Jeb: It’s just not fair, Ma. I’m the smart one. You and Pa always said I was the smart one. I really, really, really want to be president.
Barbara: I know, son, and in an ideal world, you would be. But as someone once said, life isn’t fair.
Jeb: But a Democrat said that! I thought we Republicans believed that life was fair. Only whining n’er-do-wells think life can be unfair. I grew up on it.
Dubya: Doesn’t matter about life being fair or how smart you are. It’s not all about brains, bro. The voters have to want to have a beer with you. That’s the secret. Nobody wants to have a beer with you – na, na, na, na, boo, boo.
Jeb: Ma! Make him stop! They do too want to have an alcoholic beverage with me.
Barbara: Cut that out, Georgie, or I’ll box your ears.
George H.W.: Nobody boxes ears anymore, Barb. In today’s child-rearing they now use a punitive system called “time out.”
Barbara: What do you know, Mister Never Seen a Barcode Scanner. Hush up, Old Man. Jebbie, it’s true nobody wants to have a beer with you. Georgie’s right; even a stopped clock’s right twice a day. But you could take a page from your father’s political playbook. Maybe jump out of an airplane in a parachute. That’s always appealing.
Jeb: Aw, Ma. Do I have to? I don’t wanna.
Dubya: He’s a fraidy-cat! Scared to jump out of an airplane. He’ll never win.
Barbara: Shut up, Georgie. I didn’t see you going to your National Guard meetings.
George H.W.: Not to mention, Georgie, you did everything those Nixon retreads told you to do, which did not display a whole lot of character or courage. If Cheney said “Jump!” you asked, “How high?” Hmmmmm?
Dubya: Well, let’s not forget who won the presidency twice in this family.
Barbara: That would be nobody. Do the words “Supreme Court” ring a bell?
Dubya: I don’t care, Ma. I was The Decider. Wasn’t I The Decider?
Jeb: Ma, you’ve got to help me. You helped the others.
Barbara: But I’m old as dirt now, son. Plus, I said some things I shouldn’t have after Katrina and those displaced, whining, hurricane victims have long memories.
Dubya: Helluva job, Ma.
Barbara: Shut up, Georgie. I’m trying to talk to your brother, whose numbers have tanked. It’s not his fault that despicable orange-haired Trump character came along and took over what should have been a cakewalk.
Jeb: I thought it was supposed to be all about name recognition.
George H.W.: I believe Trump also has name recognition because of a new invention called “reality television.”
Barbara: Oh, go jump out of an airplane, George. I’m trying to talk to the Smart One.
Rheta Grimsley Johnson’s most recent book is “Hank Hung the Moon ... And Warmed Our Cold, Cold Hearts.” Comments are welcomed at email@example.com.