The Brain of George W. Bush - Part 1 Also see: Part 2 and Part 3 The Missing Brain & Trailing the Brain

SMARTER THAN THE AVERAGE BEAR MAXWELL SMART UHH A TALK WITH George W. Bush's Brain "BRAINS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS" NS - Negative Spin; BB - Bush's Brain Before we began the interview, we offered Mr. Bush's brain a drink. We said it was a Dr. Pepper when in fact it was a stiff slug of truth serum flavored with the extract from Juicy Fruit gum. The brain didn't complain, but instead said the effects of the drink were "invigorating," sparking things in itself that had lain dormant for years. It even asked for a small piece of bread to sop up the remaining drops in the cup. "I don't know what's gotten into me," it said, "just the munchies I guess. But everything seems to be coming into clearer focus..." This was what we were hoping for, of course. The brain of an astute politician can be a formidable opponent to an interviewer, bobbing and weaving when one wants it to be direct. Mr. Bush's brain shared certain qualities of the astute politician's brain while lacking others. NS - We're happy you could join us today for this interview. BB - Yes, thank you. It's good to be here, finally able to get out and speak my own mind. NS - Your witticism is duly noted! First, before we get started, we'd like to offer you certain gifts. (We're not actually interviewers, and didn't learn until after this exchange that gift-giving is an unnecessary thing for interviews. Our closest encounter with refined society really is from TV, seeing world leaders greet one another, kiss cheeks, exchange gifts, and offer a series of distinguished bows and curtsies. So we did offer Mr. Bush's brain "certain gifts," as we said. These actually have no bearing on the interview and no connection to Mr. Bush's brain as a political entity or thing and no relevance really to anything; but only for integrity and completeness we wanted to mention our kindness, that gifts were indeed given.) BB - I thank you for the pleasant gifts, and now I'd like to offer you certain gifts in return. (Again, this is probably not how it's supposed to be done, if for no other reason than it detracts from an orderly presentation of the actual interview later, but for the sake of completeness we want to let the record show that we did receive "certain gifts" from Mr. Bush's brain. Soon the gift giving was taken care of and the interview was ready to begin in earnest.) NS - OK...we hope you like the gifts you received. BB - Yes, I must say I do. NS - OK...we wanted to talk to you in this way, separated from the body you usually have around you, to kind of get at the Truth of what goes on with the candidate, Mr. Bush. We thought maybe we could get a new twist on the news. BB - Yes. NS - By the way, how did you manage to get here today? I mean, won't you be missed while you're away? BB - I could say that I won't be missed, but you might misinterpret that as a "cheap shot." I would eventually be missed, let's put it that way, but it's not a critical situation. Only if we hear an ambulance going by, or we see a title and theme music on CNN that signals 24 hour coverage of my absence, I'll have to be going. NS - We do want to keep this interview out of the realm of "cheap shots," that's for sure. You say you would eventually be missed, and we'll surmise that this might be like the broken clock; even a broken clock is right twice a day. BB - That might be too insulting, which I hope is not your intention. It's a little bit like the broken clock analogy you mention, but not strictly so, not entirely so. More like bent tines on a fork; only annoying when you sit to eat and then only when you're unlucky enough to be handed that particular fork. NS - OK, could we get to some of the questions that are on our mind? BB - Yes, go ahead. NS - We've heard Mr. Bush say a few times that if we didn't like him we could vote for another candidate. He says this when he's being unapologetic for some mess he's in. What's behind this? BB - Let me do some calculations. (The brain beeped and sputtered, and we heard what sounded like a bell and a carriage return on an old typewriter. There was a few clunks in its midsection, and a little bit of steam escaped through the upper-level cracks. The brain became noticeably smaller and then expanded suddenly, emitting something of a hiss like an old train in a John Wayne movie.) BB - The reason Mr. Bush says this is because the demands of real reponsibility are still fairly new to him. He's uncomfortable being expected to be perfect and by this almost instinctual redirection of focus to others he seeks to hide his flaws. The attempt of course is in vain because the very nature of candidacy is public individuality and to win. Along with this, the constant replays of video excerpts magnify every mistake and to make it worse the larger context is stripped away. NS - OK. We see, we think. Here's one for you, how much actual knowledge does Mr. Bush have? Of course the knowledge part of him being in large part your own responsibility, we're asking you for a little self-critique? Can you give that? (We noted a period of silence, much like what goes on with a Furby before it falls asleep, much like the half-hour's silence when the seventh seal was opened in Revelation 8:1, the same kind of silence Herman's Hermits sang of in "There's a Kind of Hush." The brain was frozen solid, setting rigid like The Sphinx under hypnosis. Its lifelessness had to be more than apparent, no doubt in our mind that it extended even to the molecular level. We looked in vain for any sign of motion or life. And then, as though a secret motion had originated in the molten center of a planet and had just filtered to the distant surface after years of silent upward coursing through caves and past underground seas, the brain made a single clicking noise and one quick lurch. The lurch was an upward movement on one side only. The click we heard was a small kickstand that had descended and was now holding the brain up on that side, cocking it