“Know what superhero I’d like to be?” Bush asked, “The Hulk. Then I’d get to just smash everything I didn’t like… but it wouldn’t be my fault, because I’m the Hulk. It would be other people’s fault for making me mad.”
“I’m mad, too,” Cheney answered.
“I hope you at least like your new undisclosed location.”
“I’m sitting right next to you,” Cheney said with annoyance.
Bush covered his ears. “Well don’t tell me!”
“Idiot,” Cheney uttered.
“I heard that!”
“Then you need to learn to cover your ears better!”
“I’m not mad at you,” Bush said, “I’m mad at all those people out there who are saying I’m a liar for saying Iraq was trying to get uranium from Africa. I was just reading the teleprompter! Instead of getting credit for good reading, they call me a liar! It makes me so mad I want to grow big and green and smash them all!”
“And some are saying I knew it was untrue ahead of time!” Cheney stated irately, “I didn’t even know what undisclosed location I was in when your speech was made!”
“It was the crawl space of my friend’s Ralph’s house,” Bush said, “but that’s neither here nor there. We need to get these people and tell them to stop saying lies about me lying!”
“What’s your plan?” Cheney asked.
“I’m going to invite Daschle over for a meeting and then hit him in the knee caps with my six iron!” Bush exclaimed, holding up his golf club.
Cheney thought about that. “This is the part where I leave.”
“Where to?”
“Undisclosed,” Cheney said, exiting the room.
“A bar,” Bush muttered. He then heard Senator Tom Daschle coming so he hid his club behind his back.
“I heard your ready to compromise on that bill,” Daschle said, entering the room, “but you just didn’t say which bill.”
“Uh… the one all you Democrats are whining about,” Bush answered.
“You have to be more specific.”
“Anyhoo, there is another initiative I decided to veto.”
“Which one?”
“The ‘Not hit you in the kneecaps’ initiative!” Bush yelled, hitting Daschle in the kneecaps with his club. Daschle screamed like a girl and went straight to the ground. “That’s for saying I lied in my State of the Union address and putting out those commercials.”
“It wasn’t me; I swear!” Daschle yelled, “It’s Moveon.org; they’re putting out those commercials.”
“Well, then, get out of here,” Bush commanded.
“I can’t! You broke my kneecaps!”
“Fine,” Bush said as he went to the phone. “Secret Service, please come and drag Daschle somewhere he can get medical attention.”
Two men came in and started dragging Daschle away. “I am saddened by this assault on me,” Daschle said as he went out the door.
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Bush answered.
Laura Bush then came in the room, looking quite shocked. “Did you just hit Daschle with your six iron?”
“Maybe,” Bush said, putting down his golf club.
“What have I told you?” Laura scolded, “If you are going to cudgel someone, you go and buy a cudgel. We use things for what they’re intended for in this house. If you break all your irons on people’s knees, I’m not going to let you buy any new ones. And then won’t you look stupid playing golf with no irons?”
“I’m sorry, dear,” Bush said, looking at his feet, “It’s just everybody is saying I lied in the State of the Union about Iraq trying to get uranium. I don’t even know what their point is! Do they want me to pull out of Iraq and let Saddam go back to torturing everyone?” Bush then thought about that. “Hmm… there’s an idea. I pretend to apologize for the invasion, and, when Saddam goes back to Baghdad to retake power, we snipe him good!”
“Uh… you run that idea by your advisors, George,” Laura told him, “So who is calling you a liar?”
“Lots of people,” Bush answered, “And then there are these commercials by Moveon.org that says I’m a ‘Misleader’.” Bush then started to laugh. “Hey, I finally just got that; that’s clever. Before I thought they were insinuating I’m a woman.”
“So, George, have you thought of talking to these people and explaining your side?”
“No, but I’ve thought of bombing them followed by the deployment of ground troops; that always seems to clear up misunderstandings.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Well, if you’re not going to talk to them, I will. It’s time for someone to be an adult.”
