“Can we start bombing them now?” Rumsfeld asked impatiently.
“No, we still have to wait just a little bit more,” Condoleezza Rice answered.
“If it weren’t for that sissy little Texan,” Rumsfeld declared angrily, “I could of demolished Iraq long ago, along with North Korea and most of Europe.”
“The press,” Rice reminded him, pointing to the reporters standing before them and cowering in fear.
“Ask your questions quickly,” Rumsfeld commanded them, “As soon as this war starts, I’m lobbying to have you all killed as a precautionary matter.”
“What is your reaction to France saying they may help the U.S. if there is a chemical attack?”
“That’s simply not enough to keep me from personally murdering all Frenchmen. They have shown no faith to the U.S., and the will pay with their blood.”
“Are you really going to kill them all?” asked a reporter in disbelief.
“Yes, total frog-a-cide.” He then stared the reporter in the eye. “Do you doubt that I can?”
“No, sir, no,” the reporter answered, trying to back away.
“They’ll probably surrender on sight of seeing an angry American,” Rumsfeld explained, “I’ll then strangle them with their White Flags.”
“When will this occur?”
“Sometime after we demolish Iraq. I plan to put Saddam’s head on a pole and then use it as a cudgel against Chirac.”
“On account of your hatred of the French, are you in support of the renaming of french fries and french toast to ‘freedom fries’ and ‘freedom toast’?”
Rumsfeld shrugged his shoulders. “I only eat meat.” He then turned to Rice. “His question wasted my time. Teach him through pain.”
Rice operated a remote control and the reporter fell to the ground twitching. “I forgot to mention to you all,” Rice said, “I had pain inducers surgically implanted in all of you.”
“When did you do that?” asked a worried reporter.
Rice smiled. “That’s classified.”
“But that’s against the law!” another reporter protested.
“I AM ABOVE THE LAW!” Rice screamed, shocking who dared question her.
“Anymore questions?” Rumsfeld asked, “Or do all fully understand that Iraq and France will soon be destroyed?”
“What about the Iraqi children?” screeched Helen Thomas, who had somehow wandered into Rumsfeld’s press conference.
“The Iraqi children will die and so will you!” Rumsfeld yelled in full rage as he whipped out his luger and started firing at her. Thomas ran out of the pressroom, cackling all the way.
“She’s quicker than she looks,” Rumsfeld said mournfully as he reholstered his gun.
“You’ll get her one day,” Rice assured him, patting him on the shoulder.
“We’re really scared now,” said one reporter, “Can we go now?”
“Yes, flee in terror,” Rumsfeld told them, and they quickly complied.
A French diplomat was scheduled to respond to Rumsfeld’s remarks, but was found murdered, seemingly yet another victim of the “Rumsfeld Strangler.” D.C. police aren’t sure, though, since the note left at the scene was written in some sort of crazy monkey language, reading, “Je suis Donald Rumsfeld. J’ai étranglé cet homme.” Authorities say that if you have any information that could lead to the whereabouts of the Rumsfeld Strangler, keep it to yourself so he doesn’t strangle you.

The moment of truth has arrived at the U.N., as an informal Security Council meeting will finally decided the U.N.’s position on Iraq. If the U.N. votes for the military action, it will give further support to the U.S. war with Iraq. If the U.N. votes against attacking Iraq, it will lose its legitimacy and the U.N. building will be immediately bulldozed to the ground.
“Actions will soon be taken,” President Bush announced to the press, “This is our enemy’s final chance. After today, they can talk to the cruise missiles, and the cruise missiles are not good conversationalists. They are prone to constant interruptions, often brash in their language, and are poor listeners. Plus, they incinerate you.”
“Are you implying that there is a chance for Iraq to avoid war if they immediately disarm now?” asked a reporter.
“Hell, no – I promised the American people stolen Iraqi oil and that’s what they’re going to get. What I was talking about was France. France better start shaping up or America will rain its mighty wrath upon them.”
“You’re really angry enough about France’s behavior to attack them?”