according to our position of reckoning. After a few more seconds of silence, there was a smokiness that radiated from that side and quickly dissipated in the air. The kickstand suddenly retracted and the brain fell back to the table with a thud, rocking only once.) BB - Mr. Bush's actual knowledge is above average. He also fairly good common sense, and the abilities that a person gets from being governor. He's definitely not stupid. NS - Fair enough. With the various things you went through to answer that question, we're sure that has to be the best answer we could hope for! BB - Yes, some of the calculations were very close to the borderline on that one, needing me to round them up or round them down. And to give the "benefit of the doubt" is of course always an intangible thing requiring subjectivity; since I'm so close to the situation, integral really, I wanted to be doubly sure before expressing my conclusions. NS - OK, let's get out of the realm of that sort of question for a while. Just to some actual knowledge. Does Mr. Bush know, for instance, the first President of the United States? BB - Yes, it was George Washington. NS - OK. Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong at all! Can he name the four Presidents on Mt. Rushmore? BB - Yes: Washington, Lincoln, Jefferson, Roosevelt. NS - Definitely nothing wrong in the knowledge department! One-two-three-four, you got 'em all! BB - Thank you. NS - Does he know what election it was that gave the Presidency to his father? BB - That was 1988, against Michael Dukakis. NS - Knowledge seems to be right on. BB - Well, those weren't really that hard! Come on! NS - Well, let's try another question.... Brain, a few months ago there was all this controversy about whether Mr. Bush used cocaine. Could you shed any light on this subject for us? (As we expected, the easy-going nature of the give-and-take exchange was quickly broken. This time the stages of the brain's behavior did not lead through silence, but just the opposite. There was a kind of flopping about, much like a bucket of bass when you throw a new catch in amongst them, and a robotic, metallic caterwauling from deep within. And the flopping did not quickly subside, but it continued as the brain moved 'round the table; soon the flopping became a kind of rhythmic stagger, with the brain rolling quickly from side to side, finally balancing on edge for a few seconds before rolling toward the opposite side and balancing itself on the opposite edge. Then the balance was lost and the brain had entirely flipped over. From this perspective we could see its soft underside exposed; the little jets from which we'd earlier seen smoke were making very minute thrusts, in and out, like the back-and-forth motion of guns on a Star Wars spacefighter, but with no smoke at this time. The kickstand was seen quivering but never sought to engage itself properly as a kickstand; we could see this more clearly, that it wasn't made of metal but was like bone or gristle. The brain in this pathetic upside-down state continued to flounder, just like a turtle that's flipped over on its back and sees an eagle circling. At the very end, then, in an act of obvious desperation, a small barrel jutted from one flank and shot a dart into the wall; attached to the dart was a wire. (We knew this couldn't be organic, but was some kind of specialized attachment!) Then very small pinchers held the wire, gripping it with programmed purpose, and finally with one determined pull the brain managed (barely) to right itself. Now the smoke jetted forth from underneath, bringing obvious consternation and a measure of pain to the brain as it had forgotten in its distress to engage the kickstand; that had to burn! In a minute we saw a light blushing on the very top of the brain, and the brain in the end appeared to regain its composure, albeit slowly.) BB - Could you repeat the question? NS - Maybe we'd better get back to something else... What did you say Mr. Bush's dog's name was? BB - Spot, I said Spot. I said Spot. I said Spot. NS - Why is he called Spot? BB - Because he has a spot. Because he has a spot. There are other candidates if you don't like me—! What is this, 50 Questions?! Do you know the name of the janitor at the Mexican White House? NS - No, no one said anything about that....calm down, please. BB - Walt Whitman, Whitman Samplers, Christine Todd-Whitman.... (The brain seemed to be getting a bit flaky here, probably because of the strenuous workout it had been through; these machinations were the equivalent of reading a 300-page book without pictures, an impossible feat in normal life! Words were just flowing out at random, even prompting our tape-recorder to vibrate, to smoke, and finally to flip out a kickstand of its own while it continued to run... We were thinking of steering the interview back to safer ground, which was really our intention in asking about Spot. However things were getting way out of control, so we decided maybe one or two more questions would have to be it.) NS - Is Mr. Bush looking forward to the debates and the chance to match wits with the other candidates? (We'll spare you the details of all the thrusting and lurching-about that took place at this point. Suffice it to say that the trapeze in the room came in handy as well as the net on the far side of the room, not to mention the fire extinguisher.) BB - Truthfully, no, he's not looking forward to the debates at all. After the interview, we sat and drank a Dr. Pepper, the real thing this time! We talked pleasantly, the brain telling us in great detail (and for hours, calmly) all of Mr. Bush's great plans for the country, his positions on every conceivable issue, of his plans for the nation's foreign policy, etc., etc. It was a wonderful thing to hear him sketch out such finely-honed views and to express them with such grace and persuasion. It turns out Mr. Bush is truly an intellectual, but with the rare complementary gift of vision and courage. He'll be a great President! The brain then bade us a fond farewell, and went off into the night.