“So why are we watching the stupid gringo Democrat get into his car?”
“Just wait for it,” Bush answered, watching out the window with barely contained excitement. Below them, Tom Daschle sat down in his car and turned the ignition. Soon his car exploded into a ball of flame and Daschle started running around the parking lot on fire and screaming.
“Stop, drop, and roll, jackass!” Bush shouted and closed the window. He then collapsed into his chair laughing.
“Isn’t that attempted murder?” the Mexican asked with some concern.
“What are you? Some legal scholar? Practical jokes aren’t crimes.”
“Anyway, senor Bush, I watched the Democrat’s debate and took some notes on who may be your challenger in 2004. First off…”
“Who cares,” Bush scoffed, “So the Democrats are fighting to find out which one of them gets to be the next Mondale. I’m a war president, yo; I’m untouchable.”
“Whatever you say, senor Bush.”
“Yeah, that’s right: whatever I say. Because I’m the president and you’re just the VP.”
“About that,” the Mexican said, “When I was just doing speeches now and then, three dollars and hour was fair pay, but now you have me putting budgets together. I was thinking maybe I should now get four dollars and hour to be the VP.”
“A one dollar raise!” Bush exclaimed, “Have you gone loco? Maybe I’ll give you a quarter more an hour, but that’s it.”
“No way. I need a dollar more, or I just go back to Mexico to find work.”
“$3.50.”
The Mexican considered this. “$3.75”
“Okay, Mexican, you drive a hard bargain, but $3.75 it is. All those number in the budgets better add up, though.”
The Mexican glanced out the door. “That crazy warmongering senorita is coming.”
“Condi? Does she look mad?”
The Mexican didn’t answer and instead hid in a closet.
Condoleezza Rice stormed in the room and tossed a folder at Bush. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just a little exploratory thing-a-ma-jig,” Bush said innocently.
“You’re planning on replacing you’re entire cabinet with cheap Mexican labor! The only thing that stopped you is you couldn’t find a Mexican violent enough to replace Rumsfeld.”
“It was just an idea.”
“The America people won’t stand for the entire Executive branch being replaced with illegal immigrants like the VP.”
“I didn’t immigrate,” the Mexican said defensively as he emerged from the closet, “I was kidnapped.”
“See, Condi, he was kidnapped,” Bush said, “Stop getting so angry.”
“You need to find Cheney and end this nonsense,” Rice told him.
“But he could be anywhere!” Bush protested.
“Such as right here,” answered a familiar voice. There at the doorway stood Dick Cheney, adorned in a poncho and sombrero.
“Wow!” Bush exclaimed, “What happened to you.”
“Something led me from the undisclosed location in Mexico,” Cheney explained in a somber voice, “I found myself in the middle of the desert, lost and alone. I thought I was done for, but then a coyote spirit brought me to an abandoned abode in which I found a poncho, a sombrero, and a pistol. I then knew my true calling, and wandered Mexico, freeing poor town from the oppression of banditos. They called me El Dicko, and evil learned to fear my name. Finally, having brought justice where there was none, my job in Mexico was done, and I returned here to continue my fight as Vice President, renewed now in spirit.”
“That’s a great story, Dick,” Bush exclaimed, “Oh, but I gotta tell you what happened yesterday when me and the Mexican were playing Mario Kart…”
“The Mexican?”
“Yeah, I now have this Mexican as VP, so I don’t need you anymore,” Bush explained, “He costs less, he listens to me more, and he smacks me in the back of the head while calling me stupid about half as much you. So you can just go back to Halliburton or whatever.”
“You can’t replace me with a Mexican!” Cheney yelled.
“The Mexican never yells at me.”
“It doesn’t matter. I was elected VP and you can’t just replace me.” Cheney looked to the Mexican. “You have to go now.”
“But what about my $3.75!” the Mexican shouted.
“Here’s an advance on that,” Bush said, handing the Mexican three dollars and seventy-five cents, “That should be enough to get you a cab ride to a couple blocks from here. Then I guess you’ll have to walk the rest of the way back to Mexico.”
“If I ever seen you again, gringo,” the Mexican threatened as he walked out the door, “I cut you!”
“I’ll miss you too, Mexican,” Bush answered, tearing up.
“God, you’re an idiot,” Cheney uttered.
Bush looked at Cheney with an angry glance. “Secret Service!” Bush called out, “Put the VP somewhere undisclosed.”
Two Secret Service agents appeared and started dragging Cheney away. “You can’t do this to me again!” Cheney shouted, “I’ll find where I am and then I’ll find where you are and then I’ll have my revenge!”
“Anyway,” Rice said, “Let’s get back to business.” She placed a piece of paper in front of Bush. “Just sign this and we’ll get to nuking Finland.”
“Alrighty,” Bush said, taking out his pen. Suddenly he stopped. “Hey, you’re not tricking me into nuking Finland again. What’s the real business I’m supposed to do now?”
“You must speak to France,” Karl Rove said, emerging from the shadows.
“What? But I hate those douche-bags.”
