after mulling the situation over in his office for a few minutes, exploring all possible angles, godfather daddy bush puts down his half smoked cigar. he leans back in the blood red, fine corinthian leather easy chair and motions with two closed fingers for his idiot son.
dubya, smell of the fifth of aged scotch whiskey he had for breakfast still on his breath along with traces of white crystals rimming his reddened nostrils, ambles ape-like over to his fathers desk , knuckles dragging across the carpeted floor.
"get my consiglieri" , the godfather rasps.
dubya hurriedly knuckle walks out the heavy mohogany doors.
in minutes, consiglieri james baker dutifully arrives with dubya following. baker kisses both the yale and skull n cross bones rings of his godfather.
"my idiot son here tells me his personal capo, 'dickie boombatz', is facing a rap in nigeria. all over some oil business he did for us while he was at haliburton.
dickie boombatz has been a good earner for us. we can't let him take a fall.
bada bing bada bang-- do what you gotta do to make this thing right and take care of this problem.
consiglieri baker, get the drones up in the air over there and make them ' boys' in nigeria an offer they can't refuse".
"yes, my godfather", baker seems perplexed.
" but we got these 'boys' in nigeria by the stones.'' he explains.
"we got 'em coming and going. we set the price for their oil and we set the price for everything they buy from us. we control the price of what they sell --we control the price of what they buy... got em coming and going. we always have."' consiglieri baker reminds his aging godfather gently.
" any offer we make is an offer them 'boys' can't refuse." he concludes.
the godfather slowly turns his grey head and carefully eyes his consiglieri in frowned silence.
even dubya's limited faculities of awareness momentarily sober as his father , a man known for his quick temper and endless hormonal rage stares in long silence at his consiglieri. tension in the room thickens.
the godfather suddenly erupts into raucous laughter that is quickly joined in by his nervous consiglieri, and pongid-like son.
slapping baker on the back the godfather can barely control his laughter as he roars his approval.
"jimmy boy you're a genius--any offer we make is an offer they can't refuse!"
he then turns a withering glare to his son.
"why can't you be more like jimmy boy, here ?" he snarls disappointedly at dubya.
" i swear dan quayle's daddy musta been doing your no-good mother while i was out of town", he complains for what must be the millionth time.
"you're just like a quayle" he offers as proof of his long term suspicion.
"you're nothing like a bush!" he accuses.
" not like me, or my father." he rants.
"every time i see you i wanna smack you cross tha mouth."
he threateningly raises his frail, liver-spotted hand. dubya winces and ducks from habit.
"...get them freakin nigerian boys on the line!"the godfather barks to his idiot son.
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