“According to this leaked memo,” the anchorwoman announced, “Rumsfeld is about to purchase a quart of milk, bananas, and a gallon of whiskey.”
“That’s my shopping list!” Rumsfeld screamed as he picked up the T.V. and smashed it on the ground. Chomps, the world’s angriest dog, then eagerly attacked the broken pieces. “Who is leaking my memos?”
Rumsfeld thought for a moment. “I have two options to end the leaks: find the leaker, or murder all reporters.”
“Grrrrah!” Chomps growled, snapping at the air angrily.
“No,” Rumsfeld answered, “Killing all reporters will take too long. We’ll need to find that leaker and kill anyone who stands in our way. To the Buick!”

Senator Daschle went flying out the front door of the Capitol building with Chomps running to fetch him. Rumsfeld then emerged holding up Senator Leahy by the neck.
“I don’t know anything! I swear!” Leahy cried, “I’m a member of Congress, for Christ’s sake; I couldn’t find my ass with two hands and a flashlight!”
“Who is the leaker?” Rumsfeld demanded.
“I don’t know! All I know is that I’m supposed to keep minorities from becoming judges! That’s it!”
Rumsfeld dropped Leahy to the ground. “If I ever find out any different, I’ll be back… and I’ll kill you and all your constituency!”
The press then swarmed around Rumsfeld. “According to a recent leaked memo,” said one reporter, “Are you now admitting the war on terror is a failure?”
“I will answer that by strangling you to death,” Rumsfeld responded, “Rarr!” He then grabbed the reporter by the neck. After a while, he dropped the reporter. “Any follow up questions?”
The reporter didn’t move.
Rumsfeld smiled smugly. “That’s what I thought.”
“Melinda Hawkish, Fox News,” Melinda announced herself, “People are now concerned that we won’t be waging the war on terror with the violence it deserves. Can you assuage their fears?”
Rumsfeld stared into the camera. “The terrorists will die! And who is leaking the memo will die! And whoever stands in my way will die! Murder, death, kill… remember those words!”
Rumsfeld then noticed a reporter holding a piece of paper and quickly snatched it. “That the short story I wrote about a girl coming of age,” he exclaimed, “That was personal!” He gave it to Chomps to smell. “Find and kill who’s touched it!”
Chomps immediately started savagely attacking the reporter. “I already know he handled it,” Rumsfeld said, rolling his eyes.

Bush watched as his office door was ripped off and then chewed to pieces.
“Hey!” Bush complained, “Your dog done ate my door!”
“We traced the leaks of my memos back to the Whitehouse,” Rumsfeld responded as Chomps finished consuming the door.
“Well I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Bush said, “I never even see your memos. I have some aides summarize all memos sent to me. Then I have another aide summarize all those summaries together. And then I don’t read that.”
“So where does my memos go?”
“Over there.” Bush pointed to a wastebasket. It was clearly labeled “Dispose of internal Rumsfeld memos here. DO NOT RAID”.
Rumsfeld checked inside to find it empty. “Looks like it’s been raided.”
“Maybe we need to make the sign bigger,” Bush suggested.
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled as he kicked the wastebasket. Chomps then tore it apart.
“You need to learn to chill like me, Rummy,” Bush said.
A voice then came over his speakerphone. “We have a situation that could lead to nuclear war! Mr. President, you need to…”
“I’ll get to it later,” Bush answered, “I’m busy now.” He went back to playing his Gameboy.
“The leaker is near,” Rumsfeld told Chomps, his hands tensing in preparation for a strangling, “I can feel it.”
As they left the office, Chomps’s ears perked up. “You hear something, boy?” Rumsfeld followed Chomps until he could hear it too.
“Rumsfeld memos! Get your internal Rumsfeld memos!”
Rumsfeld and Chomps made their way outside until they spotted a booth labeled “Rumsfeld Memos” manned by Bush’s two daughters, Barbara and Jenna.
“I’ll take a memo,” said a reporter, walking up to the booth.
“It now comes with a free bullet,” Rumsfeld said, pulling out his luger and shooting the reporter.
“Uh-oh!” Barbara and Jenna exclaimed upon seeing Rumsfeld and his dog.
“You two have some ‘slpanin to do,” Rumsfeld said menacingly.
“Uh, we just felt like sitting down and thus sat at this booth,” Jenna stated innocently, “Why? What does it say?”
“It says, ‘Rumsfeld’s internal memos – five for a dollar’,” Rumsfeld answered, seething with anger.
“It was all Jenna’s idea!” Barbara exclaimed.
“Hey!”
Laura Bush then came walking by. “What’s happening here?”
“Your two villainous daughters are selling my memos to the press,” Rumsfeld told her, “and I’m going to strangle them.”
“We’re just trying to raise beer money… I mean money for school supplies,” Jenna said.
“Well you better give those memos back to Donald and apologize,” Laura declared sternly.
They handed the box of memos to Rumsfeld. “Sorry, Mr. Rumsfeld.”
Laura then led the two of them away. “Now you’re going to get such a talking to you’ll wish you were strangled, by golly!”
Rumsfeld stood there holding his memos as Chomps tore apart the booth. “Aw shucks; I wanted to murder someone. I know! Let’s go to a local university and strangle some liberation protestors!”
“Grrrawerg!” Chomps growled in approval and anger.

