“Nuke them!”
“We’re not nuking Iraq, Rummy,” Bush answered firmly.
“No, not Iraq – the annoying reporters. Trick them into thinking that we’re having a press conference in the middle of a desert, then we nuke them all.”
“I think that’s a great idea,” Ari Fleischer remarked, “Reporters suck. I hate them.”
“I will remind you,” Condoleezza Rice told Bush, “that we could spare some nuclear weapons. We have enough nukes to blow the world up eight times, but our computer simulations show that even in the worst case scenario we’d never need to blow up the world more than six times.”
“We can’t nuke the reporters,” Bush said, “Everyone will get mad at me.”
“How will anyone find out?” Fleischer said, “All the reporters will be dead.”
“Someone might write something about it on the internet,” Bush suggested.
“The only people who use the internet are pedophiles and crack-addicts,” Rumsfeld scoffed, “No one will care what they say.”
“Nuking seems a bit harsh,” Colin Powell said, “Can’t we just injure some reporters and maybe threaten their families?”
“You weak-willed liberal!” Rumsfeld screamed, “Why don’t you just sell us all out to the Communists. I’ll kill you!!” He sprung towards Powell, but was held in place by some chains.
“Will those chains hold him?” Powell asked, worried.
“The Secret Service assured me they would,” Bush answered and then looked to Rumsfeld. “You have to control that temper, Rummy.”
“I’ll murder you for telling me to control my temper!” Rumsfeld shouted as he tried to reach for Bush’s neck.
“There will be no murdering of the press,” Karl Rove announced, his dark eyes meeting individually all those seated at the table, “The prophesized destruction of the Democrats grows near, and we must tread lightly. We simply must manipulate the foolish press into their own demise.”
“Sounds good, Karl,” Bush answered, “Now let’s get to our main business: the war. I have Dick via satellite from his undisclosed location so he can give his opinions as well.” A monitor turned on showing Dick Cheney. “What’s up Dick?”
“Yeah, Bush, I’m not doing so well. Have you gotten any closer to finding out where I am?”
“Sorry, Dick, not really a priority with the war going on, but, as soon as we figure out where we filed that, we’ll send a helicopter to come get you.”
“I don’t see why you couldn’t have just told me where I was staying.”
“We didn’t tell you so that if you were tortured by terrorists they wouldn’t be able to find out where you are.”
“But they would already have found me to be able to torture me!” Cheney shouted.
Bush thought about that. “Well, hindsight is 20/20, Dick; what do you want me to tell you.”
“Are you sure you can’t remember where I am?”
“Honestly, I was watching an episode of The Simpsons when I was told, so I didn’t really catch much of it.” A thought then struck him. “Do you feel weightless, Dick? Like you could float through the air?”
“No,” Cheney answered with annoyance.
“Then scratch that idea.”
“I think I hear water flowing nearby,” Cheney offered hopefully, “Does that help?”
“Maybe. Anyway, we got to get back to talking about war.”
“At least tell me how my family is doing!” Cheney pleaded.
“Uh… who’s your family again, Dick?”
“The Cheneys!” he answered angrily.
“Oh… they’re cool. Now just chill out, Dick; this is no big emergency. You have a years worth of food their and almost a week’s worth of air.” Bush looked to rest of the people seated at the table. “Now let’s get back to discussing this war.”
“Our precise bomb attacks have decimated Iraq’s military with minimal civilian casualties,” Rice stated proudly.
“This war is almost too clean,” Rumsfeld said with disgust. “Our troops thirst for blood and decimation. Their morale will go down if they don’t see misery inflicted upon others.”
“Actually, I think our soldiers enjoy seeing Iraqis cheer them on,” Powell said.
“Rarrr!” Rumsfeld shouted, trying to break his chains.
“I’ll have to make your new nickname Mr. Angry,” Bush said chuckling.
“I’ll rip your guts out for giving me a nickname!” Rumsfeld yelled, again reaching for Bush’s neck.
“We have to be careful of public opinion, though,” Rove warned, “Some people are thinking we weren’t prepared for this level of resistance.”
“Then people will die!” Rumsfeld shouted, trying once again to break his chains.
“You have to respect Rummy’s enthusiasm,” Bush commented, “So are we all set on our main goal: getting that oil?”
“Actually, the purpose of the war is to rid Iraq of its weapons of mass destruction and liberate the Iraqi people,” Powell corrected him.
“You’re just falling for the protesters’ propaganda,” Bush answered, “They’re trying to convince everyone that this war is about liberating Iraqis and destroying WMD’s even though we keep telling them it’s about getting oil.”
“You got that backwards,” Powell asserted.
Bush looked confused. “We’re giving them oil?”
“Forget Iraq,” Rumsfeld said, “That just our first stop on eliminating America’s enemies. Did you get my list of other nation I think we should attack next?”
“Yeah,” Bush answered, looking at a piece of paper, “It just says ‘Non English speaking countries.'”
“I don’t trust countries that don’t speak English,” Rumsfeld remarked, “Can’t tell what they’re saying. For all we know, they’re constantly plotting against America.”
“We can’t get too mired in war,” Rove warned, “We need a significant military victory to correspond with an economic upturn as a final blow to the Democrats, causing them to whither and die as maggots feast upon them.”
“I will not have politics ruin something as good and pure as killing people and blowing stuff up!” Rumsfeld declared angrily.
“People, we have to remember what war is all about in the end,” Bush said, “It’s about people’s sacrifice. Our military is composed of many great Americans who have sacrificed their time, some of their rights, and maybe their lives all so they can kill evil foreigners. There is no more beautiful expression of the American spirit than the deaths of smelly, unshaven people who mean us harm.”
“My left arm is tingling,” Cheney said.
“I’m glad my speech touched you like that,” Bush said happily.
Just then Laura Bush walked in the room. “I have rice crispie treats and kool aid!” she announced as she began to hand them out.
“Kick ass!” Fleischer exclaimed.
“Help me, Laura!” Cheney yelled, “I’m lost and I’m having a heart attack!”
Laura turned off the monitor. “You’re not going to get any work done if you’re watching TV while you do it.”
“Thanks for the rice crispie treats, Mrs. Bush,” Powell said as Laura headed out of the room.
“Powell got a larger piece than me,” Rumsfeld complained, “I’ll kill you all!”
Just then the phone rang. “Damn; it’s Daschle,” Bush exclaimed, answering the call, “What the hell do you want?”
“I just opened the door to my office to find a wall of solid concrete,” Daschle whined.
“Why should I care?”
“I know you had something to do with it! You’re always out to get me!”
“That’s because you’re a weasel and I hate you.”
“It also sounds like someone is pounding on the wall from the inside.”
“Who cares?” Bush answered, but then saw Fleischer motioning him.
“I think I remember where we hid Cheney,” Fleischer said laughing.
“Oh yeah, now I remember!” Bush exclaimed, “We turned that asshole’s office into an undisclosed location.”
“Don’t tell him!” Fleischer urged.
Bush put the phone to his ear. “I’m pretty sure I remember your office door always opening to a concrete wall.”
“That’s not true and you know it!”
“All I guess I can say is that you failed so miserably at not being a dickweed that we were forced to fill your office with concrete.” Bush then slammed the phone down. “Dumbass,” he laughed as he took a bite of his rice crispie treat. He then noticed an empty chair covered in broken chains. “Ahh crap.”