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The Journal of Literary Satire | Hastily Written & Slopilly Edited
Friday, May 25, 2007

When Presidents Dream

Jimmy Carter
I’m standing in the Rose Garden. It’s 1980 and I’m pinning medals on the chests of the soldiers who pulled off the successful rescue of the Iran hostages. My popularity rating has soared to the mid-70s and it looks like the Republicans are basically conceding the election by running that former B-movie star Ronald Reagan as their candidate. Then brother Billy walks past the podium pantless with a beer in his hand. I wake up crying, again.

George H. W. Bush
It’s November 1992. Bill Clinton is caught in a three-way and I win reëlection in the greatest landslide in American history. Even Reagan has to concede the greatness of my presidency. Now I can get down to business and create a legacy even Ike would be envious of. And to clinch the deal, I start grooming Jeb to become my successor. George Jr. seems put out until I tell him he can have his own baseball team to play with. Then I remember he’s still in The White House and I wake up shaking.

Bill Clinton
I’m flying. I’m on a plane. It’s Air Force Two, the vice president’s plane. I turn to my young comely aide who says “Mr. Vice President, Mrs. Clinton has resigned.” I’m sorry for Hillary, of course, but if there’s anything she should have learned from my presidential tenure, it’s that you shouldn’t fool around with interns. Since she’s only one month into her presidency, I’ve got almost a full four years to be president again. Hot damn, this is going to be fun! “Get me Al Gore on the phone,” I say to the aide as I unwrap a brand new Monte Cristo. “Boy, is he going to be pissed.” Hillary’s alarm goes off, I wake up, realize I’ve got nothing to do and go back to sleep.

George W. Bush
It’s way in the future, 2030 maybe. There’s an open coffin in the rotunda of the Capitol. I’m lying in it. I’m dead but I still look pretty good. People are walking past crying and paying their respects. I hear one guy say: “He was our greatest president ever.” Another guy says: “Can you believe that he was so unpopular in his day? Couldn’t those people see that Iraq would eventually become a strong democracy and bring peace to the Middle East?” Then Jeb walks by and says: “Big brother, you were the best. Nobody could have topped you, not even Dad.” When I look in the coffin again, it now contains Bill Clinton’s body. I scream and wake up in a cold sweat.

David Martin is a bureaucrat with the Canadian federal government but also does productive work by writing humor on the side. He is the author of the political satire collection entitled My Friend W (Arriviste Press, Boston) and blogs (who doesn't?) at