WASHINGTON, D.C. – A parody of the controversial movie Brokeback Mountain that depicts President George W. Bush and former lobbyist Jack Abramoff as lovers has ignited rioting and civil disobedience in Republican enclaves from Belle Isle to Grosse Pointe to Orange County.
“This is the supreme insult,” sobbed Missy Caswellan as she banged her cocktail spoon on the table at the prestigious Greenback Country Club’s dining room in Belle Isle, Connecticut. “Those common social outcasts in the Democratic party will pay for their cheekiness.”
Throughout the normally subdued, members-only dining room the noise level climbed far above its 55-decibel average as male diners raised their voices in outrage and a few firebrands removed their ties, hurled them to the floor, and stomped on them. Incidents of condescension to the wait staff were also in evidence.
The festering rage and discontent on display in Belle Isle was mirrored on the West Coast. Shoppers in a fashionable Orange County mall overturned a lingerie cart in anger, and several women converged on the cosmetics department, where they sprayed cologne from tester bottles into the air while chanting, “Here, here, he’s not queer; you can kiss my hiney, dear.”
The spark that ignited these tinderboxes is Buffback Mountain, a parody in which George W. Bush and Jack Abramoff meet and fall in love in the White House gym. After eyeing Mr. Abramoff coyly, President Bush saunters over to him and asks, “What are you benching, buff guy?”
Following several awkward subsequent encounters, the two men repair to the president’s private sauna. A description of what transpires there is beyond the scope of this publication. Suffice it to say the president emerges with his towel on backward, and after this meeting Mr. Abramoff begins referring to the president as “Ennis” in their e-mails.
Given the homophobia that grips the nation’s capital—not to mention the fact that both men are married with children—Jack Abramoff and “Ennis” Bush dare not speak their love’s name in public. In fact, they do not acknowledge it to one another.
“I ain’t queer,” mumbles Jack Abramoff after one of their workout sessions.
“Me neither,” replies the president.
The two men always have Camp David, however, and they conspire to ride their mountain bikes there at least one weekend a month. Laura Bush begins to suspect they’re riding more than their bicycles when she notices that the president often returns from these weekends with bruises on his thighs and posterior.
“He told me he fell off his bike,” Mrs. Bush sobs to her mother-in-law. “But I couldn’t understand how he managed to land on his bum all the time.”
“We always thought George was a sick pup,” replies the president’s mother. “All that cheerleading and cross dressing at Yale. That little [homosexual].”
With the prospect of the midterm elections on his mind, “Ennis” Bush suggests that he and Jack Abramoff put their relationship on hold. A shoving match ensues and finally Ennis bitch slaps Jack.
“I wish I knew how to quit you,” screams Jack Abramoff, holding his cheek in pain.
At the risk of spoiling the ending, all we’ll say at this point is that the affair ends badly for one of the lovers. If you want to find out which one, you’ll have to seek out the parody on the Internet.
Meanwhile, the prospect of further rioting has led the country club in Grosse Pointe, Michigan, to cancel its annual St. Patrick’s Day Roast, a popular celebration in which Republicans gather to poke good-natured fun at “that immigrant-infested Democratic party.”
“In light of the seething annoyance among our members, we felt it was best to cool it this year,” said roast committee chairman, Buzz DeWitt.
In other news, President George W. Bush assured members of the Log Cabin Republicans yesterday that his poor showing on the latest AP-Ipsos poll, where his ratings were the worst of any president since Nixon, had nothing to do with suggestions that he is gay.
Art direction and story conceptualization for this article were provided by EJ Moore, vice editor in chief and neurosurgeon in training at Postcards from the Pug Bus.
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