“The Rumsfeld strangler has struck college universities in the D.C. area,” the anchorman announced, “leaving numerous hippies dead. Police do not plan to investigate too much, because we all hate stupid, smelly hippies. Now keep tuned in to Fox News for more fair and balanced coverage.”

“You are about to speak with North Korean dictator Kim Jong Il,” Karl Rove told president Bush, “and you need to take a hard stance with him.”
“Hey, I know how to do deeplomosee, Rover,” Bush answered, “I will be resolved in these talks.”
Via the satellite connection, Kim Jong Il appeared on screen.
“Ha ha! He’s got poofy hair!” Bush exclaimed.
“You will not laugh at my poofy hair!” Jong yelled angrily, “You will fear me for I am very intimidating! I have nukes!”
“I’m supposed to believe you have the technology to make nucular weapons but not a comb?” Bush scoffed.
“You will treat me with respect! I very scary!”
“The only thing that makes me a little worried is your ability to control hoofed mammals I keep hearing about it,” Bush answered.
“The term ‘Dear Leader’ is meant to be affectionate,” Rove whispered in Bush’s ear, “It’s not meant to imply that he can command deer.”
“You will negotiate with me!” Jong demanded, “You will sign a non-aggression treaty!”
“But I like aggression!” Bush responded, “You’re an evil, murderous dictator, and you better watch it or you’re going to end up like Saddam and Osama – successfully hiding from us while occasionally sending out videotapes.”
Jong smiled. “I like to be on T.V.!”
“You better like it,” Bush answered threateningly and then cut the communications. He then turned to Rove. “I think I told him.”
Rove sighed and then faded into the shadows.
White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan came walking by. “What makes someone a crazy loon like Kim Jong Il,” Bush asked him.
“Well, when someone is a dictator, they often become mad with power.”
“That a great idea!” Bush exclaimed, “I should become mad with power!”
“That wasn’t’ what I…”
“With all this presidential power, think of the havoc I can cause,” Bush said, reveling the thought, “Quick, Scott, what’s something you’ve always wanted.”
Scott thought for a moment. “A job where I’m respected by my boss.”
“That’s the gayest thing I ever heard, Tubby,” Bush laughed, “I guess I’ll have to think of my own thing to do with my unlimited power!”
Bush looked out the window. “Have those protestors outside the front gates killed!”
“Those are well-wishers,” Scott answered.
“Then have them thanked,” Bush said as he stared at them evilly, “Muh ha ha ha!”
“Uh… that’s not really evil laugh worthy,” Scott told him.
“I know,” Bush responded, a bit disappointed. He then noticed something on his desk. “The red button!” He ran over and pushed it repeatedly. He then noticed a little “Out of Order” sign on the side. “Dammit!”
“You alright?” Scott asked.
“I’m mad I can’t use my power,” Bush answered. “I know!” He walked out of his office while Scott followed. Bush then spotted someone. “You! You’re fired!”
“I’m just a tourist,” the man answered.
“What’s your name and where do you work?” Bush demanded.
“Uh, Carl Johnson and I work at a Wal-Mart in Memphis.”
Bush picked up a phone and quickly dialed a number. “I am the President of the United States and I demand that Carl Johnson be fired… I don’t care if the number I dialed is invalid! I’m the President and I’m mad… mad with power!”
Laura Bush came walking by. “What are you doing?” she asked.
Bush quickly hung up the phone. “Nothing, dear.”
“You’re not going mad with power, are you?” Laura asked suspiciously.
“No! Not at all!”
Laura stared at Bush sternly.
“Maybe a little.”
She continued to stare at him.
“It was all Scott’s idea!” Bush exclaimed, breaking down, “He’s a bad influence one me!”
“I wasn’t for any madness at all!” Scott responded.
“You two better use your power sanely or I’ll give you both a talking to you won’t forget,” Laura told them, “Now there is a cabinet in the kitchen that needs fixing, so why don’t you two get ‘mad with power tools’ and take care of it.”
“Yes, dear.”
“Yes, Mrs. Bush.”
Laura walked off.
“Wait a second,” Scott said to Bush, “Shouldn’t you be handling important things like the economy and Iraq?”
“You’re right, Scott,” Bush answered, “You fix the cabinet while I handle all our problems foreign and domestic.”
“Okay, Mr. President,” Scott said, running off to the kitchen.
“Dumbass,” Bush chuckled to himself, “Time to watch The Matrix Reloaded on DVD again.”