Can You Guess Who Is George W. Bush's True Biological Father ???

By B. Nicholson

From: WETHEPEOPLEUNITED_@yahoo.com

In late May or June of 1971, I was driving my car on a lark from

Farmer's Branch Texas down through Louisianna to New Orleans when I picked up a hitch-hiker on the return leg. The young man, hitch- hiking for the

first time in his life, claimed he was a "jet fighter pilot" and had graduated

from Yale University. As I was disinclined to believe that the US Air

Force would train as a fighter pilot any young man like him (a somewhat kooky

and flighty drunk with long hair), he was forced to prove his status to me

with Air Force non-picture identification. I made his status as my passenger

contingent upon his sobriety and he agreed to keep the bottle put away

for the duration. I recall he was stung at the rebuke. As we rode along in

my VW bug back to our mutual home, we conversed over the din of my motor, and he gave me his reason for maintaining his intoxication. His dad had

murdered his real father and, well, his real father was John Fitzgerald Kennedy.

Since he did not seem to resemble JFK and since he kept referring to his

"dad" instead of his "step-dad" I was also disinclined to believe him on

these matters too, but he insisted, and so I did, or perhaps I feigned

belief at least at first given the great improbability and inconsistency

of his story. This troubled young man was George W. Bush, now President of

the United States. He confessed to me that he felt that he had no future,

that his life was now over before it really began and that he was condemned

to dissolution.

I asked him if he was estranged from his parents, and he said no, what's

more his parents loved him and had full faith and confidence in him, but

he felt guilt for the blood on the hands of his parents. I believed him,

because with the passage of time, he calmed down (perhaps he had been

afraid of me?) and we found common ground in our mannerisms and speech.

Naturally, especially at the beginning of our trip, I was fearing somewhat for my

own life and sensed danger from my crazed and disturbed passenger. Now he

was without drink for several hours, so as we rode ever closer to Texas, I

agreed to divert my course southward for his convenience and unwittingly

toward my own peril. The shy disheveled young drunk could be imperious

when sober, too.

I asked him if anyone had ever believed his story, and he confessed that

he had never told it before. I told him flat out that...

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