The following speech was given by George W. Bush at a fundraiser for Mitt Romney in the dining room of a prohibitively expensive hotel in Washington, D. C. In it, the ex-president impersonates his successor, Barack H. Obama.
It’s an honor to be here at the Steve Martin Presidential Celebrity Roast. Thanks for invading me to this extravagant restaurant, a beacon of democracy unaffordouble to the vast muchority of American or otherwise human sitizens on the face of Planet Parenthood.
Please hold your apple sauce until I’m done talking at you. An even better way to express your approval of my performance art would be to make out a check to the Democratic National Comedy with lots of zeroes on it.
Thomas Washington once stood in this same spot where I’ve parked my Guccis to deliverance the Ghettosburger Address. Four scored and seven hundred years ago America was just a hole in the ocean full of wild, screaming Indians who didn’t know how to drill for oil or subjugate foreign countries with dodgy international rackets. Now it’s the biggest empire state who ever walked on the smooth green face of the earth.
I’d like to thank you all for your mortal support of my champagne. As you may have heard, I grew up as a baby in an Indonesian madrassa in Hawaii, Africa.. I’d be more than happy to show you my barf surfer ticket, only it ain’t none of your gall-dang business. Like my second-favorite singer, Bruce Springstone, I was born in the USA, the greatest country music song in the wonderful world of dizzy knees.
Anyway, as I was saying before I was interruptured by a Secret Service guy reporting yet another thwarted attempt on my laugh by some boneheaded yahoo clueless enough to mistake me for a socialest, once when I was surfing you essay in Honolulu with Ma Belle Michelle, I hit a rock sticking up out of the water I mistook for a shark fin and sprained my anchor real bad.
I didn’t have no insurance, so I had to go to the emergency room at the hospital and found out later from my dad that it went on the tacks payer’s tab. That made me real-eyes the importense of single-prayer wealth care.
Now it ain’t no secret that a lot of my former liberal supporters on the left wing of the Unabomber have lost face in me since I can’t get out of bed with Wall Street as the action’s too good, and I can’t pull us out of Afghanistan ’cause we’re stuck in there too deep, and I can’t stop using sexual predator drones like DSK ’cause they make me look cooler than Clint Eastwood talking to my altered ego in an empty chairlift.
See, that might be all well and good, but what the hell else are you going to do, vote for that clown sitting there with the indestructible hair who lies every time he breathes? You’d have a great time with him and Eddie Munster cluttering up the Evil Office with all their Mormon memorabilia and weight-training paraphernalia.
Vote for me and Joe Daiben instead. We’ll help ensure the roller coaster doesn’t crash, at least not until we get off it. Call it revenge for what Bush did to us–heh, heh, heh. It’s my party and they’ll cry if I want them to.
I notice a few of y’all are yawning and looking at your watch and some guy’s standing there yanking his arm across his throat with murder in his eyes. I ain’t stupid–I can take a hint. I’ll be back tomorrow with another speech on my behalf, whether any of you penguins show up or not.
Have a nice night, and don’t choke on your darned caviar or that carbonated piss they’re serving. Good thing I don’t drink no more or I would have puked in all your dumb-ass faces.
Just kidding, folks. I love you and America in every conceivable position. God bless you, and make sure to tell the chauffeurs in your limos to drive safely.