1001 Nights Cast

President George W. Bush shuffles across the kitchen floor in a pair of well-worn slippers and a Ralph Lauren dressing gown open at the front to reveal his favourite blue silk pyjamas with the battleship motif, Laura’s favourites.

—Laura, where’s the milk baby?
—Right there in the ice box GW.
—No it ain’t baby. I can’t see no milk.

Laura sweeps into the room in a tight-fitting power suit with red scarf. She’s fixing her earrings.

—There George! Right in front of your eyes. What’s that?
—Oh yeah! There’s the little sucker. Couldn’t see that from where I was standing.
—I have to rush George. I have a breakfast meeting with Condy.
—You two in love or something? Sure do spend a lot of time with Condy.
—Oh don’t be silly George. She’s black.

Donald Rumsfeld enters wearing flannel pyjamas and furiously working an electric shaver on his stubbly face.

—You off Laura?
—Yes Don. I’m gonna leave you boys with George. He’s fixing you some breakfast.
—What’s on the menu Chief?
—Got a little surprise for ya Don. Family recipe. Want some coffee? Help yourself.

Laura kisses George on the cheek.

—What about me?
—Oh Don, you’re so predictable.

Laura pecks Don, picks up her bag and heads for the door.

—George, there’s chicken in the freezer. Please take it out to thaw.
—Sure will babydoll.
—Oh hello Al. The boys are in the kitchen. You’re just in time for breakfast.

Laura shuts the door behind her as Al Gonzalez enters carrying a package.

—You are one lucky sonofabitch GW. She’s one in a million.
—You should see her with her clothes off man.

The three men shriek with laughter.

—Hey, it’s the Attorney General. Give me five man.
—Hey Mr P, Don…George this package was on the front door step. Addressed to you.
—Muchas gracias compadre. Give it over here. Don get over here and beat these eggs. Someone get me a beer will ya. Sun’s up for fuck’s sake.

President Bush puts on his reading glasses and inspects the package.

—What the fuck’s this piece of shit? I can’t read…Al what’s this?

Gonzalez inspects the package.

—That’s your name George. The package is addressed to you.
—Oh. I knew that.—Let’s see who it’s from…Ohhhh.

His eyes widen.

—It’s from I-ran
—I-ran?
—I-ran?
I-ran
—Jesus fuck don’t open that sucker George. Might be a bomb in there.
I’ll get security.
—No, you can’t do that Don. It says Private and Confidential. I’m the only one who can open it.
—Okay, okay but don’t blame me if it blows your head off.
—He won’t have a head to do the blamin’, Don, so you’re safe.

President Bush carefully unwraps the package while Don and Al shelter behind a sofa. Inside the post bag is an elaborately bound envelope, also addressed to the President.

—Sure is nice wrappin’ boys.
—Turn the envelope over George. Who’s it from?

He inspects the back of the envelope.

—It’s says it’s from Mmmahood Ahma.. oh Jesus fuck help me out here Al.
Don beat those goddamn eggs before we all starve to death.
—It’s from Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, President of Iran. George we haven’t had a letter from I-ran since 1979 when the Shah was overthrown.
—He was a good family friend.
—God rest his soul.
—Jesus Christ he’s sent me the Old Testament. Look at the size of this fucker.
—Seventeen pages.
—Who writes a seventeen page letter?
—Nice hand writing.
—Mmmm.
—Dear President Bush…I am writing to you to offer the hand of peace…
—Blah blah blah
—He’s just foxin’ George. He wants to build the bomb man. The bomb.
—I know, I know Don. I’m not fallin’ for any sweet talkin’. Get the flour out man and put a cup of that with those eggs and beat man, beat.

Don obeys. Al grabs the letter and scans it.

—He says the nuclear program is only for power generation.

Uproarious laughter.

—He says he’s sorry about all the mean things he said about destroying Israel and that he’d had a fight with his wife that morning and that’s why he said it.

—Hey I know where he’s comin’ from there.

Chuckles all round.

—He says that we have the world’s largest stockpile of nuclear weapons.
—That true Don? No-one told me that.
—We do GW, that’s true.
—Why ain’t we usin’ the fuckers?
—Well George…
—He says I-ran reserves the right to its sovereign independence.
—Don hand me down that waffle iron man and plug the mother in for me will ya.
—Looks good George.
—Oh yeah brother, it’s good. Got some maple syrup.
—Canadian?
—Who?
—He says I-ran will defend its territorial borders with I-raq.
—From Canada. Up north.
—Oh yeah, I know what you’re sayin’.
—He says, we should back off Hamas and allow the Palestinian people to determine their own state.
—Hey we want democracy in Palestine.
—They have democracy in Palestine George. The Palestinian people elected the Hamas government.
—Well they got it wrong Al. It’s not the kind of democracy I’m talkin’ about.
—He says, we have more weapons of mass destruction than anyone else and that we should promise not to increase our stockpiles or develop new technologies to be used against his people.
—Jesus Christ does he want my ass too?

Laughter.

—This is one long letter George. I think he’s trying to do a deal with us.
—I’ll tell you the only deal I’m doin’. I’m dealin’ you boys Mother Bush’s genuine, homemade waffles and maple syrup.
—Canadian?
—No boy. Texan. One hundred percent Texan.
—Chow down.
—What about this letter George?
—Mark it down ‘Not At This Address’ and I’ll give it to Laura to post tomorrow.

Adapted for performance by Barbara Campbell from a story by Boris Kelly.