When Santa Visited George W. Bush ...

Ushered into the White House under the strictest security, Santa Claus had his hands full listening to all of George W. Bush's wishes. According to this op-ed article from Pakistan's Dawn newspaper, after his recent eavesdropping, the President was also quite interested in telling Santa who had been naughty.

By Mahir Ali

December 28, 2005

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IT was a few days before Christmas and verily a Santa was hauled out of a Wal-Mart, where for much of the day he had patiently been lending an ear to the seasonal demands of brats of all shapes and sizes. He was driven away in a limousine with dark windows to an undisclosed location by men in dark suits and dark glasses.

"We have a very special assignment for you," they told him, and refused to say any more.

The vehicle pulled up outside a very big house that looked as if it had recently been whitewashed. Santa was escorted to an empty room, where his sack and elaborate accoutrements were subjected to a thorough search, which yielded nothing exceptionally alarming. His beard was checked for anthrax. In another chamber, men wearing what looked like space suits tested him from tip to toe for traces of radiation.

Once it had been established beyond reasonable doubt that he was no suicide bomber, a visibly disconcerted Santa was conveyed to a big hall groaning with Christmas kitsch, and gently but firmly pushed into a plush chair. He sank into it gratefully as the folk in the room, whispering excitedly, formed a disorderly queue.
One of them elbowed his way to the front of the queue and then strode purposefully, with a distinctively simian gait, toward the man with the beard. No one said a word, although bespectacled Dick, pushed into second place, gave him a look that resembled a sneer. But those who knew Dick were well aware that this was his natural expression: no one had ever seen him come up with a convincing smile.

"Ho, ho, ho, Santa," demanded his interlocutor. "Say ho, ho, ho!" Santa complied in a weary tone that betrayed little interest in conveying joy to the world. "Sit down, boy," he continued in the same tone, "and tell me what you'd like to find in your sock on Christmas Day. But before that, be polite enough to introduce yourself."

"My name is George, Santa," beamed George, "but you can call me "W" or 43 like everyone else, and the first thing that I want is a Patriot Act. The next thing on my list ..."

"Hold on a second, George. Now this Patriot Act, don't you already have one? Are you being greedy, George?"

"No, Santa ... I mean yes, I do have one, but its batteries are about to run out."

"Then why not get some new batteries?"

"I swear I tried, Santa, but all those unhelpful people in the Congress superstore said they'd only recharge the batteries for a month. Now that's not much good, is it? I want a Patriot Act that runs on oil, not batteries. I've got plenty of oil. I don't have to ask anyone for oil. I can just take it whenever I like."

"Ah, that rings a bell: you must be the George a colleague told me about three years or so ago - the boy who wanted a brand new Ay-Rack."

"Yes, and I demand you tell me where that colleague can be found. I'd like to wring his neck. Waterboarding's too good for him. Gitmo's much too good for him. That [expletive deleted] gave me a broken Ay-Rack! I didn't want a broken Ay-Rack - I wanted ..."

"Stop pouting and shouting, George. Let's not forget this is supposed to be the season of peace and goodwill. And let's keep the record straight. My colleague Kofi did not give you a broken Ay-Rack. I've heard you smashed it while grabbing it from another boy."

"That's so not true! Sad-Damn was a bad boy. Very bad. Truly wicked. He wouldn't hand it over even after I pointed all my guns at him. What was I to do? Now you must give me mini-nukes, so that it's easier the next time around. Surgical strikes that produce perfect little mushroom clouds. I'm dying to see a mushroom cloud, Santa, I really am - even just a teeny-weeny, itsy-bitsy one, pretty please?"

"Stop jumping up and down, George, before you smash my knee like you smashed Ay-Rack. Now, before I hear any more of your wish list, I need to know whether you've been naughty or good this year."

