THE PRESIDENT'S ANALYST

Saturday July 7, 2007
The Guardian

President George Bush turned 61 yesterday but he had little to celebrate at the end of a week in which his isolation has been exposed as never before.

The Washington Post reported this week on academics invited to the White House to discuss with him his legacy, including Sir Neil Shakespeare, author of A HISTORY OF THE NORWEGIAN REVOLT, which has parallels with Iraq. They, as well as former staffers and friends, spoke of his loneliness, his agonising over how history will portray him.

Editor's Note: Sir Neil Shakespeare has agreed to speak with us on condition of anonymity. "I was never there and I don't know what the hell you're talking about," he said as he told us everything that happened in his private session with the president in a secret room at a Motel 6 outside of Kennebunkport.

GUARDIAN: First of all, Sir Neil, could you tell us how it is you know the president?

SIR NEIL: We're old drinking buddies. We go way back. I was a little bit surprised, however, when I received the call from the White House. I hadn't seen him since we woke up drunk together in the parking lot of Tom's Topless Titty Bar in St. Louis back in '73.

GUARDIAN: And you've since gone on to pen such classics as THE HISTORY OF THE NORWEGIAN REVOLT.

SIR NEIL: Yes, the Norwegians put out a jihad on me for that one.

GUARDIAN: A Norwegian jihad?

SIR NEIL: That's the worst kind.

GUARDIAN: Well, apparently you survived this Norwegian jihad.

SIR NEIL: Just barely.

GUARDIAN: Could you describe for us, please, the state of the president's mind?

SIR NEIL: Disarray. Complete disarray. A shambles. Nothing new in that, of course. When I came into the motel room he was lying on the bed, clutching his favorite feather pillow, 'Slumber', and sucking on the stem of a small American flag. I managed to get him to sit up and told him to stop sucking that flag or he'd get slivers in his tongue.

GUARDIAN: And what did you talk about?

SIR NEIL: Well, mostly he was concerned about his legacy. He was very concerned that Norman Rockwell was dead and he didn't know who was going to paint his picture. And then he fell into a full-blown self-pity mode, crying about how nobody loved him anymore, blah blah blah, nobody understood him, you know, that kind of stuff. And then he started talking about how if people didn't start being nicer to him he was going to be the first American president to commit suicide and so I punched him.

GUARDIAN: The president was contemplating suicide? You punched him?

SIR NEIL: Yes, I gave him the old five-fingered Freudian treatment. "Snap out of it!" I cried. "You still have 18 months to save your legacy!

GUARDIAN: Did he respond to the treatment?

SIR NEIL: Not really. He just kept blubbering.

GUARDIAN: So what did you do then?

SIR NEIL: I poured myself a drink and let him cry it out.

GUARDIAN: And did he stop?

SIR NEIL: Crying? Yes, he eventually stopped crying and went into his whining mode.

GUARDIAN: Whining mode? What about?

SIR NEIL: Everything. All of his failures. Iraq, Scooter, immigration, the prosecutor firings, Katrina, warrentless wiretapping, torture, secret prisons, Harriet Miers, Cheney, Rumsfeld, you name it. He has so many failures it took him several hours to list them all, whining all the time. Nothing was his fault. He was just a victim. He was the most persecuted person in the history of the planet since Jesus. That sort of stuff. He's really nothing but a spoiled brat, you know. A cowardly bully. And a nincompoop to boot. Not a happy combination.

GUARDIAN: So how did you respond to that?

SIR NEIL: I employed another of the classic Freudian techniques.

GUARDIAN: Which was?

SIR NEIL: I told him to go fuck himself.

GUARDIAN: And how did the president respond?

SIR NEIL: He started fucking himself.

GUARDIAN: What?!

SIR NEIL: With that small American flag he had. He started shoving it in and out of his ass. He seemed to be enjoying that. It seemed to calm him down a bit.

GUARDIAN: That's...that's...that's...

SIR NEIL: Let's see Norman Rockwell paint that picture.

GUARDIAN: So,...so what did you do?

SIR NEIL: I told him he better stop doing that or he'd get slivers up his ass.

GUARDIAN: And did he stop?

SIR NEIL: No, no. Like I said, it seemed to be the only thing that gave him comfort.

GUARDIAN: So what did you do then?

SIR NEIL: What do you think I did? I left! You don't think I was gonna sit there in that room with the president shoving a flag up his ass, do you?

GUARDIAN: No. I suppose that would be a bit frightening.

SIR NEIL: Disgusting, I think, is the word you're looking for.

GUARDIAN: So, in your expert opinion, what is the president's prognosis?

SIR NEIL: He's doomed.

GUARDIAN: And there's nothing you can do for him?

SIR NEIL: Well, I suppose I could pull those slivers out of his ass, but I think I'll let Laura handle that.

GUARDIAN: Well, thank you, Sir Neil, for sharing your expert opinion with us.

SIR NEIL: Don't mention it. Always happy to serve my country. And remember: I was never there and I don't know what the hell you're talking about.

GUARDIAN: Yes, of course. You don't know what the hell you're talking about.

SIR NEIL: That too.