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For Immediate Release - Office of the Press Secretary - January 20, 2009 - 11:12 A.M. (EST)

Full Text of President Bush's Emotional Farewell Speech Cataloguing His Unparalleled Competence and Intelligence

THE PRESIDENT: Fellow citizens:

I know the only reason you all are tuned in is to watch nonstop coverage of that USAir plane crash in the Hudson River, so you can whip yourselves up into a fit of emotional masturbation, sobbing over "miracles" and "heroes" until the next little white girl goes missing. So let me start with a brief shout-out to my fellow-pilot bro' who ditched his jet so smooth (just like I ditched my whole jet-flying career!), not even a worthless foreign life was lost. And thank Christ for that; because with barely a hundred hours left in my term, the last thing I wanna do is drag my ass up to Jew York City and cry crocodile tears over a bunch of dead folks again – especially when I won't be around long enough to use it as an excuse to do something fun and cool – like nuke Iran or authorize a no-bid $100 billion Raytheon contract to exterminate the Canadian Gooses.

Anyway, for eight long years, it has been my honor to serve Wall Street and its coterie of country clubbing con artist elites, the McJesus Salvation Industries, and the Confederate States Of America as the chief executive of White House, Inc. And so this is the Big Adios.

In the spirit of desperate bipartisanship that our entire societal breakdown has necessitationed, and in light of popularity poll numbers that make Richard Nixon look like a greased Chippendale at a bachelorette party, I just want to say that we can all agree on one thing: whether you're an immigrant terrorist or non-terrorist, a bellyaching homo, a legless Iraqazoid, a drowned corpse bloating in the New Orleans sun, an effete Huffington Post-reading urban iPhone zombie, or a Hannity-worshipping redneck patrio-fascist, a negro, a Mexi-rican, a normal guy, a feminist, a stoner, or a fixed income oldster reduced to buying Walgreens-brand Depends, odds are you're tickled pinker than Barry Manilow's boa that I'm getting the fuck outta Dodge.

Lots of y'all think I'm a stupid, fucking moron. Mebbe I am. But who's off to play golf in a gilded, all-expenses-paid retirement, and who's suddenly realizing that unemployment benefits can't even keep you rolling in beer and donuts? Who's done paying off his loyal hedge fund and banker fraternity brothers with gubbament cheese, and who invested (and lost!) all their shekels with Gandalf the Jew and his mystical 401K? Who's hightailing it back to a swanky Dallas suburb, and who's the broke-assed losers who double-mortgaged their McMansions to buy $4K plasma TVs, thinking they'd hit the LOTTO before they had to pay anyone back? Who's the dummy, jerk? Like, DUH. THE ANSWER WUZ RHETORICALIZED, YOU INGRATE FUCKSTICKS. Good thing I'm rich! And it's OLD money. Well, at any rate, it's comin' from OLD people! Yee-haw!

So let me remind you all of one thing: when you look into the abyss, the abyss also looks back. Get it? I'm the abyss, you whiny assholes. You hate my guts, because I'm YOU. Greedy, panicky, arrogant, and willing to do slimy, awful things to other human beings if it means Domino's Pizza will still be able to deliver two to three pounds of gluten and curdled cow fluids to the Cul-de-Sac in thirty minutes or less.
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Never forget that I'm the two-time winner** of the popular and totally fixed Democracy Show Live! Yeah, that's what I said. Both times I legitimately won* a contest that favors whoever can elbow (or machete chop themselves) into our version of the court of Versailles.

I get a lot of guff for speaking all folksy, and salt-of-the-earth, like the Texan I pretend to be, instead of the Yankee political scion I actually am. My speechification might be uncorrect, but if talking good is what makes good deciders, then go ahead and elect a lawyer. Oops! You idiot fruit baskets already went and done that. Well, then on behalf of the entire ruling class, I thank you. That's the great thing about our democracy: it's always the same turd, different coil.

One thing about Americans, if they don't fall for the down-home, man of the people routine, they fall for the high-falutin', hope-talking, homegrown messiah routine. Once you figure that out, you can sell lazy to Mexicans. Or drunk to Irish. Or crime to Italians. Or rhythm to blacks. Or hope to cattle, on their way to the slaughterhouse no less. That's showbiz! And there may never be no second acts in America, but you can bet there is always someone manning the ticket booth before the first one. Friends, power is like God. It talks all kinds of different ways, in different voices, but always tells you what you want to hear. It flatters, panders, hollers and purrs. Whether it sounds like a retard or a professor of used car sales, power does what it has to do to get you to like it, and give you its vote. True story.

