GEORGE BUSH IN HELL
Opening Scene: Entrance hall in the Bush mansion in Houston where George and Laura have retired after leaving the White House.
There is grand staircase in the center, an elaborate chandelier hanging down from the ceiling, a half-table with a vase along the wall to the right, and a federal-style entrance door with brass fittings and a fan-window above on the far right.
A clicking noise is heard and the door swings open. The silhouette of George Bush is seen against dim bluish lights from the street. He pauses a few seconds and reaches for a switch on the wall, not finding it easily. When he does, sconces on the same wall as the table and vase come on, casting a warm, soft light on the scene. He awkwardly turns and closes the door quietly.
The figure starts to move forward, and it is immediately apparent from his lurching motion that he is drunk. He moves slowly, trying to prevent any noise or accidents. Nevertheless, after a few steps, he collides with the table, knocking the vase over to smash noisily on the floor.
At the top of the stairs, Laura appears in a rather elegant, flowing nightgown. She places her hands on her hips and glares hard towards George.
GEORGE: “Hi, Honey. Didn’t know ya’d still be up.”
LAURA: “I wasn’t up. You smashing the furniture woke me up.
“And don’t you ‘Honey’ me, you bastard! You’re drunk again.”
GEORGE: Moving awkwardly toward the stairs, “Aw, Laura darlin’, I jus’ had a li’le too much,” making an exaggerated measurement sign towards Laura with his finger and thumb as he speaks.
Laura doesn’t move, just glaring as George works his way slowly up the stairs, huffing and puffing and swaying as he goes.
GEORGE: “See, I’m okay, I’m getting’ up the stairs myself.”
LAURA: “You shit, you promised, not once but dozens of times.”
GEORGE: “Yah, Honey, I know, but I’m tryin’.”
LAURA: “You son of a bitch, you haven’t tried at all. You’ve embarrassed everyone in the family.
GEORGE: “Won’t happen ag’in, Hon, I promise.”
LAURA: “You’re damned right about that. It won’t happen again!” she screams. She suddenly swings her arms out violently, striking George as he nears her, sending him tumbling down the stairs
George’s body comes to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, limp and broken-looking.
Suddenly from the left comes a Secret Service agent, aroused by all the noise. He kneels at the body and checks for vital signs.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT: Looking up towards Laura, “Mrs. Bush, I’m sorry, the President is dead!”
He immediately reaches for his Blackberry and places a call for emergency services. Laura walks offstage in the direction she first came from.
We see a striking, elaborate gate, as we might expect to see at the front of a great mansion. Behind the gate is the suggestion of a lush, sunlit garden complete with the beautiful singing of birds. Despite the brilliant sunlight, the floor of the stage is covered with a thick white mist, which represents clouds scudding along. At the gate, a tall dignified figure stands holding a staff in his right hand and a book in his left.
From the right side, the figure of George appears. He isn’t drunk now, but he appears mystified by his location.
GEORGE: As he approaches the gate, “Hi, I got no idea where I am. Maybe y’all kin help?”
ST. PETER: “Yes, Mr. President, I can help you. That’s just what I’m here for.”
GEORGE: “Jeez, ya’ll know me. That’s great. I got no idea what’s goin’ on. I was comin’ home, an’ suddenly I wake up here.
“Hey, an’ I ain’t got no hangover neither.”
ST. PETER: “Mr. President, you’re dead.”
GEORGE: “Dead? How the hell kin that be?”
ST. PETER: “You came home drunk, and Laura was so furious she pushed you down the stairs.”
GEORGE: “I’ll be damned, Laura killed me?”
ST. PETER: “That’s right, Mr. President. She’s now being treated for shock, and you’re here at the gates of Heaven. I’m St. Peter.”
GEORGE: “Well, Pete, open ‘er up. Guess there’s gonna be some good times here. I gotta tell ya, I was gettin’ mighty tired of Laura naggin’ all the time.”
ST. PETER: “We have a little business here, first, Mr. President, before anyone goes anywhere.”
GEORGE: “Y’all know I’m born agi’n. Don’t ‘spect no problem.
“Well, fire away, as I used to say there in the White House. Haw, haw. Jus’ a li’le joke there, Pete. Guess ya know I ain’t one to stand around jawin.’ Let’s get her done.”
ST. PETER: “Mr, President, we’re going to take a short look at some outstanding events of your life, ones that weigh heavily in the balance, so to speak.
St Peter opens his book, and a picture appears, cast like a slide in the white mist. It is of a child whose face is torn, horribly clotted with blood.
ST. PETER: “Do you recognize this child, Mr. President?
GEORGE: “Hell no – oops, sorry there! No, I never seen him, Pete, honest.”
ST. PETER: “That is correct, Mr. President, you never saw him, but nevertheless you did this to him, and many thousands of others in the bombing of Iraq.”
GEORGE: “I’m tellin’ ya, Pete, I di’n’t know. I’d never do somethin’ like that.”
