“Now that the war has lasted more than a week, will you admit that it’s hopeless and apologize to the American people?”
The sound of a luger firing was the immediate response. “I can’t stand any more of these questions!” Rumsfeld shouted, frantically checking his pockets. “Where’s that extra clip!”
“Now that resistance is stronger than we reporters expected, is America starting to draw up plans to surrender to Iraq?”
“Rarrr!” Rumsfeld shouted as he tossed his gun at the reporter’s head, knocking him unconscious. “I can’t believe we involved you idiots in something as serious as a war. If they did it my way, we would never have told the press about the war. Would have just framed another celebrity for murder to distract you all while we invaded Iraq in secret.”
“You wouldn’t be able to keep something like that from the press!” declared a reporter proudly, “We’re too smart and investigative for that!”
“Ha! Then how come none of the embedded reporters have figured out they’re just be driven around in circles in a desert in Nevada? As even one of them noticed that the ‘Iraqis’ they see surrendering are just Mexicans we hired?” Rumsfeld then slapped his head. “Damn, didn’t mean to say that; I need more sleep.” He turned to Condoleezza Rice. “Dr. Rice, give me that new memory eraser you were working on.”
“It’s not done yet. You’ll have to use the old one.” She handed him a baseball bat.
Rumsfeld held it over his head, ready to strike. “Now everyone stand still or this won’t work right.”
“We didn’t hear anything! We didn’t hear anything!” pleaded the reporters.
“Fine,” Rumsfeld said, dropping the bat and taking some pills out of jacket pocket, “Dr. Rice, you take over. I’m going take some of my rage medication.”
Rice then took the floor. “I want to assure you that, despite your own idiotic opinions, this war is going to plan. So, anymore questions?”
“Why are two press seats used up by a chimpanzee and a robot?”
“We’re doing some preliminary testing of whether we can replace reporters with either monkeys or robots,” Rice explained. “Please just ignore them.”
“I don’t like the robot idea,” Rumsfeld commented, “It’s bulletproof.”
The chimpanzee then raised his hand. “Bobo, what’s your question?” Rice asked.
Bobo then bit the reporter next to him.
“Bobo, that’s not a question! Bad monkey!” Rice scolded as Rumsfeld laughed.
The robot then lifted one of its metal claws into the air. “Go ahead and ask your question, Killbot 4000,” Rice urged.
“When will the weak humans be destroyed?” it asked in a synthesized voice.
“I keep telling you reporters that we’re not putting a time table on this war!” Rice answered angrily.
“I definitely like the monkey better,” Rumsfeld commented.
“He’s still attacking me!” yelled a reporter, fleeing from Bobo who was now trying to beat the man with a folding chair.
“Monkey funny!” Rumsfeld laughed.
“The pills must have kicked in,” Rice remarked.
“All humans must die!” the robot interjected.
“Hey!” protested another reporter, “It’s no longer your turn to ask ques…” He was cut short as the robot’s claw clamped around his neck.
“Killbot destroy puny humans!” the robot declared as it lifted the reporter into the air.
“On second thought, I do like that robot’s moxy,” Rumsfeld commented. “Hey, Condi, let’s go hit some bars while planning more military operations.”
“Alright,” Rice said, watching the chaos on the press floor, “but we better give the cleaning staff a heads up first.”

President Bush decided to personally give a press conference to update everyone on the state of war. “Despite all the negative reports, I want everyone to know that Operation Wacky Iraqi Attacky is doing tremendously,” he announced. National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice then whispered in his year. “What!” Bush responded, “That liar Colin Powell told me he was going with my name idea!” Bush looked back to the reporters. “So does anyone have questions about the boringly titled Operation Iraqi Freedom?”
“If Iraq uses WMD’s against U.S. troops, will you consider striking back with nuclear weapons?”
“No, absolutely not. Karl Rove carefully explained to me that the diplomatic costs are too high.” He looked around. “Where is he?”
“We have some new technology related to that,” Rice told the press, “This is a new weapon to help us defeat our enemies but isn’t as mean and scary as a nuclear weapon. It’s a 10 megaton ‘Happy Bomb’.” Rice then pulled back a sheet revealing a large bomb with a smiley face displayed prominently on the front. “Look it’s smiling!” Rice exclaimed, “Isn’t it happy?”
“Wow! It is smiling!” Bush said excitedly, “Let’s use it now!”
“Isn’t it that actually a nuclear bomb with just a smile painted on it?” asked one reporter skeptically.
“Yeah, that’s a good question,” Bush said to Rice, getting suspicious, “Did you just paint a smile on a nuclear bomb?”
“No, of course not,” Rice replied innocently. “There are also stencils of bunnies on the side.”
“Hey, there are bunnies on the side!” Bush said happily, “Cute ones! We should use this bomb now!”
“So will this bomb have horrible radiation effect to wherever it is dropped?” asked another reporter.
“Not horrible radiation effects,” Rice answered, smiling, “but lovely happiness effects… over a 150 mile radius.”
“Wow! How happy will it make places?” Bush asked.
“Too happy for most people to stand – or plants or animals – and the happiness will last for decades.”
“Jeepers! That sure sounds like a lot of happiness!” Bush said, getting psyched, “We should use this bomb now!”
“So will this ‘happiness’ cause gruesome mutative effects?” inquired an incredulous reporter.
