Co-Written by Mike the Marine
“We need to get Saddam Hussein!” Bush shouted, pounding the table with his fist. “NBC is willing to commit to 13 episodes, of the Uday and Qusay Dead Body Puppet Hour, but only if I can add Saddam to the cast.”
“Most people think showing the dead bodies of Uday and Qusay was appropriate for the circumstances in Iraq,” Scott McClellan said, ” but don’t you think dancing the dead bodies of our enemies around like puppets is going a little too far?”
“Hey, we’re talking a series on a major network,” Bush shot back, “and who the hell are you?”
“I’m Scott McClellan,” Scott answered, “I’ve been your White House Press Secretary for two weeks now.”
Bush thought about this. “Sounds right, but, to be on the safe side, I’m going to have the Secret Service beat you up while I check on that.”
“Hey!” Scott protested as the Secret Service dragged him away.
“New guys are so stupid,” Bush chuckled once Scott was out of the room, “After they’ve roughed him up for five minutes, I’ll tell him it was a joke. Now, back to business: how is our progress towards finding Saddam?”
“No new information now,” Cheney said, “but we do have a 25 million dollar bounty on his head.”
Bush jumped to his feet. “25 million dollars! Hot damn! I’m gonna find him myself!” He paused to think for a moment. “He’s probably not somewhere in the White House is he?”
“Nope,” Cheney answered.
“Then we’ll need a plane, I guess. Who wants to go Saddam hunting with me?”
“Lord knows I’m always ready for killing anything!” Rumsfeld answered.
“My doctor tells me such activity could be bad for my heart,” Cheney said, “but what the hell does he know; he’s not ever had one heart attack! I think I’m the expert on the subject. Count me in.”
“I’ll come too,” Condoleezza Rice said.
“No girls,” Bush answered, “Hunting is a guy thing. Why don’t you go knit a sweater or devise some war plans, Condi.”
“Fine!” Rice said angrily as she stormed out of the room, “I’ll just stay here and work on my planned military coup.”
“You do that,” Bush responded. “Now let’s get together what we need to bring for the trip.”
From out of the shadows emerged the hooded figure of Karl Rove. “Don’t forget to bring a camera. If people can witness you, the president, killing Saddam Hussein by yourself, it will show such strength that surely the Democrats will collapse as prophesized by the ancients in the Book of Shadows and Punditry.”
“Forget about the Democrats, Karly,” Bush responded, “We’re talking about 25 million dollars. With that kind of money, I could buy all the Democrats gold-plated baby bottles to go along with their whining.”
“Or have them killed,” Rumsfeld said, “At least at my going rate.”

“Hey, Laura, look; I got my hunting cap with the earflaps and everything,” Bush exclaimed.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going Saddam hunting with Cheney and Rumsfeld and Chomps,” he told her, “I’m going to get that 25 million for myself.”
“Don’t you think it will look bad if the president takes the award the government is offering?”
“I think I’ve made it pretty clear throughout my administration that I don’t think at all,” Bush responded indignantly, “That why I got a group of smart people in my cabinet.”
“I’ll bring the beer,” Cheney announced, holding his hunting rifle.
“I’m bringing the whiskey,” Rumsfeld said.
“Well, don’t shoot each other,” Laura said with concern.
“That won’t happen unless we get so drunk we mistake each other for Baathists,” Bush assured her.
“I’m not promising anything,” Rumsfeld said, loading his hunting rifle.

Bush, Cheney, Rumsfeld, and Chomps waited in the Iraqi desert, hiding behind cover. “This is what I love about being an American,” Bush said, loading his gun, “We can go into any country we choose and do whatever the f**k we want. And who is going to stop us? No one, because we’re too big and powerful.”
“Other countries are stupid,” Rumsfeld responded, taking a drink of whiskey, “Now let’s shoot people.”
“By the way,” Cheney said, “Did you ever tell the Secret Service to stop beating up Scott?”
Bush thought about that for a moment. “Eh, I’m sure they tired out eventually.”
Chomps, the world’s angriest hunting dog, fiercely attacked the desert sand. Sand made him angry. Then the sun got in his eyes. He really hated the sun, and dreamed of ripping it apart with his teeth. For now, he just barked at it.
“Quiet, Chomps,” Bush scolded him, “We have to be silent when hunting for Baathists. Cheney, use the terrorist call.”
Cheney blew into a whistle and out came a loud ululation. From behind a Bush stood up a terrorist who exclaimed, “Death to America!” Bush then shot him.
“Go fetch him, Chomps,” Rumsfeld commanded. Chomps ran out and dragged back the terrorist.