The first decade of this new shitshow of a century has been a period of consequence, like that time when you was all mega-terrified that Obama Bin Hussein was gonna crash a freight train full of screaming people right into your local Fuddruckers and I said "Let's Shop Till We Drop!" and y'all were like "On it, Jefe!" It has been a time set apart, a gilded bubble, a vacation from reality, a drunken joyride in a fancy auto slapped on a Capitol One credit card, a giddy show of carefree ostentation until someone forgot to pay the damn light bill and our national shadow puppet show of prosperity flickered and floundered leaving everyone – except me and my friends – reduced to hungrily sucking fingers that had, moments before, been exploring the insides of a can of a beans abandoned by a hobo. Funny thing, fear. Remember that cripple fellow that said, "The only thing you all have to fear is fearing fearful stuff"? Easy for Teddy Roosevelt to say. Unlike you all, he was rich and didn't have to fear anything unpleasant like foreclosure or eviction!

Remember who made you feel safe, even if it meant listening in to your heavy breathing dirty talk behind your wife's back on the ol' cell phone, or ignoring the international law we done helped make up, or kidnapping ragheads with bad attitudes and giving them near-fatal freedom tickles. Most of y'all either loved me to the point of spontaneous ejaculation for doing this, pretended I wasn't doing this so you could return to your Xbox, or were so impotent with rage, you couldn't do nothing but ball up your little marshmallow fists and scribble angry rants nobody read on The Daily Kooz, or FaceSpace or on retard pinko parody sites. That's the great thing about when everybody hysterically shouts, froths, and bleats at the same time and at the same volume: nobody can hear nothing.

Let me tell you something – awhile back, my own party sprung a spontaneous menstrual geyser when they found out we weren't so popular, and might lose an election or dozen, and so they begged me to pull my War Boner out of Vietraq. It should have come as no surprise to any of those good ol' boys that I consistently confuse brattishly demanding my own way no matter what with integrity. Tough tittie, boys. At least history will remember me, just like every dame remembers the first fucker who gives her the clap.

And now, I'm a-gonna make amends, furrow my brow, and spin, spin, spin, like a drunken ballerina in a greased slipper, so that I can sleep at night, unlike the thousands of young men and women I sent into combat just so I could say America has giant, barb-wire wrapped TNT balls. Shi-i-i-it, I'm gonna spend my life playing golf, shot-gunning Coors, and passing out like a baby whose Gerber is laced with crushed Ambien.

But while most of y'all just keep bitchin' and moanin' about what's gone wrong during my time in the big chair, like never-ending, poorly conceived wars with everybody, the total meltdown of our economy, and the general decline of our formerly fucking awesome civilization, I'd like to point out the stuff that's gone right. Ain't no more American cities turned to death soup, millions of Iraqazoids are so far totally shrapnel free, and the possible impending Depression probably won't be Great, but be lucky to be just shy of Terrific. Imagine if we'd privatized Social Security. Damn, I'm gonna cum. I need to stop. Let's just hear it for happy accidents!

So... mission accomplishedest!

Tonight, with a thankful, if otherwise empty, heart, I have asked for the lastest opportunity to distort, lie, shuck, jive, moisten my armpits with shame sweat, star blankly into space as some Ivy League prick's fancy patter rolls by on the Teleprompter and share some carefully phrased thoughts on the journey that we have traveled together – oh, who we kidding? I've travelled. You all just tagged along, like a dog tied to the bumper of my bulletproof limo, just a bloody stump on a leather leash by the time I pulled into the parking lot at the Dallas National Bank.

Five days from now, the world will witness the charade of American democracy. In a tradition dating back to our founding slavemasters, the presidency will pass to a successor chosen by you, the American people, only because those bozos on the Supreme Court let you. This time. Standing on the steps of the Capitol will be a man whose history reflects the enduring pizzazz of Madison Avenue. This is a moment of hope and pride for our whole nation, and this brief, fleeting bit of media-jizz-evoking stagecraft, is all we got. So let's put our hands together for President Smoov Operata, his wife That Tall as Shit, Bossy Negress, and their two love critters.

