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by Peter Thompson A Chronicle of Upper-Crust Bad Apples  The dirty-debutante daughters of President George W. Bush are trying to live up to their scandalous family name, but will anyone take them—or their fellow hard-partying cousins—seriously?Early in 2001, with the Bush clan still intoxicated from the U.S. Supreme Court’s installation of George W. as President, the family’s booze-addled swagger had clearly been passed to a younger generation. Over a two-month period that spring, one of his twin daughters—good-time girl Jenna—was reported to be a spliff freak by the tabloids, got popped by the cops in Austin, Texas, for boozing as a minor and then was busted again for presenting another person’s ID when carded by a bartender. “Jenna Gone Wild” made headlines just as the Bushes were coming into their own as a seriously moneyed political dynasty—American royals, like the Kennedys, only with slightly smaller heads. As with many of our nation’s “most exclusive” families, the allegations of improprieties by the Bush brood are drawn from a seemingly inexhaustible trove of legal transgressions, shady business dealings, gross self-seeking and a pathological, almost-ferocious arrogance. From family patriarch Prescott Bush’s World War II business interactions with the Nazis to his oily grandson Neil Bush, the horseshit coming from the family compound in Kennebunkport quickly reaches critical mass and becomes a rich genetic fertilizer. The fertilizer works. In addition to the usual Bush stems and twigs (such as Florida Governor Jeb Bush’s sons, George P. “The Cross-Eyed Charmer” Bush and Jeb Jr.), actual flowers begin to bloom on the family tree. Jeb begets a daughter named Noelle. Fraternal twins Jenna and Barbara are born to Laura and George W. Bush, and shady, dyslexic Neil Bush—who cost American taxpayers around a billion dollars with his Silverado S&L scam—somehow produces future Tommy Hilfiger model Lauren, unofficial owner of the title “The Most Beautiful Bush in the World.” (Leave it to Neil Bush to swear, in a messy divorce deposition, that he didn’t know that the Asian hoochies who appeared nightly at his door during Far East business trips to have sex with him were, in fact, prostitutes.) Of all the granddaughters of skydiving President George Herbert Walker Bush and his silver-haired, wrinkled-necked wife Barbara, the four oldest girls most eagerly follow the signs toward Easy Street as they make their official debuts into the lofty lairs of leisure promised by their last name. The Bush dynasty and its reputation lie squarely in the palms of almost-pudgy blonde Jenna; her fraternal twin, blue-eyed, elfin-faced brunette Barbara; nappy-headed, dark-hearted Noelle; and picture-perfect Lauren, former intern and extra on the fatuously celebrated TV show Friends—collectively, the Axis of Estrogen.  Whether the cruel cosmic joke of a cold, conspiring universe, or merely a huge fucking coincidence, The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Parenting a Teenager was being pushed to press right around the time George W.’s twin daughters, and prospective socialites, were overrunning the delta of young adulthood.Taking for granted that children are the most honest reflection of their parents available, things start to come into focus—in a fun-house-mirror sort of way. As a teenager trying to rise into the dizzying stratum of Lone Star State high society herself, Dubya’s future wife skipped the pomp and circumstance of traditional formality, fancy gowns, balloons and cotillions. Instead, still known as Laura Welch, she made her mark speeding through a stop sign on Farm Road 868 out of Midland, Texas. Flying through the intersection in Daddy’s car, she T-boned a popular classmate named Mike Douglas, his neck snapping like a chilled carrot on impact. Ironically, this stunt gave Laura Bush-to-be more confirmed kills (one) than Dubya had in his F-102 while flying dozens of sorties over the dangerous skies of Texas for the Air National Guard during the Vietnam War. Because Laura was such a pretty, well-poised debutante, the whole mess was brushed under the heirloom rug, and no charges were filed. It was quite a ghastly experience and reportedly “quite crushing” for the eventual queen bee at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. But what an entrance! Of course, what’s good for Her