George and Laura Bush stood out on the balcony admiring the night sky. “It’s a full moon,” Laura said, cuddling close to Bush, “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘Why’?”
“Well, it’s just some big floating rock… that glows. Why’s it glow? Is it radioactive?”
“That’s just the sun reflecting off it, George,” Laura explained.
“But sometimes its dark over parts, like it’s trying to hide something,” Bush said, looking at the moon suspiciously. “And we always see the same face? What’s it trying to hide on the other side?”
“George,” Laura scolded, “The moon should make you feel, romantic, not paranoid!”
“I saw something move!” Bush exclaimed, “I saw something move on the moon!”
Laura sighed. “No you didn’t.”
“I better alert everyone!” Bush said and then ran off.
“I’ll leave a blanket and pillow for you on the couch!” Laura called out to him before storming back into the White House.

“How certain are you that you saw something move on the moon?” Condoleezza Rice asked, pacing the floor of the war room.
Bush squinted his eyes and said in an ominous voice, “Not very.”
“I then recommend we immediately nuke the moon!” Rice responded.
“What do you think, Rumsfeld?” Bush inquired.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” he answered angrily, “I want to attack another Middle Eastern country! I hate this piddling crap!”
“Rumsfeld seems to be opposed,” Bush said, thinking it over, “I better ask Cheney.” He turned on the satellite hookup to Cheney. “How is your undisclosed location?”
“It’s not an undisclosed location!” Cheney yelled angrily, “I’m dangling from a rope from the Brooklyn Bridge!”
“So what do you think about nuking the moon?”
“I can’t hear you,” Cheney answered, “Ahh! The winds picking up.” He blew off camera.
“No use talking to him,” Bush said. “Where’s Rover?”
“I’m here,” Karl Rove said, emerging from the shadows. “A fire on the moon was prophesized by the elders. It will precede the fall of the Democrats.”
“Coo’. But I better get another military opinion. General Tommy Franks, I understand you have some military experience.”
“Yes, and I can also juggle. Watch.” Gen. Franks picked up three apples from a fruit basket on the conference table and started juggling.
Bush was still skeptical. “Hmm, but can you juggle four things at once?” He tossed an orange at Gen. Franks.
Gen. Franks caught it uneasily at first, but was soon juggling all four items quite smoothly.
“My God!” Bush exclaimed, “Everyone listen to what this man has to say!”
Gen. Franks tossed all the items back into the basket. “I think there is a great tactical advantage to nuking the moon. It tells terrorists and other enemies that there is no hiding from us, even in the heavens.”
“So, Condi, how many people do you think will be killed by this nuclear strike?” Bush inquired.
“I estimate zero casualties,” Rice answered, “Give or take two million.”
Bush considered this carefully. “Sounds acceptable.”
“I’d just like to point out,” Colin Powell interrupted, “That the moon doesn’t actually pose any threat, and the use of nuclear weapons could have high costs diplomatically.”
“Thanks for the opinion,” Bush said. He then looked to the Secret Service. “Take Powell away and then zap him with tasers.”
“Hey!” Powell exclaimed as the Secret Service dragged him away.
“That was very decisive of you,” Rove commented.
“Thanks, but I’m still not sure about this whole nuking idea.”
A man in a black suit with a black tie and black sunglasses approached. “I have some information that may help,” he said.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Clancy, from one of the intelligence agencies.”
“Which one?”
“You’d have never heard of it; it’s too secret,” Clancy answered and then handed a folder to Bush. “This intelligence was gathered at great risk; many of our best agents got paper cuts compiling this report.”
There were drawings of some astronaut uniforms. “What is this?”
“This is the conceptual design for the uniform the Chi-Coms will use to walk on the moon,” Clancy answered.
“What the weird thing at the mouth?”
“That a special airlock allowing them to shoot saliva from their helmets while on the moon.”
Bush thought about this for a moment, and then a terrible thought struck him. “They’re planning to spit on the American flag we put on the moon!” Bush exclaimed.
“Precisely,” Clancy answered.
“We can’t let the Commies spit on our flag!” Gen. Franks exclaimed, “We need to nuke the moon to keep them from ever thinking of landing on it.”
Bush was silent in contemplation for a moment. “Do we dare to reach to the heavens and heavily radiate them,” he mused allowed, “Will we boldly blow up, what no man has exploded-ed before?” He caught the eyes of everyone in the room with steely resolve. “I say it’s time to be pioneers. Let’s nuke the moon!”
A big portion of the table was then ripped away from under Bush. It was Chomps, the world’s angriest dog, who proceeded to bite the piece of table into smaller and smaller pieces.
“I told you not to bring your dog in here!” Bush shouted at Rumsfeld.
“I left him outside,” Rumsfeld said, “He must have chewed through the steel door again.”
“Have you at least been giving him his pills to control his severe paranoid schizophrenia?”
“I’ve tried,” Rumsfeld said, “The vet told me it would be suicide to try and force the pills down his throat, but I think I found a good way to get him to take them. I give them to a hippy, telling him they’re psychedelic drugs. Then, when the hippy swallows them, I sic Chomps on him.”
The phone rang in front of Bush, and he answered, “Who is it?”
“It is I, the evil Commie dictator of China,” the evil Commie dictator of China answered, “and I warn you to drop your foolish plans to nuke the moon.”
“What are you talking about?” Bush said innocently.
“Don’t lie to me, foolish American,” answered the evil Commie Dictator of China, “If you try and stop us from going to the moon, there will be grave consequences!”
“Ha!” Bush answered, “You don’t scare me. I don’t care if you have brilliant tacticians like General Tso; we can kick your Commie ass any day. Now stay off our moon!” Bush then hung up. “Someone ratted us out to the Chinese!” he declared. He then pointed a finger at Rumsfeld. “Was it you!”
“I’ll murder you for accusing me! Rarr!” Rumsfeld shouted as he tried to leap across the table. The Secret Service stopped him.
“What about you, Buck the Marine?” Bush asked suspiciously.
“Only thing I have ever said to a foreigner is, ‘You die now,'” Buck answered.
“How about you, Chinese guy with surveillance equipment hiding under the table,” Bush said, looking under the table, “You see anyone suspicious?”
He shrugged his shoulders innocently.
“Well, we better be prepared to take on the Chinese,” Bush said, “Gen. Franks, how many men do we have left to fight China?”
“I’m afraid all our forces are either in Afghanistan, Iraq, or drunk off their asses,” Gen. Franks answered.
“What about the gay guy who is always helping me out?” Bush asked, “Does he have any spare troops.”
“That’s Tony Blair,” Rice told him, “and he’s not gay; he’s British. And, no, he has no spare forces.”
“I guess it’s up to you then, Buck,” Bush told the Marine, “If things go sour, I want you to take out all the Chinese.” He looked to Rice. “How many are there?”
“A billion.”
Bush turned back to Buck. “Better take a billion rounds of ammunition with you, then… no, make that a billion and ten to be on the safe side.”
“Uh… okay, sir,” Buck answered dubiously and then looked to Rumsfeld.
“Just meet me at the bar after this meeting,” Rumsfeld whispered to him, “He’ll soon forget all about this.”
Chomps jumped up on the table and began barking at the ceiling. He then tried jumping towards it, his jaws snapping at the air.
“What’s he doing?” Bush asked.
“I think he’s trying to bite the ceiling,” Rumsfeld said, “It must have made him angry somehow.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,” Rumsfeld answered, “But I tend to trust his judgment. Buck, eliminate the ceiling.”
“Yes, sir.” Buck emptied a thirty-round magazine into the ceiling. “Ooh-rah!”
Seeing that the ceiling was properly destroyed, Chomps lay down on the table and went to sleep.
“He can’t sleep on the conference table!” Bush exclaimed.
“Well don’t try and wake him,” Rumsfeld warned, “He’ll rip off at least three of your limbs if you do.”
“What’s happening in here?” Senator Tom Daschle demanded.
“How’d you get in?” Bush asked.
“There was a big gaping hole chewed into the door,” Daschle answered, “So what are you planning?”
“Important things like war,” Bush answered, “That’s why there is a ‘No Democrats Allowed’ sign out front. Don’t you have some poor people to whine about or something?”
“I’m interested in war, too,” Daschle replied, “I’m still waiting for your evidence of WMD’s in Iraq.”
“It’s right here on the table,” Bush said, walking over to Daschle.
“Where?” Daschle asked, looking closely at the table, “I don’t see any?’
“It’s right… THERE!” Bush slammed Daschle’s head into the table. The shaking of the table then stirred Chomps who looked at the two of them both groggily and angrily.
“Uh-oh.”