“No, it’s natural for this much happiness to… uh… change a creature into something– even happier…”
“Like in Pokemon?” Bush interrupted.
“Uh… yeah… like in– Pokemon,” Rice answered, trying to keep a straight face.
“Cool! I want a Charizard. We should use this bomb now!”
“Aren’t you afraid of the resultant protests?” asked a reporter.
“Wait,” Bush said, turning to Rice, “There aren’t going to be more smelly, hippy protesters bothering me about this, will there?”
“No,” Rice assured him, “because the first thing the Happy Bomb does it make a giant mushroom, and hippies love mushrooms.”
“Wow! A giant mushroom! Let’s use this bomb now!”
“Great,” Rice said, producing a map of Iraq, “I’ve marked with frowny faces a number of strategic locations that just aren’t very happy.”
“George!” called Laura Bush, walking into the press conference, “What are you doing?”
“Important strategic stuff.”
“I thought I told you to stay away from Condoleezza,” Laura chided him, “She’s always trying to trick you into using nuclear weapons when Karl Rove isn’t around.”
“But she’s changed,” Bush answered, “She now wants to use a Happy Bomb instead.”
Laura smacked Bush upside the head. “Don’t be so gullible.”
“Come on, dear, not in front of the press,” Bush pleaded.
“Almost got away with it,” Rice said angrily as she walked off.
“That Condoleezza and that Rumsfeld are bad influences on you,” Laura told him, “They just keep trying to get you into more wars. You should instead consult with that nice Colin Powell.”
“But everyone in my administration hates Colin Powell,” Bush protested, “If they see me hanging out with him, they’ll think I’m not cool.”
“You can’t spend all your time worrying what people think about you or you’ll end up like that Billy Clinton, who I definitely don’t want to see you talking to.” She started pulling him out of the press conference. “Now come on. You promised me you would fix the closet door today.”
Bush looked to see the press was chuckling at him. “Ari!” Bush yelled, “Make sure no one reports anything about this.”
“On it!” White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer said as he took the podium and faced the reporters. “Who here likes freedom of the press?” he asked, and then surveyed the group in front of him. “Wow, that’s everyone. Now, here’s a different question: who likes not getting hit in the head with a lead pipe? It’s okay to think about it… Looks like it’s everyone again.” Fleischer fished for something hidden behind the podium. “Now let’s say you could only choose one…”

Last Thursday, demonstrators vanadlised Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld’s New Mexico home to protest the war. Recently, protestors returned to Rumsfeld’s home again, this time decorating the trees around his home with their own entrails.
“Was this new vandalism not actually a form of protest, but in fact the result of you viciously murdering the protesters then dismembering their corpses as a warning to others?” asked a reporter at Rumsfeld’s press conference.
“My lawyers told me not to answer questions about the matter,” he answered gruffly.
“Then might we at least ask who’s blood it is that you’re currently caked in?”
“Again my lawyers told me not to answer questions about that matter.”
“Aren’t your lawyers in fact dead?”
“They kept telling me what to do.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “I hate lawyers! So do any of you have questions about Operation Iraqi Murder Death Kill?”
“Don’t you mean “Operation Iraqi Freedom’?” corrected one reporter.
“I forgot what name we settled on, but you know what I mean.”
“So are you satisfied with the current progress of the war?”
“Yes, we are making great progress. Our Shock and Aww and Shock campaign has been going especially well. That’s where we first hit the Iraqis with a shock, .i.e., an initial bombing campaign. While they’re dazed and confused, we then flood the city with cute little puppies to make them go ‘Aww.’ Then while distracted by the puppies, we hit them with more shock, i.e., more bloody mayhem. I’m sure it won’t be too long until Baghdad is ours and Saddam is dead.”
“You don’t plan on capturing Saddam?”
“No, he will die.”
“What if he surrenders?”
“Then he will die with his hands up. Next question.”
“Now that some Americans have been killed and captured, will you admit the futility of this war and that its costs are too high?”
Rumsfeld thought about that for a moment. “I think the best way to answer that questions would be to rip this podium out of the ground and then smash it over your head,” Rumsfeld said, ripping the podium out of the ground and then smashing it over the reporter’s head. “Any other questions?”
“How do you respond to reports that Marines are wantonly killing camels when lacking Iraqis to kill?”
“It’s the U.S. Marines’ supreme right in this world to kill whatever the hell they want, and they shall not be questioned on that matter.”
“Don’t you think these actions in Iraq might lead to a broader war?”
“I hope so, for after Iraq I have plans to continue into other countries in the Middle East, wiping out even more terrorists. Then we will start another campaign in Asia starting in North Korea wiping out all other enemies to America. Next we will start a front in Europe doing the same. Eventually, we will hunt down and kill everyone who is trying to harm America, everyone who is thinking of harming America, anyone who supports the harming of America, and anyone who is not vehemently opposed to harming America. In summary, anyone who wishes to terrorize America will die. Anyone who isn’t against terrorism in America will die. Anyone who sees American on TV killed or captured and cheers will die. Anyone who hates America will die. Anyone who spells America with a ‘k’ will die. Anyone who doesn’t cheer every time they hear the name of America will die. And, when all our enemies are finally dead, we will beckon in this newfound era of peace by sitting in a circle and singing Kumbaya.”
“Are you serious about all that?”
“Everything except for the Kumbya part.”