Part I
“What’s this place?” Rumsfeld asked, looking around.
“It’s my secret fortress inside a hollowed out volcano,” Condoleezza Rice answered, sitting at her throne. “I decided to move my operations here to keep a lower profile.”
“I don’t know if I like it,” Rumsfeld said. Chomps added a growl for good measure.
“You don’t need to,” Rice answered sternly.
“And what’s with the mask,” Rumsfeld asked, “Everyone knows who you are.”
“It goes with the cape,” Rice answered tersely.
Jenna Bush walked into the room. “France is calling. They’re trying to surrender again.”
“But I haven’t even threatened them yet!” Rice fumed, “Tell them they can’t surrender until I at least threaten them with war. If they call again, just hang up on them.”
Jenna left the room. “Was that one of Bush’s daughters?” Rumsfeld inquired.
“She and Barbara needed summer jobs for beer money so I hired them as evil minions,” Rice answered.
“I don’t know if I like all this hollowed out volcano and evil minion crap,” Rumsfeld growled.
“Just keep to your warring,” Rice ordered, “I now have even more of my military death machines to help you.” The giant robots marched into the room, looking ready to kill. “They are in everyway superior to human soldiers. They are tireless, strong, and… is one missing a head?” She spotted Chomps chewing on a robot head. “That dog is an annoyance!” She thought for a moment. “But maybe I have a use for him…”
“North Korea called,” Jenna called out. “They say they won’t have multilateral talks and only will talk with the United States.”
“I’ll tell them who they will talk to!” Rice shouted, “I know who to send to handle this. Ha; all these international problems or so easy to deal with now that Bush is out of the way. Soon I will be known as the most effective leader of the U.S. ever. Muh ha ha ha!”
“I’ll be at a bar,” Rumsfeld grumbled as he walked away.

“Ha ha ha! Pretty colors!” Kim Jong Il laughed as he played with his kaleidoscope.
“We’re here to talk to you about your nuclear weapons,” said a fierce voice from behind him.
“What!” Jong exclaimed, “I only talk to U.S.”
“Well the U.S. don’t want to talk to you,” said the thug, “Instead you’re talking to me.”
“And who are you?”
“Vinnie, from Jersey,” the man answered. He them motioned to the muscle bound man next to him. “And this here is Rocko.”
“I don’t know you! I don’t talk to you! Only to U.S.!” Jong exclaimed.
“Oh, I think you’ll talk to us,” Vinnie threatened, “And guess what; we’ll give you a free hair cut as part of the deal.” Vinnie snapped his fingers. Rocko then pulled out an electric clipper and approached Kim Jong Il.
“No!” Jong exclaimed, “Not my poofy hair! Noooooo!!”

“What are you doing up in that tree?” Laura demanded, “We’re you drinking again?”
“No,” Bush answered, “Chomps chased me up here. Is he gone now?”
“I think so,” Laura said, looking at the tree, “Nearly chewed the tree down, though.”
Bush climbed down. “Is that Zatoichi behind you?” he asked angrily, “That coward ran away!”
“You said nothing about large robots,” Ichi answered sternly, “You want me fight robots: 100 bu.”
“That’s double your fee!” Bush yelled angrily, “There no way in hell I’m going to pay that…”
The click of the sword returning to its sheath was the only evidence Bush had that Ichi sword was drawn. His tie then fell off his neck to the ground.
“Okay, you drive a hard bargain, Ichi,” Bush said more calmly, “100 bu it is.”
“Have you heard what happened while you were up in that tree?” Laura asked, “Dr. Rice has taken over America and turned it into a police state. You need to talk to her and apologize for your sexist remarks to end this madness.”
“Laura, Laura, Laura,” Bush chuckled, shaking his head, “Politics isn’t about talking and apologies; it’s about blind samurai and robots with gattling gun arms. Now, come on, Ichi, we have work to do.”