Tonight I am filled with gratitude – for Uncle Vice President Cheney, whose ideological extremism and unwavering machismo never allowed him to fully reveal the loveable, insecure, viciously bullied fat kid he really is deep down inside the shambling, dying husk you see before you, and for the members of my administration who have yet to sell me out; to Laura, who brought joy to this house of death and something approximating empty gestures of support and love to my life; to our wonderful daughters, Jenna and the other one, who I made eternal pariahs; to my parents, to whom I can only ask, "ARE YOU TWO GRAYING CUNTS PROUD OF ME NOW? HOW MANY DUNE COONS I GOTS TO CHICKEN-FRY BEFORE YOU GIVE ME SOME GODDAMNED RESPECT?" And above all, I thank the American people for living up to your worst stereotypes. I thank you for the prayers to a selfish, materialistic, angry, ass-kicking Jesus that have lifted my spirits. He still speaks to me to this day. In fact, Five Inch Tall Invisible Jesus, who's currently perched on my shoulder like a pirate's parrot, just whispered in my good ear, with seething anger: "Them Pinko Pansy Cock Suckers Are All Gonna Be Sorry" before breaking into some ass-stomping Toby Keith!

This evening, my thoughts return to the first night I addressed you from this house – September the 11th, 2001, the most politically fortuitous windfall in modern political history. The day the fickle finger of history used immense pressure to momentarily transform a stinking turd into a diamond that shined so bright it blinded all you all out there. That morning, terrorists took nearly 3,000 lives in the worst attack on America since we double-dog-dared the Nips to bomb Pearl Harbor so we could hurry up with the European real estate fire sale we call World War II. I remember looking into the camera that night, talking at a nation of folks so scared, angry, and desperate for leadership, I said to myself, "Georgey-Boy, America is handing you a blank fucking check to PAR-TAY.". Sure, maybe I should had have put my Iraq War plans down on September 10th and paid a little attention to what was going on in the world. But shit works out, I guess. Well, until it don't.

As the years passed, most Americans were able to return to life much as it had been before 9/11, only with bigger credit lines, more insipid reality television, and even greater mass delusion. It's the like totally awesome 1990s never ended!

But I never let go of the only thing approaching a mission statement my administration ever had. Every morning, I received a briefing on the threats to our nation. I vowed to do everything in my power to keep us safe, including the option of killing all of the A-rabs, versus just the bad ones. And I have kept you all safe. Well, except for that time them two skyscrapers went KA-BOOM! But who's counting?

Over the past seven years, a new, super Orwellian Department of Homeland Security has been created, which is like a feckless, self-preserving bureaucracy on steroids. Thanks to my administration, for the first time in history, the parasite became the host! The military, the intelligence community and the FBI have been congealed into a something resembling a secret domestic police force. Like the SS, only without those super-cool grey uniforms with trench coats that got epaulets with lightning bolts on them. Damn them budget cuts! Our nation is equipped with new tools to monitor the terrorists' movements, freeze their finances and break up their plots, and one day, those tools will be used against you by whoever is in power, and disagrees with your thoughts, meetings, and traitorous antics. And with strong allies at our side, like Guam and the Snow Mexicans to our frozen north, we have taken the fight to the terrorists and those who support them, which, technically, could be everyone, everywhere, if you spun it right. Since the God we fight for is invisible, it only makes sense that enemy we fight against is invisible, too. Tricky, no? Afghanistan has gone from a nation where the Taliban harbored al-Qaeda and stoned women in the streets to a young narco-state that is rapidly crumbling back into a nation where the Taliban harbored al-Qaeda and stoned women in the streets. Iraq has gone from a brutal dictatorship and a sworn enemy of America to an Islamist-flavored Arab democracy on track to one day vote to become the sworn enemy of America. Oh, and Pakistan and North Korea? Major whoopsies.

There is legitimate debate about many of these decisions, but whatevs; I'll be worm food by the time y'all realize how good you had it, even if it was one big giant Costco-sized fib.

Our nation is blessed to have citizens who volunteer to defend us in this time of danger, like those years I bravely fought the Vietcong by drunk flying fighter planes in Alabama until the pussies in the Air Force found blow in my piss and yanked my license. I have cherished meeting these selfless patriots and their families. Thank Bloody Jesus on a Cross He didn't give me an ounce of self-awareness or shame, or else I wouldn't be able to look them in the eyes for sending them on a poorly planned fool's errand. America owes them a debt of gratitude, which isn't as good as dependable, quality healthcare. But it's better than nothing. Anyhoo, if nothing else, I've helped create a whole new generation of damaged veterans who can become annoying politicians who will run decade after decade of jingoistic, self-righteous campaigns celebrating their uniquely noble ability to blindly obey orders and kill people – until a combat-adverse Republican runs against them and swiftboats their asses.