“I dunno know about this…”
“It’s a little thing called ‘diplomacy’,” Laura said, “If you plan on being president for another four years, one of these days you should learn it.”

“Hello, is this the headquarters for Moveon.org?” Laura asked with a pleasant smile.
“Yeah,” answered an unshaven hippy man in a tie dye t-shirt, “This is wear we fight Bush and his lying and his killing.”
“Well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Laura said softly, “You see, President Bush is my husband, and I know he is an honest person. The mention of Iraq trying to obtain uranium in his State of the Union speech was an honest mistake, and it seems silly to condemn everything the Iraq war has accomplished by focusing on that one thing. Maybe you people should ‘move on’.”
The hippy looked confused.
“You know; the name of your organization…” Laura prompted.
“Bush lied; people died!” the hippy responded.
“I think that oversimplifies things,” Laura said, struggling a bit to keep her pleasant demeanor, “The war in Iraq was fought for many reasons, and you have to admit the people in Iraq are better off now that the murderous Saddam is out of power.”
“He had his illegal war for oil!” the hippy shouted.
“I’m not quite following you now.”
“He lied; people died.”
“Uh… you said that already,” Laura responded, getting frustrated, “Now, I want you to think really hard. Does a few words in the State of the Union address invalidate that a horrible, evil regime is gone and that a once oppressed people now have a chance at freedom.”
They hippy seemed to try to think, but it looked painful. Finally, he just grabbed a canister next to him and threw it at Laura, splattering her in red paint. “That’s symbolic of the blood of the dead Iraqis! Blood you helped enable!”
Laura was in complete and utter shock. “You… just… threw… red paint… on me.”
“That will teach you for supporting a war with oil involved and things!” the hippy yelled.
Laura was still shocked beyond sense. “My favorite blouse… covered in paint…”
“Bush is a misleader!” the hippy continued, “He is a misleader! Bush lied; people were killed… I mean… died.”
“You threw red paint on me!”
“That’s to protest warmongering and all those countries being so unilateral together and… uh… uh-oh!”

“Clancy, you’re my intelligence guy, right?” Bush asked.
Clancy fixed his black tie and sunglasses. “I can neither confirm nor deny that.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear. So do you have some intelligence about terrorism I can include in this speech I’m about to give?”
“Yes, we have just learned that Syria is working with the Umbrella corporation to develop something called the ‘t-virus’, a biological weapon that turns people into killer zombies.”
Bush started to write that down, but then paused. “Hey, I just got burned for using bad intelligence recently. I want to be sure about this before I include it. What are your sources?”
“I can’t tell you that; it’s classified.”
“But I’m the president!” Bush exclaimed, “I get to know everything!”
Clancy chuckled. “Yeah, like were going to tell all our secrets to just any American president. If we did that with Bill Clinton, every whore in the tri-state area would know where the aliens are buried. You first have to be cleared by the secret, hidden government before you can hear about our sources, and that won’t happen until that measure is cleared by the doubly-secret government that actually runs the secret government, unbeknown to the secret government.”
“But I want to know now!” Bush whined, “Where did you hear that intelligence from?”
“Fine,” Clancy answered, “We were tipped off by the British intelligence which had intercepted it from Polish intelligence which had heard two Swedes talking about it who had read it from a independent Danish newspaper which was quoting a Japanese kid what he heard from another kid during recess.”
“So how certain are you of the zombie story, then?”
“We give it a certainty ranking of 3L.”
“And what does that mean?”
“While you are cleared to hear our rankings of intelligence certainty, you aren’t cleared enough to be told what those rankings mean.”
“Dammit!” Bush exclaimed, “Hell, I’m going to include it in the speech. Everyone will support me if they think the terrorists have zombies.”
Laura now entered the room, covered from head to toe in red.
“Uh… how’d it go, dear?” Bush asked, a bit confused.
“They aren’t going to say mean things about you anymore,” Laura answered firmly.
“Then why are you… uh… covered in red paint?” Bush inquired, handing her a handkerchief.
Laura wiped her face with the handkerchief. “It’s not all paint.”