Bailout Bush
Somebody said the Bailout Plan had failed. Voted down by the House.
“Failed!” Bush threw his hands in the air. “What do you mean, failed?”
“Sir, the Congressmen voted against it. After an overwhelming plea from the American people, the Congressmen got scared.”
Bush spat on the floor and started tapping his cowboy boots beneath the table.
“Many of them are up for re-election this year, so they have to listen to the voters this time,” a man said from across the table. “Their phones were off the hook, I heard.”
“Lower the lights,” Bush called to an intern, standing in the corner of the room.
“We thought you knew,” one man said. “The house voted against the bill over an hour ago.”
“I don’t watch the news,” he snapped. Discussion erupted while the president held his head in his hands. His face was red. He began tugging on his hair.
“The American people asked for a plan to save the economy. They demand, day in and day out, a plan from their president, and then they force a bunch of weak congressmen to vote against the plan that will bail them out. Does this make sense to any of you?”
The room was quiet. Bush was still tapping his boots. “Where’s Dick at?” he shouted. “Where’s my Dickey?”
“In the bathtub, sir,” one man said from the far end of the table, reduced to almost a silhouette in the lowered lights.
“The BATHTUB?” Bush sat in his chair and looked at the men before him. Faceless men, and a few women, at this moment without names, or backgrounds. They were here to help him fix a disastrous economy.
“The Vice President always takes a bath at this hour.”
“I’ve got a plan,” Bush said, standing from his chair. It toppled over behind him, landing in plush blue carpet.
“Sir?” one man said. “Mr. Bush?” another spoke up.
“Here’s what we’re going to do.” The president put two fingers on the table to emphasize his point. “The American people want a bailout plan. The American people want relief from a failing economy. And yet I’ve just found out they’re responsible for voting against the very bailout they’ve so eagerly anticipated. We’re down to a single option.” The president scratched his chest. “If we’re to fix these crisises, and help the American people, I can think of one plan of action, now that the bailout plan has been rejected by the House.”
“Crises,” one man said quietly, lifting a finger. “I believe the word is crises.”
“We’re not here for wordplay, you dick,” Bush said to the man. “I’m not here to stroke the dictionary, or try to look smart. I’m here for the economy, to help the American people, to bail them out, to create a…an bailout plan, for them, to dissolve…to solve this economy, ical, economical struggle.” The president pounded his fist on the table. Several of the men sat straighter in their chairs. “Dick’s in the tub, so now I’m in charge, and here’s what we’re going to do next. We’re going to let the stock market crash. If the Americans don’t want help, let them writhe in their own self-caused torment until they come crawling back. When it gets bad enough, the taxpayers of America will beg for a bailout plan, except with even less stipulations than the one that just got rejected.”
“Sir?”
“Any naysayers?” Bush looked around. “We win, either way. Does anyone wanna,” he paused, bobbed his head, “wanna nay say anything to my plan?” The room was silent. “I’m pretty sure we’re on the same side, those of us in this room, and Dick in the tub. We’ll let the market, the economy, Wall Street, hit zero-“
“An impossibility, Mr. Bush.”
Bush gave the man a cynical look. “You probably don’t brush up on history, young man. Why do you think the Great Depression was called the Dirty Thirties?” The president held out his arms. “If the stock market could fall into the thirties, the low thirties, as I understand it, the economy can hit zero this time.” Bush shook his head at the man. “Thirty to zero is, well, you can probably do simple math, it’s gonna be somewhere around thirty, depending on who’s doing the subtraction.”
The room was silent. “Sir,” one man said, standing from the other side of the table. “If I may, for a moment…tell you, that we, collectively, in this room, and I do think I speak for the majority of the individuals here, wish to tell you that we will handle writing up a new bailout plan.”
The president narrowed his eyes at the man, either squinting or trying to intimidate.
“In fact, we’ve been given orders to ask you to again comply with the new plan we draw up. You will, of course, be required to sell it to the American people via national television.”
Bush sat down, almost falling when his butt didn’t touch the cushion of his chair. He stayed standing. “I’m sick of this. I’m going to be in on this one. I studied economies in college.”
The man sat down, straightened his tie, and a quiet discussion started amongst those in the room.
Bush kicked the underside of the table, causing every head in the room to jerk up. The intern flipped on the lights full force. “And we will not be calling this a bailout plan, any longer. As President of this United States of America, I demand, and order each of you-and you’d better TELL EVERYONE that there is no bailout plan. There never was a bailout plan. We are working on a RESCUE PLAN. Nobodies getting bailed out, folks! Spread the word!” The president was sweating. He tugged at his collar. “Like I’ve been saying all along, this is a Rescue Plan. The American people like to be rescued, they absolutely hate to be bailed out.”
