I’m here! I’ll tell you about my impressions of America later. Right now, I’ve got more important things to talk about - I met THE MAN!!!
From the first handshake, I knew I was in the presence of greatness. The first (pleasant) surprise occurred when I shook his hand. I was expecting rugged hands, like a cowboy who just finished rassling an American Black Bear in the Grand Canyon. On the contrary, his hands were so silky and smooth as if he’d never worked a day in his life. I didn’t want to let go. George (we’re on a first name basis since he can’t say my last name without cursing) told me it’s because of the special aloe-infused soap they use in the White House. He offered to give me some. No thanks, I’m never washing these hands again.
He invited me into his office and said to me, “Your stomach must be parched. Can I do you for a snack?” Realizing this was my chance to taste some genuine American cuisine, I asked for a hamburger and a cola. George smiled and I swear to God, hope to die, he said, “You’re my kind of man.” I’m George W. Bush’s kind of man!!!
After chowing down on some beef like a couple of American Joes, we got down to business. Bush asked me if I liked the burger (heck yeah!). “110% American Beef”, he said. He asked me to lift my country’s ban on American beef. Then he asked me if I liked the cola (heck yeah!). “110% Afghanistan oil”, he said with a grin. He wanted me to continue the refueling mission in Afghanistan . Heck, if George wanted me to strip down to my long johns and slap myself silly with a mackerel, I’d do it just like that. Unfortunately, I’ve got a congress full of people who don’t always agree with me. George rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, tell me about it.”
When it was time for me to go, I wanted to get his autograph, but didn’t know exactly how to go about it. I’ve always wondered how other world leaders do this. It would be a shame to hold such a lofty position and not have any souvenirs when it’s all over. I finally summoned up my courage as I was exiting and told George my niece was a big fan and wanted an autograph. With the grace and elegance of true royalty, he smiled, winked, and asked for my niece’s name. “Errrm, it’s Yasuo.” He asked me a few more questions - when is her birthday, what is her favorite color, what would she do if the whole country hated her and thought she botched her 8-year presidency — you know, the basics. In the end, he led me out and said goodbye. I think he forgot about the autograph.
That’s alright. I’m George’s kind of man.