“Yesss,” Karl Rove hissed, “But they want to save face after the war, so Chirac is going to call you as foretold. If you speak kindly to him, he will admit France’s mistake, thus increasing the positive perception of you abroad. This will further lead to the downfall of the Democrats as predicted in the books of the ancients.”
“Sounds good, I guess,” Bush said, “But could you stop wearing that black robe and hood? It’s creeping me out.” He then picked up his phone. “So is there a call from France waiting for me?
“What do you mean Chirac already called?
“Then who took the phonecall?
“RUMSFELD!”
They all rushed out of the room to find a nearby office where Donald Rumsfeld was shouting into a phone. “Blood! Death! Kill! PAIN! I will gouge out your eyes! I will feast upon your entrails. I will…”
Bush hit the receiver on the phone.
“I was talking to some frogs,” Rumsfeld shouted angrily, “and I wasn’t done yet.”
“We were trying to talk nice to them, Rummy,” Bush explained.
“This could be damaging,” Rove said in an ominous voice.
The news was playing on a nearby T.V. “This just in: tourist to France say they are now unable to find the country. Apparently it was so scared by something, the entire nation went into hiding. No one can be sure what caused this, but most are guessing it’s from Bush’s botched diplomacy.”
“Aww, dammit, Rummy,” Bush complained, “You have to get that anger of yours under control.”
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld shouted, “I’ll kill you all for reasons I’ll think of later!”
Rice grabbed Rumsfeld in a headlock as he tried to lunge forward. “We already tried sending him to an anger management class,” she said as she tried to hold Rumsfeld back, “but they just sent him back with a note recommending he be put down.”
“Can’t you inject him with something to calm him now?” Bush asked.
“All I have is the stuff that kills someone and makes it look like it was a heart attack,” Rice answered.
“I just got off my habit on that,” Rumsfeld yelled, “You’re not getting me hooked again.”
Ari Fleischer then entered the room. “I heard yelling, and then I thought, ‘Hey, people are going to need Ari again.'”
“Yeah, Ari,” Bush said, “Rumsfeld has gone psycho angry.”
“Well, guess what I have with me,” Ari said, holding up a rifle, “The tranquilizer gun from that time you accidentally let an elephant loose in the Whitehouse.”
“Cool! Shoot Rumsfeld!” Bush exclaimed.
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled, trying to shake free of Rice.
Ari fired a dart into him.
“Rar!”
“Hit him again!” Bush commanded.
Ari fired once more.
“Ra…,” Rumsfeld started to shout, but then trailed off. “I’m feeling sleepy now. I’m going to go to bed and will kill you all in the morning.” Rice then let him loose and he went out the door.
“Now you better go explain away why France being scared away isn’t our fault,” Bush told Ari.
“Man, why do I always have to do that?” Ari complained, “Can’t for once I be president and you have to go out and explain away my stupid mistakes?”
“Do not worry,” Karl Rove told him, “I will summon help for you to cover up this problem. The less you know, the better.” He then disappeared back into the shadows.

“Why would we know anything about France?” Ari told the press, “We hate them.”
“So the disappearance of France has nothing to do with any actions by the Whitehouse,” asked a reporter.
“No, of course not,” Ari responded, “That’s stupid to say. Why the hell would we have anything to do with those goobers. I bet they were all scared away by a bee or something.”
“Then how do you respond to Senator Daschle statement from his hospital room that he’s ‘saddened by how Bush poor diplomacy scared away France.'”
“I would just like to remind Daschle that he is very vulnerable right now in that full body cast.”
“What about this one rumor,” said a reporter, “that you were going to have a diplomatic call with Chirac, but then Rumsfeld…” The reporter was cut off as in a flash of fire a demon appeared, grabbed the reporter, and then disappeared in another burst of flame.
“Uh… why did a demon just take that reporter,” asked another member of the press.
“Hey, stick to policy questions,” Ari told them, “I don’t know anything about demons.”
“Would you admit that it’s from this administrations lack of balls that they’ve now lost their opportunity to bomb France for their insolence,” asked a Fox News reporter.
“Hey, bombing France was always on the table, but matters of diplomacy are more delicate than that.”
“Why do you want to bomb the Syrian children?” asked Helen Thomas, “What have the Syrian children done to president Bush?”
“There are no plans to attack Syria, you crazy old hag.”
“Yeah, there are no plans to attack Syria because the current administration is a bunch of eunuchs,” said the Fox News Reporters, “If you weren’t all such homos, instead of the Syrian children reciting their ABC’s right now, they’d be saying their last rites.”
“I swear to God if you weren’t a woman…” Ari threatened, shaking his fist.
“Bring it on, baldo!”
“Hey, I found this stick and I thought it would be great for breaking over the head of John Kerry,” Bush said, running into the press conference. “That will teach him to be so French looking.” He then noticed the press. “I mean I was going to talk to Kerry about the how dangerous trees are, supplying people with deadly weapons in the form of sticks.”
“When I hold Kerry, you better have better aim this time,” Ari said, rubbing a bruise on his head.
“Why is your administration such a bunch of pussies?” the Fox News reporter asked Bush.
“Uh… I think that question is better answered by Colin Powell.”