Duane "The Dog" Chapman, April 21, 2007
Mr. President, First Lady, members of the Associated Press, distinguished guests, thank you for inviting me here tonight. This has been a long time coming, though I have to admit I never thought it would actually happen. What with my past, I'm used to breaking laws not making laws, and flying here I wondered just how well I'd fit into Washington on account of how I look. I’ve never worn a suit, not even at any of my five weddings. Lately, the only suit that seems to look good on me is a lawsuit. But we aren’t here to sort out my legal woes, we’re here to honor a great man, George W. Bush. Although I know this is a town of lawyers, so if you are familiar with my Mexico extradition case and happen to specialize in “loophole law,” you know where to find me.
To let you know just how serious this opportunity to speak in front of all of you is for me, I can tell you that I’ve spent many a morning looking in my bathroom mirror preparing my hair and faux Native-American jewelry while practicing a speech just like this one, imagining what it would be like to look out over a hoity-toity Washington crowd and make everyone laugh from my humorous stories and tales of the road. Heck, I imagined even getting a few handshakes for doing such a good job at the end of it. But now that I'm here, I feel like I don't know if my leather pants are ready for the Kibbles and Bits I’m about to fill them up with, because I am so damn nervous.
President Bush contemplating my pearls of verbal wisdom
For starters Mr. President, you and me are cut from the same cloth, even if our clothes aren't, and I've known this ever since you got elected president back in 2000. Believe it or not, I know what it’s like to go up against a guy with the name “Al Gore.” When I first set up shop in Honolulu around 1996, there was a bail bondsman named Alfonso Gorbanza already working there, and we never got along. He was a real liberal fruitcake who fought hard to make bail bondsmen seem like rational, harmless extensions of the entire law enforcement system. He had short hair and wore polos and spoke calmly. He told me he had worked hard to make criminals feel safe in knowing that bondsman weren't like Old West cowboys and that the "bring 'em home dead or alive" attitude was a thing of the past. Mr. President, he hurt my feelings pretty bad when he told me this because I felt like he was judging me, and so after getting drunk and taking a piss on his storefront later that night, I went back to his place the next day realizing how silly I'd been acting, and that's when I decided to kick his ass.
You see, I'd wanted to kick his ass from the moment he opened his mouth the day before, but until I was honest enough with myself to do so, I was only postponing the inevitable. Things had gotten all confused in my head when he first started talking to me because I didn't understand how or why a dude would say such things, especially a dude with the job perk of getting to commit endless beatdowns without ever getting in trouble for it. I mean, who the heck becomes a bounty hunter if shit kickings aren’t in your veins? Anyways, if I had of been more true to myself from the get go, we could have saved ourselves a lot of time, a lot of drinking, a lot of pissing, and he could have started his long road to recovery a day earlier. I remember as I kicked him yelling through my confused tears, "Why are you so friendly? Why didn't you become a kindergarten teacher? Why a bail bondsman? Why? WHY?" As it turned out, Alfonso was six months from retirement anyways, so all I did was speed up the pension process, and his district was all mine earlier than expected. Plus you wouldn’t believe the reputation you get as an intimidator by beating hell out of your predecessor. I wasn’t exactly Mr. Popularity in the bail bondsmen community at large, but I like to think I cast a pretty long shadow for a good while after hospitalizing Mr. Gorbanza.
Alfonso Gorbanza walking a dog more his own size
My point, sir, is that the media has been pecking at your ankles for six long years. They just peck, peck, peck, like the bunch of peckers they are, and I can tell by looking in your eyes that some days you just want them to put down their microphones, step out on the White House lawn and settle this once and for all, Lethal Weapon-style. But you’re an adult, and worse yet you’re an adult that everyone else looks up to. Well, guess what, I’m an adult too. Hell, I’m an adult that kids and adults look up to as well, and look at me. I look like Fabio with a meth addiction, and I dress like a dominatrix turning tricks on the Vegas strip. I can say things like this because I am comfortable with my fucked up ol’ self, but if anyone else said it they’d be eating crocodile boot so fast they’d wonder why the heck their mouth all of a sudden started tasting like the swamps of Louisiana when they’re standing in middle of the District of Columbia. In summary, know thyself, sir, and always have an outlet for violence ready and waiting.