“Yes we are. We renamed the french fries and french toast in the cafeteria to “freedom toast” and “freedom fries” since anything with “french” as part of the name will cause someone to vomit. We’ve also now made it part of all sporting events that, after our national anthem is played, a French flag is burned. Then a French tourist is publicly beaten.”
President Jaques Chirac appeared unintimidated. “Silly Americans, you cannot harm the great and mighty France,” he announced to the press, “We will veto your war and then America will crumble since it no longer has the support of the true powerhouse in this world: the U.N. Then Saddam and I will find Dick Cheney’s undisclosed location and defeat America from the inside. When America is gone, Saddam and I shall rule together, plunging the world into tyranny and rudeness.” Chirac then laughed evilly and effeminately until a squirrel ran by. Then he ducked behind his podium and started crying.

“War could be any day now.” Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld exclaimed, “I’ve told my troops to start killing a few Iraqis each day to warm up.”
“Shouldn’t you be solemn and reserved about the horrible prospective of war?” asked a reporter.
When the pistol-whipping was over, another reporter asked a question. “You seem to say you’re willing to go to war without the help of the British. Is this true?”
“Iraqis continue to breathe air each day, and this is an insult to us all. I can’t be expected to wait for anyone before I begin to end this atrocity. The way we kill them will probably be too bloody for those crumpet eaters to stand, anyway.”
“Are you concerned about the U.N. Security Council vetoing the new resolution?”
“Let me be clear: the U.N. is dead to me, and, if I have my way, it will soon be dead to everyone. That said, anyone who vetoes something the U.S. supports vetoes their own life. The children of tomorrow will sing many sad songs about those who oppose us today.”
“Did you see that 60 Minutes segment with President Clinton and Senator Dole on Sunday?”
“No, but I shot the first reporter who asked me about it,” Rumsfeld said as he drew his luger and shot the reporter. “For the last time, keep your questions about war!”
“Aren’t you afraid that our new belligerent attitude might have a bad affect on kids these days?”
“Poppycock. Kids these days need to be tougher. I keep hearing about how kids can’t even bring a knife into school anymore. Back in my day, we had a rifle club at our elementary school, well stocked with ammo. Good thing too, because it was the only way we survived that onslaught on ten thousand Zulu warriors who attacked us one year. We kept firing on them, and they kept coming as if there was no end to them. Eventually, we ran out of ammo and had to resort to pegging the Zulus with dodge balls. Lost my best friend that day when he chucked one and a Zulu caught it. It was a horrible day, but the teacher sill didn’t delay the math test I hadn’t studied for.”
“Anyway, I think it’s time for my presentation now,” National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice said, stepping forward. “I guess you have all now heard of our 21,000 pound MOAB.” A picture appeared on screen of one of the bombs. “This is one that is about to dropped on a real target in a new attempt to intimidate the Iraqis.”
“Where is it being dropped?”
“That’s classified.”
“Why’s it say ‘Veto this, you frogs.’ on the front of it?”
“That’s also classified.” A dummy was brought out that looked like Saddam Hussein. “Here is our new assassination device,” Rice explained, placing a spider like robot on the ground. “It zooms in on the target’s voice pattern.”
Inside the dummy, a tape player was started. “I am Saddam. I like hiding weapons of mass destruction. The French are my friends.” With a loud screech, the robot jumped on to the face of the dummy and exploded.
“I was the one who decided to make it screech,” Rice said proudly. “So you can get a better look at these, we have now filled the press room floor with them.” The reporters looked down, and indeed the floor was swarming with little spider robots.
“Is there any chance they could attack the wrong person?” asked a very frightened reporter.
Rice thought about that for a moment. “That’s a good question. I’ll look into it.”
Another reporter started to speak, but a loud screech followed by an explosion was heard.
“Uh oh,” Rice uttered, “Everyone better just keep real quiet right now.”
Rumsfeld watched all the reporters standing completely still and silent. “This is the best press conference ever. Well, I’m going to go grab a scotch and see if my war’s started yet. Condi, you try and clean this up without killing too many reporters.”
