Laura Bush's Diary

So I was smoking a spliff out on the porch when my cell phone rang. It was that nasty Condi Rice calling to shoot the shit. Now if you know anything about our history you know that is pretty strange because you see Condi and I didn’t really get along all that well back in the day. You see there were all these rumors about how she and W were having an affair and that she only wanted him and that was why she was single and such. Of course that was contradicted by the rumors that she was a dyke and all but I knew that was bullshit.

I will admit that I was a little concerned because I do know that W does like a little taste of the dark meat. I mean there was the time he banged Pam Grier when she was on tour promoting “Coffey” but we were all kids then and how could you blame someone for banging Pam Grier. I didn’t really care if Georgie got a little of the strange now and again because we had a sort of open marriage. We even were swingers for a while back in the seventies. I remember when we were tossing our car keys on the table with Bert Convey and Joyce Bulifant and Glen Campbell and Tanya Tucker. The only time I got a little worried was when he was screwing Tootie from the “Facts of Life.” Now that bitch was a goer. I had to shut that down quick before W made a fool out of himself.

Anyways Condi was talking about this and that and finally I couldn’t take it anymore. I told her to cut to the chase because American Idol was coming on and I never miss an episode. That Ryan Seacrest is such a cute little bugger. Or is he a buggeree? Not that there’s anything wrong with that. So Condi hems and haws and finally asks for a favor. She wanted to know if I had Randy Jackson’s number. Now that was kind of freaky. I mean I could understand if she wanted Jermaines number because he is reputedly a real ladies man. And Tito is the most popular with the ladies that he doesn’t drown because he is hung like Seabiscuit. But no she wanted Randy’s number. So I looked it up on W’s rolodex. It took me a few minutes because it was under “Yo dawg” but I got her the number and thought nothing more of it.

Two weeks later Randy calls me up all hot and bothered. He tells me Condi calls him up and tells him that she wants to meet him. He thinks that’s weird since he’s a married man and all but he goes up to her suite at the hotel in Beverly Hills Hotel. Condi opens the door wearing only a g-string and those thigh high black boots she is so proud of. Randy was taken aback but he didn’t want to be seen by the paparazzi so he went into the room. He was going to explain he was married but she was on him like white on rice. So to speak.

After the deed was done she started to cry. When Randy asked her was the problem she said she couldn’t tell him. So he asked me to call and smooth it over because he didn’t want any of this shit to come out in the papers.

I call up Condi and she is still sniveling like a little bitch. I ask her what’s the problem and she says it is the same problem. You see she is really big down there and she can never get a man that can even touch the sides. She had heard about Randy Jackson’s nickname and thought he might do the trick. I go “What nickname.” She goes “You know the Big Unit.” “You stupid bitch. No wonder you are a fucking football fan. That’s Randy Johnson who is the Big Unit, not Randy Jackson.”

First that blonde professor and now this dizzy bitch. That’s the last time I help out another lonely broad.