Laura: Sanka?

Betty: Actually, I'd prefer real coffee, dear.

Laura: I'm sorry, Betty. We don't "do" caffeine.

Betty: With Jenna, Barbara, and George in the house? I'd have thought you'd always have a fresh pot brewing "just in case."

Laura: I don't know what you mean, Betty.

Betty: Oh, Laura. Really! Save that supercilious look for the press. Everyone knows it's all the rage at college campuses to play WWJD?

Laura: I think that is wonderful. I always ask myself, when toying with taking just one more Xanax before bed, "What would Jesus do?"

Betty: They're not playing "What Would Jesus Do?" They are playing "What Would Jenna Drink?" They're even wearing t-shirts that say that! It is disgraceful! And we all know George still drinks. Do you honestly think we would nominate someone who slaughters syntax like that when they are sober?

Laura: Well, at least he's stopped the cocaine.

Betty: Just as well. I heard, after a couple swishes over your coffee table, that those old feather dusters of yours used to fetch over $200 on the street, dear.

Laura: You know me! I love to clean. Sometimes, when I'm stressed I clean the medicine cabinet.

Betty: Well, just as long as you don't do it like Betty Ford used to, dear. Honestly, I'd love to chat about your husband's shortcomings, but I'm always wary of venturing into potentially interminable subjects with the medicated. Besides, we clearly have a potential emergency on our hands. I am, of course, talking about decorating, dear. While spurs, red-handkerchiefs and bleached cow skulls may be all the rage in, ur -- wherever it is you are from –

Laura: Texas.

Betty: Exactly. Such precious, indigenous decorating flourishes are best left to the memory of Dale Evans –

Laura: Is dear Dale dead?

Betty: Regardless -- in spite of all the efforts of that harlot Madonna -- her look is. Besides, the White House is the world's most important residence, next to mine. You will be entertaining the President of France – not someone likely to regard boots as acceptable with a tux just because they happen to be black.

Laura: But we always decorated the Governor's Mansion with Texas flourishes.

Betty: Yes, but while living in Texas, you enjoyed the giddy license that comes with being unfettered by taste. As odd as it may seem to those who watch C-Span, Washington D.C. actually does have standards when it comes to such things. For example, your inaugural gown. I often wondered, while watching you on CNN, "How does she find the time to run all those frocks under a Singer sewing machine while she is on the campaign trail?"

Laura: Michael Faircloth does most of my wardrobe.

Betty: Michael Faircloth? I don't know that house. I certainly don't recall seeing his showings in Paris, much less Milan, dear.

Laura: He's from Yoakum, Texas, Betty. He designed the Dallas cheerleaders' outfits!

Betty: Oh, dear. Who would have thought it possible to standout for vulgarity in Texas? Well, I'm sure big-boned women with hair that defies gravity and jewelry that defies common sense need someone local to take out the seams every season, but you are now in the big leagues, dear. You need to be thinking of top name designers.

Laura: Like Adolfo?

Betty: Oh, dear. This is going to be more difficult than I thought. Let's just say, for starters, anything other than that purple plaid number you wore to tea with that Hillary Clinton woman. Honestly, Laura, to look frumpy next to a woman who wears pastel pantsuits takes enormous calculation. I trust you will at least make use of a full-length mirror before attending the inauguration balls.

Laura: I already have my dress. It is wonderful. It took 3 women 100 hours to sew it!

Betty: Good! It must have cost a fortune!

Laura: Well, actually, no. Linda Chavez donated her help. And they work for table scraps.

		President Bush, Governor Perry and Senator Hutchinson show the tasteful "Texas Look," which Milan is working overtime to replicate.

Betty: What are your causes going to be?

Laura: Well, since I am a teacher –

Betty: One can only hope your learning techniques have been more successful outside of the home, dear.

Laura: I want to promote reading.

Betty: What is your favorite book?

Laura: I absolutely love "Crime and Punishment."

Betty: Yes, well, in your household that concept is probably best left on the bookshelf -- or you'd never see your husband, dear. Besides, the correct answer was the "Bible" –whether you believe it or not. Remember that next time you are asked that in front of a live mike.

Laura: I also like Dostoyevsky's "Brothers Karamazov."

Betty: I find its treatment of Jesus suspicious at best, dear, and your attachment to it alarming. Speaking of shocking habits when it comes to books, did you really Dewey-decimalize your entire private library, as I read in the paper?