Highness is good for the princesses. Most of the media treats the Bush girls like sacred cows (no offense, Jenna), even respecting First Lady Laura’s wishes that the twins not be photographed. “They would be totally embarrassed,” she reports. So for hubby’s term in office, most of the press jig around the precious saplings like Michael “Lord of the Dance” Flatley tiptoeing in a pediatric burn ward. Deeply impressed by the impact of their mom’s unforgettable splash, the twins begin to plot their own memorable debuts down the A-list celebrity fun-chute. On March 20, 2001, Jenna gets a little help from the Enquirer when it reports that the toothily wholesome, robustly healthy blonde might be a pothead. Noelia Rodriguez, Laura Bush’s press secretary, neither confirms nor denies the allegation: “Our position on the daughters is that they’re private citizens.” Hardly the social sensation she had hoped for, Jenna soon tries again. On April 27, 2001, she is busted for underage drinking at a Sixth Street bar in Austin (normally a class-B misdemeanor warranting a trip to jail). Unfortunately for her, she is quickly whisked away by her taxpayer-funded baby-sitters in a black SUV. Can’t a girl catch a break here? Four weeks later Jenna is blithely busted again at a Tex-Mex eatery called Chuy’s—this time for using someone else’s driver license to obtain tequila shots and margaritas. Not only is poor Jenna again denied the opportunity to become an upwardly mobile Bush debutante, but her blue-eyed, better-looking twin Barbara is also arrested and escorted into the safety of the Secret Service detail. Getting most of the press, Barbara upstages Sis! But if a picture is worth a thousand words, then Jenna did manage to score a tabloid epic with a now-infamous photograph of her literally falling to the floor with an equally toasted female friend. Apparently snapped at a college rager, Jenna’s blotto face is beaming as she holds fast to a cigarette as she topples over her pal in some great, impromptu girl/girl action. American Media, Inc. bought the sensational photo strictly for one-time publication, but when HUSTLER expressed interest in reprinting it, a surreal story became even more bizarre. An American Media employee said the photo had proved even too hot for the tabloid publisher and that it would be too “dicey” assisting this magazine in obtaining the image. The media company even refused to reveal the name of the photographer who’d provided the shot of Jenna. Sober, the twins seem to always have their arms folded in pictures, as if the fact that someone is gazing at them makes them chilly. “It’s not fair!” they cry. “Daddy’s day job is cramping our style!” The girls’ feigned misery is a far cry from that of some other kid their age who’s just watched a softball-sized piece of screaming shrapnel tear through his abdomen while he’s out in a distant desert looking for weapons of mass destruction. After all, the Bush twins did everything right: They went to the right private schools. They wear expensive, hip clothes and stiletto-heeled, knee-high Jimmy Choo boots. They treat their Secret Service details, those highly trained men and women who literally would take a bullet for them, like three-day-old dogshit. They have a Hollywood posse at the ready. They have trust funds and freedom from any of the problems normal people face a thousand times every day. All that is actually required of them is that they poop, when necessary. Some Presidential staffer is likely there to wipe them. Yet these two drink-crazed divas still manage to see themselves as victims of their situation. Nothing they can do will ever measure up to the family name. No matter how showy the charities, how mediocre their careers, they will interminably be lock-stepped in a kind of lower living purgatory usually reserved for ex-child stars on some kind of pension. Barbara, a recent Yale graduate, plans to intern in a pediatric AIDS program at Houston’s Baylor College of Medicine. Once the former humanities major gets another sheepskin, she may even end up touring Third World countries, grinning her way through photo-ops amid shriveled, dirt-eating natives whose most nutritious meal in the past month was the HIV virus itself. Still, the privileged brats can’t turn those little sparks of publicity into full-blown Bush wildfires. The twins allegedly smoke dope at Ashton Kutcher’s apartment, party with