As a person who might consider someday becoming a candidate for president, I knew the media would try to trip me up with “gotcha” questions. But I also knew that the American people—and, to a lesser extent, immigrants—deserve to learn about their potential candidates’ views. And we all know they can’t get enough Bush. My dad was president, and my brother was president twice. Who knows but I might be elected president three or four times? I mean if I decide to run. Anywho, the other thing my dad and brother both did was start wars with Iraq, which was great. Still, knowing what we know now, when Megyn Kelly asked me if I would have invaded Iraq, I should have dropped a smoke bomb, ninja-twisted her neck and disappeared.
As soon as Megyn said “Iraq,” I should have taken a moment to completely clear my mind, as I learned in college, and then vanished using the dark art of ninjitsu. Doing ninjitsu in a televised journalism setting is even more challenging than doing it in a forest or a Japanese pagoda but, knowing what we know now, I should have executed ninpo taijutsu in the following four steps:
- Smoke bomb! I always carry one in the breast pocket of my suit.1 Knowing what we know now, I should have thrown the smoke bomb at my feet and, as the studio filled with fog, wrapped my tie around my head to hide my flashing eyes.
- Neutralize Megyn Kelly. Disoriented by the smoke, Megyn would not have realized what was happening as I did a handspring off the back of my chair and landed directly behind her. Taking only a split second to smell her hair, I should have twisted her neck exactly 105 degrees—enough to render her unconscious but not enough to paralyze her for life. Knowing what we know now, I should have practiced this technique on a dummy and not on my father’s financially unsuccessful ostrich farm.
- Vanish. As Megyn’s unresponsive but definitely not lifeless body slumped to the ground, I should have pulled the locket off her neck and thrown it into one of the klieg lights to create a distraction. While everyone was looking at the shower of sparks coming out of the klieg light and coughing in the smoke, I should have jumped up into the rafters and crawled upside-down to a safe position in the corner of the studio. What’s in the locket? There’s no time to find out.
- Escape in disguise. Knowing what we know now, I should have scanned the panicked studio audience for a man of my height and build with a big mustache. Then I should have dropped down from the rafters and strangled him with my belt while everyone was looking the other way. Then I take his clothes, put on the big mustache I carry in my other breast pocket, and walk calmly out of the studio. “Hi, Frank,” the security guard says as I pass through the lobby. “How’s it going?” “Normally,” I say.
That’s what I would have done, and so would Hillary Clinton. But now everyone is saying I screwed up and that, with the benefit of hindsight, the words I said in response to Megyn’s “question” were wrong.
Frankly, that does a disservice to all the people who died in Iraq. Those brave ghosts need our services now more than ever. It is not our place to ask whether a war my brother started was a good idea. Rewriting history is hypothetical, and the Bushes are about what’s real. I am man enough to admit my mistakes, though. Knowing what we know now, I should have incapacitated Megyn Kelly and vanished in the confusion, or just promised not to invade Iraq.
But who are we to rewrite the history of last week? The past is the past, and America should concentrate on the future. If what you want in the White House is a real fuckin’ ninja whose brother and dad both killed Saddam Hussein, you should vote for me—if I decide to run. If you want a mean lady who can’t do ninjitsu at all, vote for Hillary or Megyn Kelly. Then see what happens.