As my loyal readers know, I have lunch every week with someone in the Washington establishment.  These entries are documented here, as Lunchtime With Boo. 

After the 10 February Los Angeles Times article detailing the polite disagreements between the Pentagon and the CIA over Robert Feith’s report on the connection between Iraq and Al-Qaeda in the wake of 9/11, I thought I’d give my friends in the White House ample opportunity to give their side of the story.  Since no one seems to listen to any news unless there lies a promise of Anna Nicole coverage on the horizon, I have included some of my favorite pictures of her in memoriam. 

Below is the rushed trascript of our round table discussion with George Bush, Dick Cheney, Condoleezza Rice, Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Wolfowitz, and practical noob, Robert Feith.

We met in the White House dining room, and George had to retell the story of how Winston Churchill once roamed the halls with a bourban in one hand and a cigar between his lips, demanding fluffer nutter sandwiches.  His companions smirked, tolerating his unscripted ramblings and only marginally feigning interest.  George didn’t seem to notice.

Boo:  So, let’s talk about the recent Carl Levin report that outlined some of the intelligence failures during the lead-up to the war. 

George:  You know, B-b-boo, no one is talking about what we got right about Sadam and the war.

  Boo:  Which is what?

George:  Sadam did try to kill my daddy.

Dick kicked him under the table.

George:  … Dad.  He tried to kill my dad. 

Boo:  Right.  But there was no connection to Iraq and Al-Qaeda.  No WMD.  You’ve heard this before.  So now it’s time to clear the air.  Why did we go to war?  What was worth the loss of over 3000 soldiers?

George:  Oil.

Boo:  DID YOU JUST SAY -

Dick:  For his salad.

Boo:  What?

Dick:  He wants olive oil for his salad.  As the President, he has a responsibility to stay heart healthy and be a positive example for the nation.

I started to notice that everytime Dick referred to George as “President”, he giggled. 

Boo:  But he doesn’t have a salad.

Rummy:  He’s pre-emptively ordering oil for his salad.  From, from Tikrit.

Boo:  There’s no olive oil made in Tikrit.

Rummy almost got out the next line with a straight face.

Rummy:  There’s no WMD there either.

Boo:  OK, back to the business at hand.  Robert, you have said in your defense that you have done nothing wrong, and that the orders came from Donald and Paul to further explore the possibility between Iraq and Al-Qaeda. 

Robert:  That is correct.  I was checking the work of the CIA.

Boo:  As a civilian, is it appropriate to oversee the intelligence community?

Rummy:  Oh, that’s what Gatesy said.  What a pussy that guy is!

Condi:  There’s really no need to name call!

Rummy made kissing noises at Condi, who, I have it on good authority, is not screwing Robert Gates.

Boo:  So Condi, allow me to follow up on a conversation we were having the other day about memos you have received about this intelligence report.

Condi:  I received them in 2003.  They were really no big deal.

Boo:  Who were they from?

Condi:  Everyone.

Boo:  Everyone?

Condi:  Yes.

Boo:  From where?

Condi:  The CIA.

Boo:  And what did they say?

Condi:  They were all conjecture, really.

Boo:  What was the title of the emails?

Condi:  I believe they were titled something like, “Iraq and Al-Qaeda Have No Fucking Connection, You Morons.”  But I don’t have my computer in front of me.

I could tell as our conversation went on, George got bored.  As I was questioning Condi, he started tapping his cheek to make water droplet sounds.  I never knew how boys did that …

Boo:  So Paul, what did you think of the report once you received it?

Paul:  I thought it was great.

Boo:  What about it was great?

Paul:  It was very thorough. 

Abruptly, Dick addressed me.

Dick:  Is that all?

Boo:  No. 

Dick:  I think you’ve stepped over the line.

Boo:  I haven’t even asked you anything yet.

Dick:  Well, that’s my answer.  I love my lesbian daughter.

George:  Ewe!

Boo:  I wasn’t even going to bring her up …

Dick:  Things are going great in Iraq.

Boo:  No, they aren’t.

Dick:  Who asked you?

Boo:  I’m asking you.  How can you confront the truth so dismissively?

Dick:  Because I’m the Vice President.    Boo:  Is that your answer? 

Dick:  Does there need to be any other?

He smiled that shit-eating grin that I just want to smack.  I smiled back to keep myself from kicking him in the balls.

Boo:  Well, last question for everyone – what’s next?

George:  Iran.

Boo:  Iran??

Then I swear to G-d, Dick, Condi, and Rummy started singing.

Dick/Condi/Rummy:  I ran so far away.  I just ra-a-an, I ran all night and da-a-ay.

Robert:  I couldn’t get away …

Paul did air keyboard, humming that oh so familiar synth chord.

Boo:  Are you singing the Flock of Seagulls song?

Paul:  It’s the President’s favorite.

George giggled again.

Boo:  “I Ran” by A Flock of Seagulls is George’s favorite song?

Dick:  You bet.  But you’re not going to write that.

Boo:  Oh yes, I am.

Dick:  No, you’re not.  Who do you think you are?

Boo:  I’m the blogger, bitch.