P. Diddy and are adored by billionaire playboy/serial-killer hunks like Iraq’s now-deceased Uday (son of Saddam) Hussein; yet their misdemeanors are still seen as “hijinks,” their felonies “goof-ups.” They get no respect! Since turning 21, the two bushy-tailed social bunnies have blossomed into night owls, having been spotted at nearly every watering hole from Seattle to Maine, reportedly belly-dancing at a posh Manhattan hangout, getting their swerve on with smarmy South American heirs in Florida, and playing pool with hairy-knuckled, trucker-hat-wearing faux yokels in Aspen. Table-dances at a strip club followed by twilight polo matches in the Hamptons? Sure. But it’s not going to give a girl the street cred she needs in this family. Not so for the twins’ social-climbing, apparently Geri-curled cousin Noelle. It is around 1:15 a.m. on January 29, 2002. Just months after successfully steering through the rigorous curriculum of Tallahassee Community College, Noelle Bush—the only daughter of Governor Jeb Bush and his Mexican-born wife Columba—drives up to a Walgreen’s looking to score some Xanax. The only problem? The prescription fails to say just how much Xanax. The phone number on the prescription turns out to be for a second phone line at her dwelling. Also, the prescribing doctor hasn’t practiced in the area for years. The President’s niece is arrested for prescription fraud. “A very serious problem” for the Jeb Bushes, who immediately “ask the public and the media to respect our family’s privacy during this difficult time.” Noelle’s mug shot reveals a cracky void in her eyes, as if she’s been awake for two weeks straight, living in some half-carpeted van, huffing diesel-powered drug-farts through a hose. Prescription fraud is a serious crime, especially for someone who’s had prior brushes with the law. According to the Associated Press, a female named Noelle Bush (with the exact birthday as Jeb’s daughter) was busted for shoplifting at an Arizona mall. Some coincidence! Luckily it wasn’t her. At any rate, this obviously wasn’t the same mall where her brother Jebby was busted by cops for sexual misconduct (screwing a floozy “with his socks on” in a steamed-up Jeep Cherokee) and then released without consequence. Sent to the Center for Drug-Free Living instead of prison, Noelle soon discovers that being drug-free ain’t exactly living. On September 9, 2002, an employee named Julia Elias discovers 0.2 grams of crack hidden in Noelle’s shoe. Interestingly, the very night before this discovery, the Orlando police had received an anonymous call about a “princess” at the rehab facility who’d been caught buying crack “at least five times,” but not punished. After a lot of legal wrangling over privacy laws, a judge blocks police from questioning the employee who’d found the crack, citing what amounts to something like “crack dealer-to-client privilege.” Finally, things are sorted out, and Noelle is sentenced to ten days in Florida’s Orange County jail for contempt, apparently more in order to save face in light of her father’s “tough-on-drugs” stance than any point of law. Having made a grand entrance into the Bush hierarchy, Noelle is soon handed back to her family on August 8, 2003. No more sitting at the kiddy table on Thanksgiving for her! When it comes to joining the haughty white-gloved freak show, Neil Bush’s 19-year-old daughter Lauren does it the old-fashioned way: with fine bone structure and as Tommy Hilfiger’s “All-American Girl.” But to become an official ranking member of Bush society, her scandal rating is going to have to be lifted a bit. Posing nude in a magazine like HUSTLER, starring in a Paris Hiltonesque porn flick or showing up at a film premiere in a diaphanous gown (à la Democratic candidate John Kerry’s daughter Alexandra) would quickly put her at the top of the list. Some insight can be gained in a parable George W. once presented to the public. “Families,” he said, “is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.” Sometimes the lowest, most trifling standards can be the hardest to achieve. Peter Thompson gave up a good job and happy life in New York City to marry a hooker and devote his existence to the craft of writing. Currently he’s working on his first book, Pig’s Big Win, and occasionally putting down his thoughts at Nirvada.BlogSpot.com, a step-by-step guide to attaining Enlightenment in Nevada, the Silver State. |