“Okay, everyone, I know this is new for all of us,” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan announced, “This is the first time the U.S. has had a military coup, and this is also the first time I have given a press conference with a robot pointing a gun at my head if I misspeak.” He glanced warily at the large robot behind him. “So, any questions?”
Fox News Reporter Melinda Hawkish stepped forward.
“I would think you’d be happy with all this,” Scott said, “We have war with about every country out there. What are you concerned about?”
“I’m just wondering, as assume most of our viewers are, what caliber bullet will be shot through your head if you misspeak?” Melinda asked.
“I don’t know,” Scott answered with annoyance. “Any other questions?”
“Why does Bush want to kill Iraqi children?” Helen Thomas asked, “What did Iraqi children ever do to him?”
“Are you even paying attention?” Scott exclaimed with exasperation, “That questions has nothing to do with anything!”
“Where are my pills? Who took my pills?” Helen responded.
“For the last time, Ari Fleischer stole them before he left,” Scott answered, “Go talk to him.”
“Is it true that mafia thugs shaved the head of Kim Jong Il at Empress Rice’s command?” asked another reporter. “Is it really wise to be associated with organized crime.”
“Empress Rice is trying to come up with creative solutions to problems,” Scott said, “And she thinks her new strategies are much more effective than Bush, who she terms a ‘goober’.”
“Many Democrats are complaining about being hunted down by robots when they oppose Empress Rice’s policies,” said a reporter, “They are then hunted down by robots after that complaining. How do you respond to that?”
“That’s just politics,” Scott said, “Sometimes it’s rough, but, if all the Democrats can do is whine about it, that shows just how bereft of ideas they are. Any other questions?”
“Is that samurai approaching you blind?”
“Huh?” Scott exclaimed, looking behind him. With a swish of a blade, the gattling gun arm of the robot was severed. With another slice, the head fell to the ground.
“Come on, Scott,” Bush said, running in front of the reporters,” We’re taking America back.”
“Uh, okay,” Scott said dubiously.
“Is it true, ousted President Bush, that you said mean sexist things to Empress Rice?” asked a reporter.
“I was just joking,” Bush responded, “She shouldn’t be so sensitive. And I want to assure the American people that Condi’s reign of terror will soon end. I will get back in power, stop her mindless hawkishness, and get the economy on track.”
“Actually, the stock market shot up when it was found out you were pinned up in a tree by an angry dog,” Melinda told him.
“What!” Bush exclaimed angrily, and then looked right into the cameras. “You guys suck! I’m going to be president again, anyway, though.”

“Where’s Chomps?” Rumsfeld inquired.
“Right where he won’t do me any trouble,” Rice said walking over to a metal cage. Inside was Chomps who was extremely angry. Condi made faces at him, and he snarled and growled but couldn’t bite through the metal bars.
“That’s cruel!” Rumsfeld exclaimed, “He should be running free, extracting his mindless anger on whatever he sees.”
“I have better plans for him,” Rice answered.
“And what’s this with laying off the troops?” Rumsfeld asked.
“Now that I have my robots, I have no need for them. Come to think of it, I have no need for you.”
A robot walked up from behind Rumsfeld and grabbed him. “Rarr!” Rumsfeld shouted, but couldn’t break the robots grip.
“‘Rarr’ all you want,” Rice said, “These robots are too strong for you.” Rice thought for a while evilly. “Actually, save your anger; I have use for it. Muh ha ha ha!”
“Jenna and I are going for a lunch run,” Barbara interrupted, “What kind of sub do you want from Subway?”
“Turkey with light mayo,” Rice answered, “and they better get it right or they will be destroyed!”

Bush, Zatoichi, and Scott barged into Buck the Marine’s house. “Buck, we need your help,” Bush exclaimed.
Buck was sitting in a chair looking all sullen.
“What’s the matter, Buck?” Bush asked with concern.
“I got dismissed from the Marines,” Buck said mournfully, “They think robots can replace us Marines, but a robot can’t understand the intricacies of kill’n a for’ner no more than can it paint art or write poetry.”
“I’m sorry, Buck,” Bush answered, “Can’t you get a job as a mercenary?”
“But I only liked kill’n for’ners for America,” Buck said, “That’s my favorite thing of all to kill people for.”
“Well, we’re going to overthrow Condi,” Bush told him, “Then you can be back in the Marines. Want to help us?”
“Sure,” Buck answered, cheering up a bit, “but won’t we be kill’n robots? I only know about kill’n for’ners. It’s not like you can stick robots with a KaBar.”
“If it helps,” Bush said, “I think a lot of their parts are made in China.”
“Foreign robots!” Buck exclaimed, “I’m in!”
“So, do you have weaponry?”
“Some.” Buck opened the door to a room filled with guns of all kinds.
“Hot damn,” Bush exclaimed and then picked up a machine gun, “Condi will be sorry she usurped me, that’s for sure. You want a gun, Ichi?”
“I prefer sword,” he answered curtly.
“You pick something out, Scott.”
“Uh, I’m not really a gun person,” he said uneasily, “I don’t think I’ll be much use on a siege or anything.”
Bush rolled his eyes. “What a diverse staff I got now. I have women, minorities, a blind guy, and now a homosexual.”
“Hey!” Scott exclaimed, “That’s not called for!”
Bush tossed him a shotgun. “Be a man!”
Senator Tom Daschle walked into the room. “I’ve been looking for you,” he said, “The current government is a disaster.”
“And we’re handling it, Daschle,” Bush answered with annoyance, “And we don’t need any whiny Democrats to help us.”
“I think this just proves what a poor leader you are,” Daschle said, “I am saddened how you couldn’t keep control of your own administration, your sexist remarks leading to…”
“Hey, Daschle,” Bush interrupted, “There’s something on your nose.”
“What?”
“My forehead.” Bush grabbed Daschle by the shoulders and then headbutted him.
“You broke my nose!”
“Then I did it right.”
Daschle ran out of the room.
“Now we going to blow up some foreign robots?” Buck asked, loading some magazines.
“Damn straight,” Bush answered. He then put on his cowboy hat and chambered a round into his rifle. “Time for some politics of massive destruction!”
TO BE CONCLUDED…