to pull out of Iraq.”

“You dumb ass. That wasn’t God.”

“Of course it was.”

“No it wasn’t your ignorant SOB. I’m God. I’ve always been God. Don’t you know that political consultants are the real gods of this business?  Now get some sleep. I want you ready to follow your script tomorrow night.”

“OK. I’m sorry Karl…I mean God.”

“Uh, George…”


“Let’s just keep this our little secret.”

“OK. Good night God…I mean Karl.”

“Good night my son. Sleep well.”