Mark Palermo

The Outlaw Georgie Bush

He Was Our S.O.B.
Long Ago Saturday Nights at the Circle 9
The Dark Side of Vaccinations
Wine: Where Ignorance and Pretension Find their Loudest Voice
A 1976 Journey in Search of Self
The Machinery of Mass Dreams
The Outlaw Georgie Bush
Sex Offender Registries Out of Control
Extreme Makeover for Airheads
The Fault Lies not in the Stars, but in Ourselves
Reconsidering George Carlin
If You Think Liberals Are Jerks...
She Couldn't Do Her Chores
Remembering Viktor Frankl
One Day on the Farm-1977
A Fresh Look at Meat
How the Real World Works: A Lesson
30 Bucks for the Human Touch
1929 All Over Again
An Old Man's War, A Young Man's Fight
More Things in Heaven and Earth...
Our Dumbed-down Public Discourse
Bread, But No Roses
Earth's the Right Place for Love
Read This Before Enlisting
Poison Is Good for You: The Fluoridation Scam
Ron Paul:He Makes Too Much Sense
War Is a Racket
Brazil's National Orgasm Day
Calling all Liberals!
Why I Don't Get Flu Shots
What is Community?
Haverhillicus Homocrisicum
If You Wanna Be a Junkie, Why?
Do We Know His Family?
Scam: Youth Sports
A Subsidy for the Human Touch?
How Not to Be Boring
If the Bread and Roses Strike Were NOW
America's Problem with the Body
Columbus Day? or Renaissance Day?
Depleted Uranium Weapons
Mitt Romney: A Clintonian Republican
A Checklist for Conservatives
On Torture and Torturers
Pimp of the Nation
Romney is a Jerk
Hypocrisy and its Champions
The Dumb Society
The Men's Taverns of Yesteryear
On Dittoheads!
Let China Sleep
2004 McDebates
Animal Rights Page
US Wealth Distribution Chart
Public Grief, Private Lives


I have been having a recurring fantasy lately about being in a movie, a remake of an old Clint Eastwood western called "The Outlaw Josie Wales." It could be called "The Outlaw Georgie Bush."
 The place is a barren desert wasteland a couple hours north of Yuma. The time: January 2009. The cast: just Bush and me. In the opening scene, Bush and I have just broken camp after a breakfast of cowboy coffee and biscuits. The sun is coming up over a mesa and we are starting to feel the heat. Now we are on our horses, and Bush is wearing dust-covered rattlesnake boots, faded jeans and a greasy, old cowboy hat. He is unshaven; a toothpick hangs from his slightly-parted, dry lips. I am wearing an Amnesty International baseball cap, and smoking a crooked hand rolled cigarette. The scene opens with me talking to Bush:
ME: "Georgie…you been drinkin'? (long pause)
BUSH: (annoyed) Well there ain't  no harm in a man's  having a little taste now and then, is there? 
ME: Well, I reckon  you got yourself a point. I don't aim to be contrary. But I got something I been wantin to tell  you. I'll give it to you straight… There's talk in town. Folks say you're thinkin' you're Harry Truman. Your name's Bush, not Truman. I knew Truman, and you're no Harry Truman…
BUSH: Now don't you start in to talkin' to me like one of them no-count, back-east liberals,  you hear? I ain't havin'any of  it.
We come up over a hill and before us is a small Indian village. Children are playing while black haired women draw water from an old stone well. Their menfolk eye us suspiciously as we ride through in nervous silence. Georgie quietly reaches down and feels the cold reassuring gun metal of the Colt .44 revolver he has hidden inside his pants. He mutters something under his breath about weapons, mass construction. WI think to myself, he's a hard one, this outlaw Georgie. Finally we are outside the village. Bush breaks the silence.

BUSH: You know what all that was about?

ME: Don't know what yer talking about."

BUSH: You know...the way them injuns was eyeballin' us back there...

ME: What about it?

BUSH: It don't feel right...The way I got it figured is -they hate us for our freedoms. They hate us because we  are a free people. 

ME: Dang it all, you just don't git it do you? Maybe them injuns is mad for a reason. YOu remember them smallpox blankets, don't you?(I pause, and my voice changes to a softer tone in an appeal to Bush's reason. I'm glad this guy isn't in any kind of leadership position) Now listen and don't you go bein stubborn. Nothin good can come from  it, you hear? Go away from here, Georgie! And do it while the gittin's good. Go start over in Paraguay... They can't touch you there... And them folks down there take to your kind…You can learn yourself some German. Why, folks say Paraguay's a place where a man can put on his cowboy boots, ride out all day and clear brush on his own land, have his own homestead; it's  a place where a man can forget.

Bush looks pensive, the monotonous silence of the desert is broken only by  the clip-clop of horses hooves; We move southward toward the Mexican border.

ME: You got yourself  a good grubstake from all them Hally-burtin' contracts, don'tcha?... And them Carlyle Group fellers is goin to take care of you and yer kinfolk, ain't they? (Bush grunts to indicate yes)  Well then, there you are. And Georgie, I ain't no preacher. I ain't got no call to lecture you none. But there's one last thing…Don't forget to exonerate yourself  preemptively from prosecution before leaving office. Time's a runnin' out. I reckon folks in these parts is getting' mighty ornery bout things.  Now do it, Georgie. Before it's too late, before they find out what you and your daddy done…

January 2009

"My answer is bring them on." on Iraqi insurgents attacking U.S. forces, Washington, D.C., July 3, 2003