“Cleaning is the janitor’s job. Why don’t I just lock the doors and call it a test case?”
“Have fun!” Rumsfeld said to the reporters as he and Rice went through the back exit of the room, “If you have any more questions about whether this war is unjust, ask them to the spiders.”

In an effort to prove whether Iraq is actually disarming, President Bush and President Chirac went to Iraq to personally watch Saddam as he destroyed his weapons of mass destruction.
“You aren’t going to get anything past me, Saddam,” Bush warned, “I know you’re not disarming.”
“Why are you Americans so mean?” Saddam asked, sounding quite hurt. “Here I am, clearly destroying my anthrax.” He then threw another bag labeled “Anthrax” into the furnace.
“Did I hear that bag meow?” Bush asked. He then opened one of the bags. “These bags aren’t full of anthrax! They’re full of cute little kittens!”
“Whaaaat!” Saddam exclaimed, slapping his hands to his face ala Macaulay Culkin. “I thought those bags were full of anthrax!”
“I knew Saddam would do everything he could to undermine this disarmament! He’s so evil he’s burning kittens alive!”
“Nonsense, you silly American; inspections are working!” Chirac declared. “Now that Saddam realized he is burning the wrong bags, he can get to destroying the real anthrax.”
“Don’t rush me,” Saddam said, measuring some chemicals, “I’m not done making it yet.”
“He’s making biological weapons as we speak!” Bush yelled, “I told you this disarmament is bull.”
“You stupid warmongering American; I spit on your mother,” Chirac said as he put a flask on a Bunsen burner, “Why won’t you let the inspections process take its course?”
“You’re helping him make it!” Bush said, getting steaming mad. “I’ll murder you both!”
Bush began to reach for the Colt .45 at his hip, but Karl Rove whispered, “Diplomacy! Diplomacy!” into his ear and he settled down.
Saddam walked over to a nearby detonator. “Now I’m going to destroy my missiles just like I promised.”
Chirac patted Saddam on the head. “What a good evil dictator. Not so crude like a certain current American President I won’t mention.” He then turned up his nose at Bush.
Saddam pressed the plunger, and an explosion was seen nearby.
“Why are children running away from that explosion?” Bush asked as he squinted to get a better look. “Those aren’t missiles! You’re blowing up the playground equipment at the orphanage! You’re a monster!”
“Whaaaat! The orphanage!” Saddam yelled, looking really really surprised. “Who wired these explosives? This is the most ridiculous thing ever!”
“Inspections are working!” Chirac cheered, doing a little French dance. “I haven’t yet come up with an explanation of why this means inspections are working, but just give me a minute more.”
“You better destroy the real missiles right now!” Bush demanded.
“Alright,” Saddam answered, “but then I think the U.N. should disarm America of it’s weapons of mass destruction, such as its nuclear missiles, it’s daisy cutters, and its Donald Rumsfeld.”
Chirac shuddered. “Don’t mention that name in front of me; such a rash and angry person. So how do you plan on destroying the missiles, Saddam?”
“I think I’ll launch them at Israel.”
“There is much support for that at the U.N.,” Chirac stated. “Hey, I’m starting a new U.N. commission on hating America. You should head it after this silly disarmament thing is done with and the Americans are laughed at like the fools they are.”
“Diplomacy! Diplomacy!” Karl Rove shouted at Bush, but it was too late.

“Bush’s beating of Chirac and Saddam with a sack full of kittens has created an international incident; will any apologies be issued?” a reporter asked.
“The President has already sent a written apology to the kittens,” White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer stated.
“Kittens can’t read.”
Fleischer rolled his eyes. “The President is not a zoologist. He can’t be expected to keep track of which animals can and cannot read.”
“So does the president have anything else to say?”
“Nothing more than his usual weekly proclamation of his complete and utter contempt for the press. Oh, and he bet me five dollars I couldn’t hit one of you in the eye with my pen.” Fleischer then flicked his pen at the reporters.
“Ahh! My eye!”
“Bullseye!”