Another picture appears, this one of a woman’s body smashed into the ground.
ST. PETER: “What about this one, Mr. President?”
GEORGE: “Promise I never saw nothin’ like that. God dang, who’d go ‘n’ do somethin’ like that?”
ST. PETER: “You would, Mr. President. This woman lived in Baghdad.”
GEORGE: “Well, I gotta say, I don’t think it’s fair bringin’ up this kinda ol’ stuff, Pete.”
ST. PETER: “What about this one?”
Another picture appears. It’s Laura with a black eye and a swollen lip.
GEORGE: “God darn if I wasn’t drunk that night. Didn’t mean it at all.”
George finds himself in a dark, gloomy place, with only hints of its being a room. He suddenly becomes aware of a series of sounds, a mixture of singing and shouting and George starts walking towards them. The sounds become louder. Soon we realize that they are people talking and shouting and singing, many of them, all at once. George tries covering his ears, the sound becomes so loud and unpleasant.
Finally, a figure appears in the gloom. It’s a tremendously fat Jerry Falwell looking for all the world like Jabba the Hutt waddling.
JERRY: “Well, now I kin hardly believe my eyes, welcome home, Mr. President!”
GEORGE: “Jeez, gotta say this place don’t look much like what I figured.”
JERRY: “Hell ain’t such a bad place. Ya pretty much get to do what ya always liked doin’ forever.”
GEORGE: “Hell? Whoa there, now, what’s goin’ on? I ain’t sposed to be in no Hell!
“I was jus’ talkin’ to Pete couple a minute ago, remindin’ him how I was saved an’ all.”
JERRY: “Well, I’m right sorry to disappoint you, Mr. President, ‘cause ya’ll was always a favorite.
“But we all knew you was on your way here, an’, like I was sayin’, it ain’t such a bad place an’ all.
“Ya’ll get to do pretty much what ya always did. Ya kin sure see I’m enjoyin’ the brunches, all laid out real nice, any time night or day, jus’ like a big cruise ship.
“An’ jus’ listen to that singin’ ! It don’t never stop. Gospel selections for the next trillion years!
“Some nice ol’ friends down here too, Mr. President. I reckon ya’ll know half of ‘em. Dick an’ Lynn. Your Pappy’s here, an’ your Grandpappy.”
GEORGE: “Ain’t ya sufferin’ with everlastin’ fires or nothin’ like that?”
JERRY: “Shucks, no, Mr. President. That jus’ ain’t the way it is.
“I know, I know, I was preachin’ kind of regular ‘bout that kinda stuff, but ya gotta figure, I was earnin’ a livin’ an’ all, an’ there jus’ ain’t no topic better ‘an damnation for gettin’ that there offerin’ plate full to overflowin’.”
GEORGE: “Well, I’ll be damned.”
JERRY: “Ya’ll are, Mr. President, that’s for sure.
“They got a copy of your ol’ office all set up for ya. Ya’ll gonna be able to go on bein’ President for millions an’ millions of years.
With a wink and a chuckle, “Snort a little coke now an’ then. All the damn mint juleps ya’ll can swaller. Go huntin’ with Dick.
“Give your Ol’ Man a good right now an’ then…as many times as ya’d like. An’ if that li’l’ woman of yours – jus’ sose ya know, she’ll be joinin’ up with ya before too long – goes mouthin’ off any, jus’ give her a smack in the gob the way ya’ll used to. Ain’t no cops here for her to call, embarrassin’ ya an’ all.
“Ya’ll be runnin’ that there war forever, seein’ every damned heathen an’ troublemaker blowed up jus’ like ya was there.”
GEORGE: “Well I gotta say that don’t sound none too bad. Ever get any vacation?”
JERRY: “Well, I gotta tell ya honest-like now, Mr. President, ya don’t get no vacation ‘roun’ here.
“Ya gonna do all them things ya always liked doin’, but ya gotta keep doin’ ‘em over and over, forever.”
“It might get a li’l’ tiresome-like after a while, but I sure ‘nough ain’t found that to be the case yet.”
GEORGE: “Ya, I kin see that right ‘nough. If ya’ll can’t stop packin’ down all the grub, ya gonna have a mighty sorry time draggin’ that fat gut of yours aroun’.
“Ya already startin’ to look like one them damned ol’ frogs I useta stuff with firecrackers. Damned, if I didn’t enjoy watchin’ ‘em gettin’ blowed up!
“Maybe ya’ll gonna blow up someday without any damned firecrackers in your mouth!”
George bends over, cracked up with uncontrollable laughter, tears running down his cheeks.
JERRY: Chuckling heartily, “Ah shucks, Mr. President, mighty nice to hear ya ain’t lost your ol’ boyish charm an’ sense of humor. Ya’ll gonna fit in jus’ fine here.”
George and Jerry, chuckling and laughing, walk slowly off into the gloom towards ear-splitting sounds of laughs and screams and screeching gospel music.