The Misadventures of Budlite Bush…Part I

Ever ended up on the road with a buddy of yours who has this great idea about going "somewhere"? Only he's not exactly sure where that somewhere is and isn't exactly sure how to get there –and for sure is too drunk to get you there safely. That is what I feel like with this Administration. It's like your mother told you that this "nice guy" she knows offered to take you all to someplace called "Freedom" and she decided the whole family was going along for the ride.

You: Where did you say we were going?
Budlite Bush: We are going to the place I call Freeeeeeeeeeeeeee-dom!
You: Where is this place and how do we get there?
Budlite Bush: (Winks!) Hey, kid, it's at the end of the road and I got the map in my head! Jump in the truck and let's goooooooooooooo!
You: How far is it from here? Can I see the map? This truck does not look like it's ready for a road trip.
Budlite Bush: Hey, kid. Not to worry! Like I said, I got the map in my head. And this vehicle is in fine shape. Trust me. Besides, son, you go to Freedom with the vehicle you have, not the one you want. Heh. Heh. Now get on board. My patience is beginning to wear a little thin. In my family, kids don't question the adults in charge. And as you can see, I am behind the wheel, so that makes me the adult here.
You: So how long a ride is this? How much packing do I need to do before we go?
Budlite Bush: Lordy! Lordy! You are a worrier! It could last six days, six weeks. I doubt six months.
You: Mom, I'm not sure this is a good idea. I think we need to see a map and find out how far this Freedom is from here. We need to find out the best way to get there. We need to get this vehicle in shape for the road trip. And I am not convinced that Freedom is really where we want to go right now. We've got some problems here at home to solve before we get in the truck and take off.
Mom: There you go again! Sometimes I can't believe we're from the same family! Here I meet this great guy in the bar last night who tells me he's going to take care of me and my mine and he offers to take us all to Freedom and YOU are holding things up like you always do! Now get in the truck and quit your whining!
You: But, Mom, he looks and acts really, really drunk! There are no seat belts in the truck. And I want to see a map!
Budlite Bush: I told you, kid, the map's in my head. And we don't need no stinkin' seat belts! I got me a pistol in the glove box over there and a shot gun in the back seat. Hell, I got me an ARSENAL in the bed of the truck and I'm buying more every day! I might just break the bank some day buying up all those munitions, but I do it because I believe in keeping people safe. Remember when those guys robbed the bank here last 9/11 and they killed all those people? Well, that ain't going to happen while Budlite Bush is in charge! No sir-ree. Now I don't know how to fire these things myself, but I plan to pick up a whole lot more boys like you along the way and they can do the shootin'. Like I said, I don't like to fire those things myself, I just like to buy 'em. My friends in the gun business like me because I'm their best customer and it keeps the economy strong. Reminds me, we all need to cough up a little more money for safety's sake. Give me 50, boy!
You: Don't we need to at least spend the money on gas and maybe save some up for emergencies? Maybe some food and water along the way?
Budlite Bush: Hey, Momma, your SON is starting to get on my nerves! Why I think HE thinks he can drive this here truck better than I can! I know the type. "Read the map! Read the map! If you don't understand the map, get someone who does!" And then they get the map out and find out there's a dozen different ways to get where you're going. Then they hem and haw over which route to take and blah, blah, blah. At the end of all that, they haven't gotten anywhere because they decided it couldn't be done. Losers. That's what I call them!
Mom: (To you.) He's right you know. You never want to go any place without talking it over with a bunch of your like-minded friends. Talk. Talk. Talk. Blather. Blather. Blather. Reading all those books and then thinking you know something. Just like your Dad. And you know what HE did to me and I'll never forgive him for it.
You: Look, he wasn't your husband. He did not cheat on YOU. He cheated on his wife and then lied to you about it. Get over it.
Mom: I will NEVER get over it. You and your lowlife morals. And now here's a man who promises to keep us safe who says he's a church-going Bible-believing man and I can tell you just hate him. It's the same every time. I meet some great guy at a bar and take him home to you and you always hate him.
You: I don't HATE them. I mistrust them. I don't know how you can keep going to bars and picking these guys up and expect me to trust them. They ALL have the same pickup line. "I'm a God-fearing man. I'll keep you safe. And I'm not, well…you know…a F-A-G." Then you bring them home stumbling around, slurring words, and booze on their breath.
Mom: (To Budlite Bush) See, I told you he's a real whiner. Truth is, he's not my real son. He's actually my brother, but I treat him like a son. You can't really boss a brother around, but you can boss your kids around, ya know what I mean?
Budlite Bush: One last time, kid, you get in the truck NOW or I get the sheriff involved. And I know ALL the sheriffs real well around here, if you get what I mean.
You: (Reluctantly gets in the truck.) (Silently to self) I want to see a map.
Budlite Bush: Now that's more like it. Hang on, kid. You're going for the ride of your life time! And don't worry. Remember, I got the map right here in my head!