George W. Bush Joke

I’ll bet versions of this predate Bush, but it’s still damn funny…

While walking down the street one day, George “Dubya” Bush is shot and killed by a disgruntled NRA member. His soul arrives in heaven and he is met by St. Peter at the Pearly Gates. “Welcome to Heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem: We seldom know what to do with a Republicans in these parts, and the same goes for you. “No problem, just let me in; I’m a believer.” says Dubya

“I’d like to just let you in, but I have orders from the Man Himself: He says you have to spend one day in Hell and one day in Heaven. Then you must choose where you’ll live for eternity.”

“But, I’ve already made up my mind; I want to be in Heaven.”

“I’m sorry, but we have our rules.” And with that Peter escorts him to an elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a lush golf course the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, the temperature perfect 72 degrees.

In the distance is a beautiful clubhouse. Standing in front of it his dad…and thousands of other Republicans who had helped him out over the years… Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Jerry Falwell…. The whole of the “Right” was there…everyone laughing…happy…casually but expensively dressed.

They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had getting rich at expense of the “suckers and peasants”. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.

The Devil himself comes up to Bush with a frosty drink, “Have a Margarita and relax, Dubya!”

“Uh, I can’t drink no more, I took a pledge,” says Junior, dejectedly.

“This is Hell, son: you can drink and eat all you want and not worry, and it just gets better from there!”

Dubya takes the drink and finds himself liking the Devil, who he thinks is a really very friendly guy who tells funny jokes and pulls hilarious nasty pranks, kind of like a Yale Skull and Bones brother with real horns.

They are having such a great time that, before he realizes it, it’s time to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves as Bush steps on the elevator and heads upward.

When the elevator door reopens, he is in Heaven again and St. Peter is waiting for him. “Now it’s time to visit Heaven,” the old man says, opening the gate.

So for 24 hours Bush is made to hang out with a bunch of honest, good-natured people who enjoy each other’s company, talk about things other than money, and treat each other decently. Not a nasty prank or frat boy joke among them; no fancy country clubs and, while the food tastes great, it’s not caviar or lobster. And these people are all poor, he doesn’t see anybody he knows, and he isn’t even treated like someone special!

Worst of all, to Dubya, Jesus turns out to be some kind of Jewish hippie with his endless ‘peace’ and ‘do unto others’ jive.

“Whoa,” he says uncomfortably to himself, “Pat Robertson never prepared me for this!”

The day done, St. Peter returns and says, “Well, then, you’ve spent a day in Hell and a day in Heaven. Now choose where you want to live for eternity.”

With the ‘Jeopardy’ theme playing softly in the background,Dubya reflects for a minute, then answers: “Well, I would never have thought I’d say this — I mean, Heaven has been delightful and all but I really think I belong in Hell with my friends.

So Saint Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down, all the way to Hell.

The doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren scorched earth covered with garbage and toxic industrial waste…kind of like Houston. He is horrified to see all of his friends, dressed in rags and chained together, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags. They are groaning and moaning in pain,faces and hands black with grime. The Devil come over to Dubya and puts an arm around his shoulder.

“I don’t understand,” stammers a shocked Dubya, “Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a clubhouse and drank and ate caviar… I drank booze. We screwed around and had a great time.

Now there’s just a wasteland full of garbage and everybody looks miserable.

The Devil looks at him, smiles slyly, and purrs, “Yesterday we were campaigning; today you voted for us.”

Miserable Failure

Here’s a nifty idea for a new web project from Blah3.

From this day forth, I will refer to George W. Bush as a Miserable Failure at least once a day. Why, you ask? Well, someone came up with this great idea to link George W. Bush and Miserable Failure in popular search engines. If you have a blog or web site, help raise the link between George W. Bush and the phrase ‘miserable failure‘ by copying this link and placing somewhere on your site or blog.

Thank you very much for your participation.


(via APS – What’s New by Bob Park – October 24, 2003)

Some in the Pentagon apparently choose scientific beliefs the way they choose to be Methodists, or Democrats or Chicago Cubs fans. Claims that the Hf-178 isomer can be triggered to release its stored energy by irradiating it with X-rays found plenty of fans in the Pentagon. The energy would lie somewhere between chemical and nuclear. That is, it would if it was so. A group using the Advanced Photon Source (APS) at Argonne tried to repeat the isomer-triggering effect reported by Carl Collins and colleagues at U. of Texas at Dallas, using a borrowed dental X-ray machine. Despite a far greater X-ray intensity, the APS group, led by John Schiffer and Don Gemmell found no effect (WN 15 Aug 03). Still, some at the Pentagon call for a costly program to make Hf-178.

Maybe I should try to ge the Pentagon to fund my research on weaponizing Illudium PU-36.

Yet another reason to hate people

Spam has e-mail by the throat, study says:

The report is based on a randomized, national phone survey of 2,200 adults. It defined spam as “unsolicited commercial e-mail” from an unknown sender.

That said, spam is not universally hated.

About a third of people responded to a spam, seeking more information.

And 7 percent actually bought a product or service.

This makes me miss the days when it took a certain amount of technical savvy to use the internet…

Sounds like a bunch of New Age hippie crap to me

Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy (via Eschaton):

Rush’s Rehab

From “psychodynamic role-playing and yoga” to “adventure therapy,” “Climbing Wall,” “the desert experience” and “equine-assisted therapy” (yes, bonding with horses), Limbaugh may just think he died and went to “feminazi” hell. The website depicts photos of people with a decidedly Berkeley look sitting around on the floor in what seem like consciousness-raising sessions. Picture Rush holding his fellow travelers’ hands and singing Kumbayah. Surely he’ll be reciting a line from the very president he lambasted for years: “I feel your pain.” How many on the right would have thought that Bill Clinton would be getting the last chuckle, out there aiding his feminazi wife’s successful political career while their man Rush is wandering the desert reciting New Age mantras?

“Self-discovery often crystallizes during an experience that requires physical and mental exertion in the face of a potentially fearful activity,” the description for the Climbing Wall says. “With its height and verticality, the Climbing Wall serves as an important therapeutic metaphor.”

Yes, I’m sure some of you would pay to watch Limbaugh scale that wall. But me, I’d like to observe him during “creative expression therapy,” which includes “art therapy, journaling, meditation” and “clap outs, historygrams, reading assignments” as well as…”sculpting.” These techniques, the website explains, “deepen the journey to self-discovery.”

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