“The White House would like to wish Senator Daschle a speedy recovery from having both his legs and his left arm reattached,” White House Press Secretary Ari Fleischer announced, “Also, we’d like to quash any rumors that we are about to nuke the moon.”
“Uh… we haven’t heard any rumors about you nuking the moon,” said one reporter.
“Of course you haven’t,” Ari answered, “Because that would be just silly.”
“There are a number of places here on earth where people have said bad things about us,” the Fox News Reporter said, “Why haven’t we nuked them?”
“I keep telling you there is a diplomatic process to things,” Ari answered, “and… are you wearing a saucy French maid outfit?”
“The Fox News Channel refers to it as a saucy Freedom maid outfit,” she replied, shaking her feather duster at Ari, “My boss keeps pushing me to get better ratings for these boring press conferences.”
“Oh, I thought you were just moonlighting at another job,” Ari chuckled.
“I have a follow up question,” she said angrily, “What reflects more of the sun’s light? The moon, or your bald head?”
“Just ignore it, Ari; you’re almost done with this job,” Ari said to himself.
“Why does Bush want to kill the lunar children?” Helen Thomas asked, “What have the lunar children ever done to Bush?”
“There aren’t any people on the moon, you crazy old woman,” Ari shot back, “Then again, maybe you do have relatives up there since you were probably around when the moon first formed by splitting off from the earth.”
“I believe in the condensation hypothesis about the moon’s formation,” Helen answered.
“You would believe that discredited theory, you old hag!” Ari looked at his watch. “Now excuse me while I shield my eyes from the moon for no real reason.”

George and Laura Bush stood out on the balcony admiring the night sky. A mushroom cloud was just visible rising from the top of the moon. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Bush said.
“Why?”
“What do you mean ‘Why’?”
“You nuked the moon, George,” Laura said irately. “Why is that beautiful?”
“It’s the ultimate combination of the glory of nature and the ingenuity of man,” Bush answered.
“How?”
“Uh… well, it’s a big explosion on the moon, and it’s romantic… just like the movie The Matrix.”
“I didn’t find the movie The Matrix romantic,” Laura said irately.
“But you were all over me while we were watching it.”
“That’s because I was bored and wanted something else to do.”
“So is the nuclear explosion boring you too?” Bush asked, winking at her slyly.
Laura rolled her eyes. “Put on your flight suit and meet me in the bedroom.”
“Woo-hoo!”