If I may speak freely, the entire problem with your way of doing business is that you are obviously a kick ass president who isn’t allowed to kick any ass. You’ve got a job that requires you check your balls at the door every morning, and that ain’t how God intended things. In elementary school, if the class bully had to get a permission slip signed by their teacher and a parent every time they wanted to teach some nerd what a textbook tastes like, do you think schoolyard justice would last very long? No, it would get caught up in bureaucracy, and soon the school bully would be negotiating how many punches he could throw at each dweeb, and then each parent would have to approve it, and each teacher would have to approve each parent’s approval, and really, where is the fun in that?
President Bush urging me to stop talking
I also have to tell you that I get Iraq, sir. I get why you went into Iraq. War is fun, believe you me. I fight my own little civil war on the streets of Honolulu every single day. When that police sketch of a huffer comes rolling out my fax machine in the morning, I practically have to hide my woody from the rest of the guys. But if a sketch of an entire country came out of my fax machine and I was told that I had the resources to raise hell on a massive scale, I do believe my pants would pop. And do you think I’d be worrying about paperwork or the approval of the “law” in bringing a country to justice? Uh-uh. I don’t worry about paperwork. And I don’t worry about the law. I don’t even worry about state borders when it comes to getting my man, hence my current troubles. My lawyers worry about these things so I don’t have to, and granted it’s all been catching up with me lately, but for a long time there I got away with a lot. And how did I get away with a lot? By always catching the big fish.
I think your confidence has been shot by Iraq, because you went after the biggest fish of all, and what I mean by biggest fish is the potential for bringing democracy to the Mid West or Mid East or wherever Iraq is. Instead, every bloody anti-patriotic, anti-American, anti-freedom jackass in this town kept cutting your fishing line. Cut, cut, cut. Peck, peck, peck. Sir, no offense, but those bags under your eyes are turning into Louis Vuitton suitcases nearly as big as the set under my own eyes, because of all the stress you are under. And knowing who Louis Vuitton is don't make me queer, sir. I only know his name because ol' Beth wouldn't shut up about me buying her one of his hand purses for six months until I finally broke down and got her one.
I was going to save this for the end of the speech, but I can’t wait. What I suggest is that after this dinner, starting tonight, we build your confidence back up by starting out small and from scratch. Forget the past six years. You and I are going to grab a big case of beer, hop in my SUV, get you into some dangly Native-American earrings, get fucked up, and then we are going to haul in some criminals who have jumped bail...all with Laura’s permission of course. As a surprise, I already tracked down information about the most Iraqi-looking felons roaming the D.C. area on jumped bail, so you can let some of your pent up aggression out by catching them. Sir, have you ever seen Jaws? Tonight, you and I are Quint, and this stack of outstanding bonds are Great Whites. Actually, that’s a really bad analogy, because I don’t think there’s a single white person in this pile. Anyways, the Democrats are Brody and the liberal media is ol’ hippie Hooper with his beard and his touque and his books, and we’re Quint: all old school.
The President finally loosens up and we share a chortle
I also brought my electric guitar tonight, and I was told that if I had time I could sing a song for you, but it looks like we’re running short. I was going to sing “Tuesday’s Gone,” by Lynyrd Skynyrd, because 9/11 happened on a Tuesday, and you just seem like you’d appreciate Skynyrd. Tell you what, I’ll make you a mix tape. It looks like I’m getting the hook, so just a few other quick things. Firstly, stop going after Osama Bin Laden. You aint’ going to catch him. I know these sorts of people. This is my business. He’s slippery as a snake, and he’ll be living in some terrorist nursing home in the hills of Tunisia and you still won’t know where the hell he is. Give it up. Second, I thought I was getting an honorary PhD tonight, I don’t know why, but for some reason I thought that was part of the deal. Anyways, I had a joke ready about getting a “dog-torate” that I didn’t get to use. Finally, Leland suggested that I use the word “seminal” to describe the greatness and the vision of your presidency. When I looked up the word “seminal,” however, it said the meaning of it is, “pertaining to, containing, or consisting of semen.” I love Leland and he’s a great hunter, but sometimes I wonder where his head’s at.
The Secret Service are 'go' on "Operation Beat Dog's Ass From the Stage Immediately"
To conclude, Mr. Bush, you’ve got a heart of gold, and like me, you understand that America is better than any country on the planet at blending violence, law, and religion into a seamless, singular road to justice and peace on Earth. It’s a thin blue line separating the crazies from the sane in our world, but everyone and I mean everyone has to put that tarry ugliness burning deep down in their souls somewhere. I just thank God everyday I get both paid and admired for letting my darkness out on a daily basis by catching those who didn’t think of channeling their unhealthy urges into bounty hunting first. You sir, have done a great job channeling your violence and your love of God into bounty hunting on a worldwide basis. God speed sir, and good evening.
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