“Now to check him against me deck of cards of the Iraqi most wanted,” Bush said, pulling out his cards. “Sure a lot of fugitive naked women.”
“I think that’s the wrong deck of cards,” Cheney said.
“Oh yeah,” Bush answered, and then pulled out another deck of cards. “He doesn’t match any. Must just be some random Baathist. Toss him back, Chomps.”
“I’m very hurt, and your dog swallowed my boot,” the terrorist pleaded.
“Hey, we all got problems,” Bush answered.
With a quick shake of his head, Chomps tossed the terrorist back out into the field.
“Hey, I see another one!” Bush exclaimed, and took a shot.
Chomps dragged back the body.
“You killed a monkey!” Cheney exclaimed.
“A terrorist monkey,” Bush said.
“I think he’s just a regular monkey.”
“Something is dead; let’s be happy,” Rumsfeld declared.
“Let’s just keep an eye out for a man in a yellow hat seeking vengeance to be on the safe side,” Bush said. “Now, we have to find a better way to draw Saddam out.” He looked to Cheney. “Go out in the field and pretend to be a Kurd. Then I’ll shoot Saddam when he comes out to gas you.”
“No,” Cheney answered, “Every time I pretend to be a Kurd, it always ends in trouble.”
“Well, we have to find Saddam somehow,” Bush declared, “I want that 25 million to make me extra richer!”
Suddenly, bullets came whizzing by their ears. Sand kicked up at their feet as metric ammo went flying by all around them. Loud ululations were heard and the very ground shook beneath their feet. Over a sand dune in the distance came––.. Helen Thomas.
“Why are you trying to steal $25 million from Iraqi children?” screeched the Wicked Witch of the West Wing.
Bush looked at her with a mix of contempt and confusion. Mostly it was exasperation, though. “Oh sweet weeping Jesus on the cross–.. what are you doing here you old bat? Didn’t the doctors tell you not to leave your house? And where’d you get the AK-47 from?”
“Those doctors were fakes, and the AK-47 was given to me by Peter Arnette. It’s one he picked up during the first gulf war. Of course he was too much of a wuss to ever shoot it.”
“Well no argument on the Arnette thing.” Bush said, smiling at her. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered to Rumsfeld. “Fire those damned ‘doctors’ and get somebody more believable next time.”
“Done,” said Rummy, the satellite phone already to his ear.
“Why are you illegally here in Iraq stealing millions of dollars?” she heckled Bush again.
“Listen you mindless bint, I can’t be stealing it from them — it’s already ours. What’s that shadow?” Bush looked up.
Fox News reporter Melinda Hawkish landed squarely on Helen’s head. Her parachute was immediately consumed by Chomps before it even had a chance to hit the ground. Parachutes made Chomps angry, for reasons even the world’s angriest dog did not really understand.
“What did I land on?” asked Melinda.
“A desert rat,” Bush said coldly. “A big, fat, desert rat.”
“What are YOU doing here?” Cheney gasped. He was still using up heartbeats after diving away from Helen Thomas’ wildly erratic gunfire.
“Buck the Marine called me and said that he’d gotten some intel about you guys going on a Saddam hunt. I want Saddam’s last interview before you turn him into a marionette.”
“Hey that TV deal’s supposed to be hush-hush!” Bush cried. “I don’t want anybody stealing my idea.”
“How is ol’ Buck?” Rummy asked. “He’s a good man, holding down the fort in Liberia for us.”
“He said the weapons drop wasn’t nearly large enough.” Melinda said. “He needs another pallet of ammo and some MREs, too.”
“Didn’t we send him 150,000 rounds of .223 and a whole box of chicken tortellini meals?” Bush asked.
“He’s a Marine. They want two things: food and ammo.” Melinda said matter-of-factly. Chomps yelped in agreement. Buck was one of the precious few people that made him less angry. Not happy, mind you — just less angry.
“Well, nobody ever killed Saddam by sitting in one place and waiting for him to ditty-bop on by. Let’s roll,” said Rumsfeld.
“I can’t move too fast in this heat,” Cheney said.
“Awww, woook–. Widdle baby is gonna have another coronary. Boo frickin’ hoo.” Rumsfeld chided him. “Get to steppin’. In thirty miles you can have a nitro pill.”
“Owned!!” Bush laughed at Cheney. “Hey, Rummy you gonna share that water?”
“What water?” Rumsfeld asked, as he screwed the cap back on his canteen. “I think there’s a watering hole aboouuuuttttt––. thirty miles from here.”
“I miss being undisclosed,” Cheney said as he shuffled off behind the others.