Chapter 88. Bu$ch-Cheezey's Legacy Speaks for Itself
01/13/09

[Author's note: In this, the final chapter of "The Bu$ch-Cheezey Impeachment Chronicles," we're able to bring some literary, rather than any legal, closure for the victims of the B-C RICO junta. Just as Elizabeth Holtzman counseled us during her remarks at Camp Democracy so many months ago on the grounds of the Washington Monument (i.e., if the people want impeachment, they'll get it), so, too, does that principle of self-governance apply to the prospect of indicting these two distinctly UN-American officials who, as the nation's quintessential kleptocrats, have hijacked the U. S. Ship of State and, upon siphoning off its wealth, its good name abroad, and its current/future security, have scuttled it upon the reef of malign neglect. Readers intent on not letting Bush and Cheney have the last word on accountability during their various exit interviews have a valuable resource in the document posted at http://tinyURL.com/92cyf9 . This people's manifesto produced by Lawrence Velvel, dean of the Massachusetts School of Law in Andover, Mass., opens a clear, concrete pathway to our seeking the indictment of the B-C regime for its various war crimes. We have both a moral and a constitutional obligation to pursue that remedy. The B-C legacy of deceit/fraud/abuse has become our permanent grievance -- and shall remain so for as long as they elude justice.]

CHEEZEY [poking his left nostril with the napkin from a donut]: Just a few more days and the party's over, Dubya. Ain't these exit interviews great? They're good practice for when we start scoutin' out some choice corporate-board slots, no?

BU$CH: Uh-huh. Absolutely. I got a call yesterday from a coal-mining outfit in Ohio that wants to talk about an open board position there.

CHEEZEY: See, I kept telling ya that it's all smooth sailing for us in these closing days. By the way, good job on completing that pardons list.

BU$CH [smirking]: Oh, nothin' to it, and . . .. [A knock at the Oval Orifice's main door interrupts him; so he yells, "Come on in . . . we do need some more coffee!" The door opens swiftly, and in walks NSA director Gen. Al Walbomb, followed by a younger man who could pass for a Secret Service agent.] Ah, Al ol' pal -- step right in. Take a seat, both of ya. Who's your guest here, Al?

WALBOMB [unzipping his briefcase]: Sorry I'm late, Dubya. We've been quite busy in the last few days, so we'll forego the seats and just stand for a few minutes.

BU$CH: Well, all right then. Do tell us about that letter you sent us several days ago -- wherein you say you've pinpointed that mole who's been feeding Bryant and Pippin some tidbits from our meetings.

WALBOMB [waving off Bu$ch's offer of a chocolate-coated strawberry]: It's all explained in this little document [pulling a multipage computer printout from his briefcase and passing it to Cheezey]. You see, guys, my folks at the Agency have been wiretapping your activities for years now, which means . . ..

BU$CH [rising to his feet and stammering]: Which means that YOU, Al, are the damned mole? [Suddenly, Cheezey's face begins to turn the color of a 200-year-old tombstone, he, too, now standing up and trying to steady himself with the back of his chair.]

WALBOMB: That's correct, Dubya. And that document in Dick's hands happens to be a federal grand-jury indictment citing him as the chief perpetrator of conspiracy to defraud the Congress, to wage war of aggression upon Iraq, and to torture detainees from that war. It also cites you, Mr. 'resident, as an unindicted coconspirator. [At this point, Walbomb's guest takes a sheet of paper from his inside coat pocket and moves toward Cheezey, who's noticeably shaking. The newcomer identifies himself as one Conrad Simms, assistant director of the U. S. Marshals Service.]

SIMMS [handing the paper to Cheezey]: Mr. Cheezey, under authority vested in me by the U. S. attorney for the District of Columbia, I hereby serve upon you this warrant for your immediate arrest [reaching into an outside coat pocket for a pair of handcuffs]. Please place your hands behind your back, and be advised that you have a right to remain silent, that . . ..

CHEEZEY [knocking the paper from Simms's hands]: Silence . . . hell! Go phuk yourself, you traitor! [Whereupon, the marshal pushes Cheezey down into the chair and quickly applies the cufflinks.]

BU$CH [trying to act presidential]: Calm down, now, Dick. This is no big deal. I'll get ya the best lawyer in Texas to fight this. You can count on it. [Simms wastes no time in ushering Cheezey from the office. Bu$ch takes a seat behind his desk and fiddles with one of the pens he's used for executing his various "signing statements."] What happens now, Al?

WALBOMB: You'll go back to Texas and, hopefully, will fade fast into the lesser sagas of U. S. history, I suppose.

BU$CH: Why do you think they chose not to include me as an INDICTED coconspirator?

WALBOMB: That could be because they wanted to give you an incentive to refrain from pardoning Dick. Of course, were you to defy them by going ahead with that pardon, they'd probably change their finding to that of fully INDICTED suspect.

BU$CH [trying his best to look contrite]: Where do you think Dick will end up -- in federal prison?

WALBOMB: Well, Dub, I've heard talk that there'll be no country club environment for Dick. Some people back at Justice Department want him to spend the rest of his life in Florida's worst NURSING HOME -- which they view as even worse than Gitmo ever could've been. Anyway, enough chit-chat. I've gotta get back over to Justice to help wrap up the arraignment papers. See you in court?

[Walbomb departs, leaving the 'resident alone. Hands in his pockets, Bu$ch steps to the window behind his desk, peers out at the wintry foliage, and hears the faint urp-urp siren of a Capitol Police squad car as it heads down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the Justice building on 10th Street, N. W. His desk phone rings, he ignores it; then his cell phone rings, and he ignores that. He plops down on a corner of his desk, opens a side drawer, and grasps a pint of Southern Comfort: the best antidote to the nightmare that lies ahead, he reasons.]

http://www.jerrypippin.com/Bryant_bushcheezey_impeachment.htm