“There’s nothing better than a game of golf, is there, Agent Smith?”
“I wouldn’t know, President Bush,” Secret Service Agent Smith answered, “I’ve never played. I just stand here in the sun and watch you. Rather asinine, if you ask me.”
“Yep, nothing better than a good game of golf,” Bush said as he adjusted his cowboy hat, and then prepared for a swing.
“President Bush!” yelled out a voice.
Startled, Bush screwed up his swing, sending his ball into the brush. “Grrr!” Bush yelled, “Agent Smith, whoever just messed up my shot I want you to inject him in the neck with that stuff that makes it look like he had a heart attack.”
“That stuff ain’t cheap, sir,” Agent Smith reminded him.
“It was I who called out your name,” said a sinister figure, “Chief Floopergibble of the Belgian international police force.” More men in black uniforms emerged from the brush. “I, under the authority of Belgium, am placing you under arrest for lying about WMD’s and having an illegal war with Iraq.”
“Well, I guess we’ll have to go peacefully,” Bush said, dropping his golf club, “Wouldn’t make much sense to – KILL THEM!” Bush drew his peacemaker while Agent Smith drew his Beretta and they both started firing at the Belgians.
Nothing happened.
“What’s the matter?” Bush asked desperately.
“Apparently they’re too irrelevant,” Agent Smith answered, “Our bullets are going right through them in search of more substantive targets.”
“Dammit! Always when I’m finally making par.”
The Belgians closed in on them while laughing their evil Belginian laugh.

“The president has been captured by Belgians,” Agent Smith announced.
“What!” Condoleezza Rice exclaimed, “You lose him two more times and you get a demerit!”
“Good,” Rumsfeld said, “I think things will run smoother without him. Now let’s there are a lot of terrorists out there who aren’t getting any less terroristy…”
“We need to rescue the president,” Rice insisted. She turned on the satellite connection to Dick Cheney. “The president has been captured by Belgians,” Rice told him, “I think that means you’re in charge.”
“Good,” Cheney answered, shivering, “Then I order all resources to be used to find me. I’m on some mountain top and found shelter in a cave.”
“Do you know which mountain?”
“No. But find me quickly,” Cheney said desperately, “I think I saw a snowman. I didn’t get a good enough look, but he may have been abominable. And I’m running out of ammo for my .357. So forget about the president and find me. I want…”
Chomps knocked the TV set down and tore it apart with his teeth. “He never liked Cheney,” Rumsfeld commented.
“He never likes anyone,” Rice said.
“If you want my opinion,” Rumsfeld said, “and you’ll be getting it whether you do or not – this is all some plot from the Belgians to get nuked. And, frankly, I think their plan is going to work.” He looked to the map on the wall. “So where are the?.”
“That’s the problem,” Rice said, “Belgium is so irrelevantly, that mapmakers stopped including it long ago.”
Chomps jumped up and grabbed the map and then tore it to pieces. “Yeah, destroy that useless map,” Rumsfeld laughed.
“I have some intelligence that may help,” Clancy told Rice. “We set up a number of surveillance devices on the Belgian embassy. At first, we thought they were speaking in some code language. Ended up, we were actually spying on the Swedes. That’s when we went to plan B. We spotted a Belgian diplomat visiting the U.N., and then had one of our agents kick him the nuts, grab his briefcase, and run away. A simple but effective method.” Clancy set a briefcase down on the table. “According to the documents inside, Bush is being held in the flying fortress of the tyrannical ruler of Belgium, Belgazor. They plan to put him on trial believing they have the authority to bring charges against anyone in the world.”
“Those arrogant bastards!” Rumsfeld shouted, “Only America has that authority. We must kill them all!”
Chomps barked in approval and then tore out a section of a nearby wall.
“We’ll need to send someone in to rescue the president,” Rice said.
“I know who,” Rumsfeld repliedd, picking up a phone. “Buck, do you want to kill some Belgians?”
There was a contemplative pause on the other end. “Sure,” Buck the Marine finally answered, “They sound pretty foreign.”

“Captured by Belgians,” Bush grumbled to himself, “This is almost as bad as when Carter was attacked by a rabbit.”
“Things could be worse, chap,” said a familiar voice, “At least we have plenty of chocolate and waffles to eat.”
Bush looked to the other cell. “It’s my gay friend Tony!” he exclaimed.
“Nice to see you, too,” Tony Blair answered.
“So what did they arrest you for?”
“Said that I made a wide right turn,” Blair answered, “So they kidnapped me and took me here.”
“Should have been more careful driving,” said an ominous voice. There stood Belgazor, the evil, bloated ruler of Belgium, a giant crown upon his head. “Now we will dispense justice upon you.”
Bush noticed that Belgazor had his cowboy hat in hand. “You give me my hat back or I’ll murder you dead!” Bush yelled as he tried to reach for Belgazor’s throat through the bars.
“I’d worry more about your trial,” Belgazor said, “First comes Tony Blair’s trial for his reckless driving, then you for your illegal war, then me for my kidnapping of foreign leaders, and then all Israelis for the high crime of being Jews where they’re not wanted. Muh ha ha ha!”
“We won’t stand for this!” Bush shouted.
“I’m going to make sure we throw the book at you, President Bush,” Belgazor said, “You’ll be sentenced to a $150 dollar fine plus time served. Muh ha ha ha!”
“You monster!”
“And, as for you Tony Blair, we don’t look kindly on unsafe driving,” Belgazor said, “So you will be thrown into the pit of eternal horror. Muh ha ha ha!”
Belgazor then walked off, continuing to laugh his evil Belgian laugh.
“Well, chap, ‘pit of eternal horror’ doesn’t sound very good, does it?” Blair said nervously.
“It’s not like I can’t afford $150,” Bush said, thinking aloud, “but it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Um, could we worry about this pit thing?” Blair asked, “What do you think it is?”
“Probably some pit with horror in it,” Bush answered, “Horror that’s eternal. But don’t worry, Tony, I’ll think of something to get us out of here.”
“That’s very good and all,” Blair answered, “but you aren’t really known for ‘thinking’.”
Bush didn’t hear him as he was deep in thought. “If only I had a gun, a blow torch, and weren’t in Belgium…”
TO BE CONTINUED…