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In This Issue

• Young and In Heat
• Teen Talk
• Way Embarassing Stories From Teens Like You!
• Letters to the Feditor
• You're Bleemin' Thin!
• New, Finger-Eatin' Good Diet!
• Pot Calls Kettle Black, Gag Ball Calls Assless Chaps Gay
• Sequels: Always Better Than Originals
• Boy Bands: Our Saviors
• Barbara Bush is a Dead Bitch
• H&M: We're So Hip!
• Beauty is in the Red, Tearful Eye of the Beholder
• Pity the Lowly Rock Dove
• Do-It-Yourself Object of Love
• Ode to a Spill-Proof Mug
• Mouse and Cat: World Series Prep
• Revolve: The *New* New Testament
• Fed Insider with Grown-Up Teen Idol Rider Strong
• Jewry Blocks Masturbation
• The 9 Train
• THEY Watch
• The Staff of 21.1

Michael Brayden

Barbara Bush doing humanitarian work.

On Thursday, September 8th, Barbara and George H.W. Bush showed up at the astrodome in Houston to survey the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Amid the thousands, there were stories of loss, survival, and hope. It was a virtual sea of people, whose lives will be forever changed, who are trying desperately to find something real to hold on to and to to inspire them to go on. At one point during her visit, a reporter came up to the ex-first lady and current first mother and asked her what she thought of the whole situation. In one of the most unintentionally funny remarks I have ever heard, Barbara Bush turned to the reporter and said:

“What I'm hearing, which is sort of scary, is they all want to stay in Texas. Everyone is so overwhelmed by the hospitality. And so many of the people in the arena here, you know, were underprivileged anyway, so this is working very well for them.”

No, there is not a problem with your newspaper. Do not switch over to The Spectator. That’s right, Barbara Bush just asserted that many of the poor and downtrodden that Hurricane Katrina affected the most are, in a way, lucky to have had their homes destroyed, their pets drowned, and their communities forever shattered. What a dead bitch, right?

I believe that in Barbara Bush’s brain, there exists an alternate reality. She believes that there were just a bunch of free-loading, welfare mothers in New Orleans just sitting around, day after day, thinking, “Man I wish a hurricane would destroy this city and drown my kids, because then I could get a free trip to fabulous Houston!” And if you have been to Houston, calling it ‘fabulous” is as outlandish as Barbara Bush’s perception of New Orleans’ poor and displaced. Barbara Bush honestly believes that there is some woman in New Orleans named Aquanetta or Listerinequa who sits every day on her couch thinking, “I’d go down the post office and sign up for welfare, but, eh, being driven out of my house as the storm of the century crushes it is a lot easier. Also, I got some rocks to smoke.” What Barbara Bush doesn’t know is that living ankle deep in the sewage covered Superdome is worse than any public housing. And then the refugees are moved to the Astrodome in Houston, where they will probably be forced to buy food from stadium vendors. Not that paying $5 for a hot dog or $8.50 for a beer is as bad as a Category 5 hurricane slamming into a major metropolitan area, but they’re two experiences no one should have to go through.

But what should be done with Barbara Bush? We could teach her about the realities of poverty in America, but much like her son, she doesn’t seem to have much of a capacity for learning. Intelligence is hereditary, and the apple doesn’t fall that far from the tree, if you know what I mean. My solution is something a little more bold, a little more interesting, and dare I say, a little more exotic. We should send Barbara Bush to live in a public housing project for a full year. No breaks to go to Kennebunkport, no days off for her various grandchildren’s parole hearings. One full year in the projects of Camden, New Jersey. This already sounds like a hit idea for a sitcom.

I think her first day would go a little something like this: in looking for a replacement for her old, tattered, WASPy matron’s wig, she would go to the local wig store, Extensions and Things, in order to purchase her trademark British-judge style hair piece. While making small talk with the store’s owner, Chlamydia Brown, Barbara Bush would exclaim, “So I have noticed that there are a lot of pregnant teenagers around here. You know dear, no boy will want to marry you if he can have at cotillion what he should be getting at home in the marital bed. I guess your species just reproduces a lot younger than mine”. At which point, Chlamydia Brown would attack Barbara Bush with a straightening iron, inflicting the worst injuries for a Bush family member since a notorious run in with one of her children and a pretzel. Maybe she would learn something in the process, although I think it would be far funnier if she didn’t.

But, as the old saying goes, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And in this case, you can’t teach a bitter, WASP-y, racist old dog with a dried-up pussy, reckless kids and a husband who hasn’t been sexually attracted to her since they first met way back in 1898 new tricks either. So is it mean to call Barbara Bush a dead bitch? Yes. Is it the most accurate moniker you’ve ever heard for her? A resounding yes to that too.