Laura: Yes. Some may find that a bit anal –

Betty: Coming from a woman who Cloroxes her bookshelves. No, that's not anal. That's anal-compulsive, dear. There is a difference. Let's talk hair, shall we? Hillary Clinton has had more hairstyles than Alec Baldwin's back, but you seem to have stuck with a decidedly 70's 'do.

Laura: What do you mean?

Betty: Well, your coif was clearly inspired by one of the Osmond brothers. If Donny can change his, surely you can, too, dear. Besides, someone should have told you by now that our Republican distaste for mixing colors applies only to cars and race -- not hair. Get some highlights. And not over the kitchen sink, which is where, presumably, that brown stuff came from.

Laura: It's Miss Clairol.

Betty: A shade called "hard wood door," if they have any scruples. And, Laura, please stop the smoking!

Laura: How did you guess I smoke?

Betty: Your lips, dear. Either you smoke or you give collagen like most people give blood! Oh, and while I'm thinking about it, here is the card for the dear Jewish plastic surgeon in New York who does my freshening. Honestly, dear, you need to find someone who doesn't approach the task as if they were simply hanging wallpaper. One more cut-rate lift like that and people are going to think our First Lady is Chairman Mao! Now, let's talk about something important. Where am I going to sit at the dinner?

		Mrs. Bush speaks to a group of Dallas housewives about how scrimping on plastic surgery can cause you to end up looking like a member of the Gang of Four.

Laura: Well, since you are America's best Christian, I was going to seat you right in between Ralph Reed and Mr. Falwell.

Betty: Oh, wonderful. So I can spend the evening listening to that queeny, nasal whine coming from someone in a booster-chair on one side of me -- and the incessant slurping of gravy on the other side of me. Honestly, Jerry may purport to follow Jesus, but when presented with a buffet, he's clearly begun to ask himself "What Would Buddha Do?" I don't think so, Laura.

Laura: Let's see, I could put you next to Katherine Harris:

Betty: As much as I usually relish the opportunity to be an oasis of comeliness next to a veritable hazardous waste site of drug-store cosmetics, I simply cannot afford to sit next to such a woman.

Laura: Why not, Betty? Show some gratitude. If it weren't for her and the Supreme Court we wouldn't even be moving into the White House – it's not like Bushie was actually elected!

Betty: You don't need to be telling me that, Laura. That election cost me over five million dollars of tax-free Christian ministry money. But the story about Katherine and Jeb's tawdry extra-marital affair is about to break and I can't afford to be seen as giving comfort to harlots.

Laura: Jesus did!

Betty: Well, Jesus was not as particular about His dinner companions as I am. For example, I would never spend my last meal on earth eating "family style" in a public restaurant – honestly, that Mary woman was a deplorable hostess – or allow someone of my own gender – no matter how "beloved" -- to spend the meal flung on me like some lovesick groupie, no doubt, creasing my garment.

Laura: Well, I could put you next to my mother-in-law.

Betty: There is little point in sitting next to someone who gets all her good gossip from me. Besides, the fumes will be appalling shortly after the fish course. Speaking of fumes, don't put me at the same table as Ashcroft – I don't want to be downwind of vegetable shortening all night.

Laura: (giggling) He never said which part of his body he anointed with that stuff did he?

Betty: Laura, you wicked woman! He is a man of God. Indeed, with that embalmed look of his, he always manages to look like someone who has been with God for several days.

		George W. Bush does his "Chuckles the Chimp" impression to the delight of his wife,  Laura, on the set of Hee-Haw

Laura: It is so unfair how the press hounded him about ancient history!

Betty: Oh, that's nothing, dear. Just wait until they turn their attention to George. What with him lying about that funeral home, going AWOL, using drugs, the abortion – well, the list is endless. But I don't need to tell you.

Laura: No, I saw what they did with that one lousy DUI!

Betty: Well, there really is no justice, is there? I mean, George just drives around hopped up on cocaine – doesn't kill anyone -- and gets a ticket. And you run a stop sign and kill your boyfriend and get nothing. All I can say is the best thing about George being appointed President by the Supreme Court is that it will be once again safe for the rest of us to drive now that both you and George will be chauffeured wherever you go!

Laura: I still feel awful about that killing.

Betty: Well, look on the bright side, dear. Even if you drove around the beltway for three weeks blindfolded at 145 miles per hour, it's unlikely that you would ever catch up with your husband when it comes to killing people.