"I've been good, really good, as good as I possibly could. You've got to trust me. I'll tell you who's been naughty. It's all those Al-Canada types like ... like ... well, like Sad-Damn, who says I beat him up after taking away Ay-Rack, which isn't really true, and like Ayman, who keeps releasing all these pirated X-rated videos full of violence and you can't understand a word, very bad chap, and all the insurgents, they don't deserve any gifts. And Osama's probably been naughty, except we don't know where he is or what he's been up to. And don't give anything to Hugo Chavez, who's been trying to sell oil cheap to poor Americans - I mean, how low can you go? - or to his new friend, Evil Immorales, who I'm told is ingenious, how silly is that? I mean no ingenious person could get anywhere close to power in this country, and that's what makes America great ..." "I think you mean indigenous, George. But never mind. I'm not interested in your opinions about other people, I just wanted to know ..."

"Hang on, Santa, I haven't told you who else has been good. Surprise, surprise, but it isn't only me. I mean, where would I be without my mentor, Dick? He doesn't live in a bunker anymore, so he'll be waiting for you. Give him a new heart or some other organ. He deserves something big. So does Condi - she's been veeeerrrrry good. Poor Karl could do with a reprieve. Rummy's been good too, at least better than before. Nothing for Colin this time, thank you. And Wolfie doesn't need anything - I gave him a whole bank of some sort not too long ago."

"LISTEN to me, George: there will be no presents at all for you if you go on raving this way. I wanted you to evaluate YOURSELF, not everyone else in the world. Now, I hear you've been eavesdropping on fellow Americans. That isn't nice, is it, George?"

"Bloody liberal media! Why couldn't The New York Times have sat on that report for a few more years? I'm going to make an example of whoever leaked it. I have my suspicions. Ever heard of Valerie Plame? Elementary, my dear Santa. And you can do your bit for national security: make a gift of all extremist newspapers like The Times and the Post and all the liberal TV networks to Rupert Murdoch. Then Americans will only hear and read the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Wouldn't you call that a fair and balanced proposition?"

"You haven't answered my question, George. Eavesdropping?"

"Well, just a bit. Sometimes. And it's only for their own good."

"Did you not know it was illegal?"

"All's fair in war, Santa. There are terrorists everywhere. They hate us, they're coming to get us, some of them are already here, we've got to get them first. So, anything goes. Can you imagine, it's even illegal for us to crack a few heads and break a few bones in trying to get the answers we want, so we have to send our prisoners - and our interrogators, of course - to other countries where there are no such namby-pamby rules. All for the sake of preserving democracy. On the other hand, things like abortion are legal. And they want the same for gay marriage. These are threats to our way of life. I'm sick of pleading with the Congress boys to give passing grades to my handpicked judges, who could fix the Constitution in a jiff. That's why another thing I want this Christmas is a full bench of the Supreme Court. And by the way, the Bible says nothing against listening to phone calls and interspecting e-mails."

"Perhaps it doesn't, George, but it does say thou shalt not kill, and you've been doing quite a bit of that lately, haven't you?"

"I haven't touched a gun or pushed a button all year."

"White phosphorus and Fallujah, George?"

"Ask Rummy or Dick about that. Besides, that was last year. What is this anyway, an inquidisposition? And before I forget, I also want an Intelligible Design kit. That's indispensibubble for combating the Bolshevik evolutionaries."

"It's not an inquisition, George, I really need to know. I'll decide what's indispensable or not, and in your case the concept of Intelligent Design seems like a contradiction in terms. Now, what about your response to Katrina?"

"I don't think you're Santa at all. You must be an impostor. I don't like your beard. Why do you wear red? Are you a communist? Security!"

As the Secret Service prepares to escort Santa from the premises, Dick rushes up. "This won't take a moment, Mr Claus," he mutters. "I have only one request: everything that gets smashed, the reconstruction contract must go to Halliburton."

"I'm only a Santa," murmurs the man in red as he is led away. "What you guys need is a psychiatrist."