"Laura? You up?"
   "Sigh..." Laura Bush, the First Lady, rolls over, squinting " I am now, what's going on George?
You weren't into Bob Dole's medicine cabinet again were you?"

   "No." Dubya moves closer,"Though, now that you ARE up..."
   "Forget it, I told you. If you dragged me to this horrible place, I'll play the role, but don't expect any favours."
   "Sheesh, damn." Dubya sits fully up and turns away, looking towards the windows.
"I really wanted to ask you something else."

   "Really? What's that." Laura sits up also, she thinks to herself  - this is weird, usually he never asks
what I think -"George? Tell me what your pondering."

   "I'm not pond'rin nuthin'!" Dubya says, alarmed, "I know that kin make you blind. Lindsey Graham told me so."
   "No, I mean, what are you thinking?"

   Dubya puffs up his cheeks and slowly releases the air,  "Why is my popularity down so much?
I've done everything I was told to do, charm offensive, lots of 'aw, shucks' - I don't get it."

    Laura thinks hard, "George, you're in a tough place. All your policies are seen as pro-business and
anti-citizen. The tax cut obviously favored the richest of the rich. People like us. And now, Karl Rove wants
to move you left, Rumsfeld and Cheney want you to stay right, and the people don't think you have the
ability to make the tough decisions."

   George, flabbergasted, slowly drawls back," And so..."
   "You're fucked. Royally." The First Lady lays back down, closes her eyes and thinks of going home to
Crawford. Where we damn well belong, she tells herself.

   Dubya lolls his head in his palm," I wish. The fucked part, that'd be great."

   He looks over, the form is already sleeping, and he slips out of the bed to sit by a chair overlooking the
White House lawn. He smiles, soon there will be the sounds of a T-Ball game, with kids laughing and the
San Diego Chicken pulling another prank.  "The best part of the job, I'd say."