GW Bush has been under a lot of pressure lately. NSA wire taps. Trying to figure out why Iraq is spelled with a Q instead of an N. At a cabinet meeting he was heard to ask Condalezza Rice. “Does it mean they’re queer or sand niggers?”

It was the fifteenth time he had asked the question.

Can’t blame him.

Why the Brits have to draw those straight lines in the desert?

Did they think it was Iowa?

The strain is building up and recently the president made a secret trip to Thailand for R&R.

“I didn’t get none in the Viet-Nam war.”

Can’t throw any stones as a  draft dodger. Still trying to get my peacenik pension payment from the Pentagon.

Anyway I ran into GW at the Nana Plaza the other night and he grabbed my arm. We know each other through his father and he asked, “You holding?”

I thought here’s the president of the Free World and he can’t score a line of zoot.

“Sorry, George, I quit.”

“Damn, you seen Dick around?” His eyes bugged like a crack addict.

“Damn, you bad, boy.” His nose was running like a IV drip. “people come to the Nana for sex.”

“Sex?” He spotted Cheney in a corner. “Sex I can have with Texas strippers at the Super Bowl. I need Carlos the jackal.”

A local cop heard this request and I wandered away as fast as my beer-numbed legs could take me.

Ten minutes later I dropped a dime to the White House el rancho and apprised GW I of the situation

Nana Plaza isn’t far from the embassy. Within minutes the Secret Service retrieved the president. Cheney wouldn’t budged from his China White nod. I sent him to Kenny’s bar for a sleep. He was very cool in the morning.

“I have never been here.” As he cuffed an eight ball from Fat Tony.

What goes in bangkok stays in Bangkok.

At least neither of them went with a katoey or lady boy.

That I know of.