Jeb Bush Cleaner Than A Whistle in 2016
ADAM MICHAEL LUEBKE
If you’d been at Venetian Pool, in Coral Gables, Florida last week, you might have gotten the insider’s peek you political junkies yearn for, if you’d noticed the man who looked awfully like Jeb Bush muttering spiritedly in the corner of a pricey little wine and cheese shop late in the evening about the power of self-administered enemas to buttress his physical performance for the exhaustion of whipping together a presidential campaign.
credit: Jesper Rautell Balle
It was this glimpse of unbridled human nature — rare as it is — that we ache for from our boys and girls pounding the campaign trail.
By New Hampshire their vocal chords have been clipped, their character traits pruned, and we see a parade of robotic politicians rolled out like crisp new suits.
But according to the local buzz, it was John Ellis “Jeb” Bush in the corner, and squatting on a rickety metal garden chair, chatting it up about the desperate, heavy regimens that are undertaken by those seriously running.
The man he was allegedly with was a bleary-eyed key political advisor, David Kochel.
There are two reasons why Bush’s interaction with Kochel was so pernicious. The first is that he was Mitt Romney’s guy for both 2008 and 2012. Assumedly, he’d be Mitt’s guy again in 2016. But no more. Kochel’s move to Florida is what most experts agree pressed Romney to reluctantly discharge himself from the GOP presidential pool.
The other reason for the intrigue was the subject matter. Throughout nibbles of Swedish moose cheese, Jeb did all the talking. Some would call it cornering. But in politics, when the operation cranks up and the campaign buses are painted, there are very few boundaries between like-minded men that cannot be crossed.
The Missing Piece of the Twisted 2016 Jigsaw Puzzle
Romney’s former political adviser tried to savor his Pappy Van Winkle’s Family Reserve 23 Year Old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey. He also pushed hard into the wall behind his back, wishing for an inch or two between his earlobe and Bush’s lubricated lips as the former Florida governor told him,
“I’m on a new path physically that’s going to allow me to dominate the campaign trail mentally. Can you guess what it is?”
From behind his square-rimmed wire glasses gone askew on his face, Bush had slurred the details about a behind-the-scenes slash and burn approach, while publicly he’d hammer home his message of hope and positive thinking, clean living and fresh beginnings.
He’d leave his opponents politically charred and needing emergency ideological skin grafts after he’d stomped through Iowa, New Hampshire, and Colorado. He popped off, right into Kochel’s delicate ear, the rest of the entire primary schedule.
All right, all right, I’ll just tell you already…
Since the times of pharaohs to the pre-revolutionary French, according to “Royal Flush”, squirting a warm-water solution up your rectum has been part of a well-balanced personal hygiene. The Edwin Smith Papyrus written in 1600BC would make you blush with its details of a proper enema. Many indigenous South American tribes also knew of the benefits. Louis XIV, it is said, indulged three or four times a day (Rosenhek).
So maybe this is why, when David Kochel refused to ask Bush just what his new physical path included, the former governor robustly stated, “I’ve been blasting my plumbing no fewer than six times a day. I don’t even brush my teeth until after I’ve had my first one.”
Over the next fifteen minutes the intimate details tumbled out. Three glasses of Marcassin Marcassin Pinot Noir helped. But it was apparent
No thanks, I do my own
Kochel’s vintage whiskey did nothing to soften the blow.
Bush spoke aggressively enough that numerous witnesses to the conversation were able to patch together the bizarre sentences they’d heard and check them off with other curious country-club winos to verify the remarks.
Nobody knows if Bush learned the controversial health trick from Phillips Academy, or if it was revealed to him by college buddies at the University of Texas, where perilous creative back end intoxication methods are attempted more than once a semester.
Others speculated he was shown the enema cleanse recently, while on vacation in the Cayman Brac, where Bush slips away with his bodyguards and assistant chef to act like a local and blend with the common island man.
“It’s all connected,” he said, tapping his head and his heart. “But start here.” He slapped his gut. “Scrape out the physical gunk.”
Bush raised a cupped hand and ran it back and forth in the air, which was his best visual impression of sweeping out a muddy colon.
“Let the bloodstream detoxify itself now that the pollution is not being absorbed through the colon. Watch the mind elevate its thoughts. Witness the brain fog lift and the sunshine of consciousness break through.”