For eight years, we've also strived to expand opportunity and hope here at home, and if you need proof, it's written right here in this here speech. Across our country, students that are still in school are rising to jump through wonderful, new, shiny, meaningless hoops, specifically in upper-middle class tax brackets. A new Medicare prescription drug benefit is bringing pharmaceutical numbness to buzzed-out seniors and the disabled, and to the Healthcare Junta's tax-dollar sodden books. Every taxpayer pays lower income taxes, money in their pocket they can spend on SUVs to drive over crumbling bridges. The addicted and suffering are finding new hope through faith-based programs that dole out bromides and pious condescension in opulent, tax-free indoor arenas, freshly carpeted at taxpayers' expense. Vulnerable human life is better protected, except for children without health insurance, the homeless, and most brown-skinned river-jumpers. Funding for our veterans has nearly doubled, from pathetically insufficient for the pre-Iraq veteran levels, to pathetically insufficient for post-Iraq veteran levels. America's air and water and lands are measurably less filthy, provided they are measured by an EPA led by my cronies from the coal, mercury, and arsenic smoothie industries. And the federal bench includes wise new members like right-thinking demagogues Justice Sam Alito and Chief Justice John Roberts who has joined that hairy guido Scalia, who plays Edgar Bergin to his very own Mr. McCarthy, the black dude who's into porno, Clarence Thomas.

When challenges to our prosperity emerged, we rose to meet them. Facing the prospect of a financial collapse, we took decisive measures to safeguard our economy by giving the keys to the Treasury to the pals who brung us to the dance (did I mention the kegger, bros?). These are very tough times for hardworking families. And if any hardworking families moved in my social circles, I tell 'em "Tough luck, suckers!" At least we ain't all gone Road Warrior on each other. Yet. America is sorta like that plane that landed on the Hudson. In a tough spot, but piloted by a hero – me – who ain't afraid to crash land the whole shebang in a dirty, icy river. The guy behind the controls at USAir was lucky. Me? Not so much. I flipped the fucker and you all are gurgling your last, panicky breaths of freezing sewer-water. But the thing is: We're all in this together. Except some of us are in first class and get vomiting drunk for free. Our successes are not equally shared, but our failures sure as hell are. In America, it isn't women and children first; it's rich folks and swindlers first. We will show the world once again the resilience of America's free enterprise system. All we need, really, is a big ol' war we can win decisively. I recommend Venezuela. No, better yet, Sandals Resort in Jamaica.

Like all who have held this office before me, I have experienced setbacks. There are things I would do differently if given the chance. Such as... Uhhh... Well I definitely wouldn't have stuffed my package as I rocked the aircraft carrier deck in my sweet Top Gun flight suit. The Presidential giblets don't need no dressing, y'hear? Yet I've always acted with the best interests of the swaths of country I'm most concerned with in mind. I have followed my conscience until it hightailed it out of Dodge, and then I followed my beer-burping gut. And I done what I thought was right, which isn't the same thing as moral. You may not agree with some of the tough decisions I have made. But who cares what you think, asshole? I was willing to flip a coin and make the tough decisions, even if I made those tough decisions with a bullshit faux cowboy anti-intellectualism that was just pure contempt for all those fancy-ass smarties at Yale and Harvard who sneered down their patrician beaks at me and whisper-laughed how I woulda been in special ed at Midland Community College if'n my old man hadn't waterboarded the whole admissions department.

The decades ahead will bring more hard choices for our country, especially when you all hold your noses and try to dig your way out of the steaming pile of shit I left behind, and there are some guiding principles that should shape our course:

Be afraid! Of everything! Manically pursue your happiness at the expense of everybody else's happiness! We're all GONNA DIIIIIIEEE!

That's pretty much it. You're welcome, President Smoov Operata.

And so, my fellow Americans, for the final time: Good night. May God, and Jesus, but not Allah, JewGod, or Xenu bless this house and our next CEO. And may God bless you and our wonderful pyramid scheme of a narcissistic country. Thank you.



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