Besides the occasional flinging of saliva from Bush’s tongue onto Kochel’s cheeks and nose during the high points of the conversation, Bush was in excellent form. He demonstrated that very night in the cheese and wine shop to be aboveboard presidential material. He will no doubt be an unflappable force through Dixie Land and the Midwest during the primaries.
Nobody else in the shop testified to Kochel appearing the least bit interested, but the GOP brand name handed out details anyway, saying things like,
I don’t stay bent over while I’m engaged in self-treatment. And, That rudimentary position is for amateurs. Still effective, but hardly potent enough to wedge loose the cheese and 61-years of other tightly packed glop in the hard to reach crevices of the colon.
Grandaddy wouldn’t have understood this type of self-indulgence…
In fact, he told David Kochel, the Bush family had found long ago a worthwhile remedy in primitive clystering — it’s something Bush’s grandfather Prescott had done on days he felt gummed up inside because of the high-stress work of making scratchy telephone calls to company managers in Germany jamming home profits from the burgeoning Nazi war machine.
“I take the more exploratory 21st century health nut approach,” Bush said. “I fill up my lower bowel and I jump around to get the liquid really sloshing up there.”
The former governor painted a lurid picture of his own handstands and headstands, joined with elaborate breathing techniques, pelvic floor flexes and colon wall spasms.
You just go like this to get started
“When you do this as a religious ritual, you tend to get imaginative. Once your sphincter is trained, the sky’s the limit.”
It would be no problem, he said, to brace his feet high up against the wall, gyrate his hips, and hold that posture for fifteen minutes.
“Remember, it’s not the soap alone that shakes the oil and grime from your clothes. It’s the vigorous back and forth motion of the washing machine.”
“Doesn’t the water work its way to your throat if you’re upside down?” Kochel asked (although this comment is questioned, as it was disputed by another nearby table as having not been said).
Another version had Kochel saying, “This is going to be a major campaign trail liability. Has anyone ever possibly photographed this, ever?”
But whatever Kochel said, Jeb spanked the political advisor’s thigh and laughed. He leaned in again, rearranged the watch on his wrist, and said to get a really thorough whisking, to really tear free the foreign materials, he would jog in place for fifteen minutes.
He cautioned, “But don’t use baking soda, or you’ll blast off like a rocket before you get to the toilet.”
The only real circus in town…
No one can say for sure why Kochel joined the Bush team. Most likely Big Money and Old Money’s enthusiasm for Bush had a lot to do with it, despite the latter’s untoward performance in the Venetian Pool shop.
The exiled cultural philosopher Hubert Humdinger opined that “Jeb Bush is, for the GOP, the only real circus in town. Scott Walker’s too polarizing. Paul Ryan’s big ears make him look like a kid with a goofball economic theory. Rand Paul is strapped by his father’s firebrand legacy. For the political bangers of Kochel’s caliber, you either sign up at the top, or you work in corporate consulting.”
But let it be known, Bush will be a major contender this presidential cycle for many reasons, and the least of these is not his intricate understanding of how a colon stripped of mucus tendrils, rotting meat protein, and a diverse community of parasites actually enhances clarity of mind and vividness of spirit, all of which he’ll need in bumping up against the vicious Clinton apparatus.
Disheveled and clean as a…
Before Bush left Romney’s former mover and shaker at the petite corner table to think over what he’d witnessed, Mitt’s man said something like, “I’ll bet you’re as clean as a…”
Bush, already standing from that tiny decorative seat, with his pants shifted off center and his shirt half unbuttoned, cut off Kochel and said for the whole joint to hear, “No, I’m cleaner than a whistle.”
If you hadn’t heard the rest of the conversation, you’d have thought he meant the selling off of his shares in companies that keep offshore accounts as tax havens. Or no longer managing offshore private equity funds. Or finished with consulting businesses on how to send American jobs overseas. Or he’d repented for the data-mining firm he’d hired as governor to compile a list of 50-100,000 black Florida voters to be purged from the system during the 2000 election, where his brother won the election by under 600 votes.
Stuff like that.
[official photo of the governor courtesy of State of Florida; Monkey’s clyster art from Wellcome Images; Bush bent over from Andrea Booher; Bush being questioned from George Armstrong]
