“Gen. William Boykin, do you take back your statements about God and the current fight with terrorists?” asked a reporter.
“No. America is a Christian nation, and God has helped us all the way by putting Bush in office and giving us victory against the terrorists who worship a false god,” Gen. Boykin answered.
“And how can you be sure of that?”
“Because I say so!” answered a booming voice.
Everyone turned to see the giant figure of God, wearing a duster and a kickass cowboy hat. “America is truly a nation under Me,” the Lord continued, “and I’m tired of dealing with all others.”
“Can you prove you’re really God,” asked a skeptical reporter.
“Sure I can… SMITE! SMITE! SMITE!”
Reporters started dropping dead.
“I thought You were supposed to be benevolent!” exclaimed a panicked reporter.
“You’re thinking of Jesus,” God chuckled, “Now I’m going to get Old Testament on all the enemies of America!”

“God has gone on a total rampage against terrorists,” the anchorwoman reported, “His first action was to lift up the entire nation of Syria and then beat Saudi Arabia with it. We go now to a videotaped statement from Osama bin Laden.”
“I thought Allah was on our side,” said a frightened Osama, “but He’s totally killing us all! He’s even worse than America and the Joooos!” Osama looked behind him. “Oh s**t! Here He comes!”
The videotape ended and the anchorwoman came back on screen. “France has come out to condemn the unilateral action of the U.S., Britain, and the Lord Almighty. France was subsequently swallowed by the earth. The earth soon got very sick and spit France back out.”

“Oh no!” Buck the Marine exclaimed, “I’m outta bullets and there are still more terrorists to kill!”
“Hey, what’s that falling from the sky,” said another Marine, “Is it manna from heaven?”
“Better,” Buck answered, “It’s ammo! And hollow points too! I guess God doesn’t follow the Geneva Convention. Ooh-rah!”

“I think at this debate today, we Democrats should focus on policy issues instead of Bush hatred,” Sen. Liberman said very slowly and boringly.
The crowd started booing and throwing things at Liberman. “We want mindless Bush hatred!” shouted one of the crowd.
Suddenly a giant figure crashed through the roof. “Oh no!” Gephardt squealed, “It’s God and He looks wrathful!”
“Bush will be president for I have said so!” God announced, “and thus Democrats must be smoten!” Lightning and fireballs flew at all the Democrats. “Kill! Maim! Destroy! Make alive no longer!” God shouted while laughing maniacally.
“Religious extremist!” shouted a Democrat just before exploding into flames.

“Do you condone God’s partisan attacks?” a reporter asked.
“Well, I never planned to slaughter all the Democrat candidates,” Bush answered, chuckling a bit, “but you’re not going to get me to publicly disagree with God.”
“Don’t you think God is being a little harsh?” asked another reporter, “When terrorists pleaded to Him for mercy, said He didn’t understand their language and then crushed them under foot.”
“The glory of God is a mystery to all,” Bush explained, “and thus he can be both omniscient and only speak and understand English.” Bush thought for a moment. “Wow! I pronounced ‘omniscient’ correctly. That must mean…”

“Wake up!” Condi commanded harshly.
“What?” Bush asked groggily.
“At important meetings about national security,” Condi said angrily, “It’s traditional to STAY AWAKE!”
Bush laid his head back down. “I’m following the Reagan tradition.”

“The meeting of Bush Haters is called to order,” Michael Moore announced, “Jonathan Chait, please read the minutes from the last meeting.”
“By unanimous vote, we declared that we hate Bush,” Chait said as he read from the minutes that were made from hastily writing with a crayon, “Also, by unanimous vote, we declared that we are much smarter than the general populace. By majority vote, it was decided that people were much happier under Saddam than the occupying force led by Bush. We also determined that we will spend more time trying to resolve how Bush can be both extremely dumb and evil and scheming and constantly outsmarting us at the same time. Still open to debate is whether Bush is worse than Hitler.”
“I like Hitler! He kill joos!”
“Oh, I would like to welcome some new members to the Bush Haters club,” Moore said, “but I need to remind our Islamic extremist friends that we refer to Jews here as ‘neo-conservatives’. I think it’s time to open the floor to general fomenting. I’ll start.” Moore took a deep breath and fixed his hat. “I hate Bush!” he screamed, shaking the floor as he jumped up and down, “I’m too busy hating Bush to shave or bathe. And he drives me to eat excessively!”
“You could use some of your eating time to instead bathe,” suggested someone in the audience.
“You shut up!” Moore responded.
“Bathing is over-rated,” Jaques Chirac said, “Anyway, I hate Bush because he won’t recognize the moral superiority of the French. He’s always warring and liberating when the proper way to deal with foreign affairs is to be impotent and gripe about others.”
Al Fraken now stood up, his hair uncombed and his clothes disheveled. “Bush drove me to drink! I don’t just hate him, but I hate the right-wing media too that keeps labeling me as ‘deranged’! And I think the restraining order Alan Colmes put on me is overly harsh.”
“Gerrwargh lies erghwaggy!” Senator Ted Kennedy stated, flailing his arms wildly. Everyone nodded to his wisdom.
“I think we need to raise the level of discourse,” Chait stated, “There are a lot of perfectly rational reason to dislike Bush and…” Chait started getting tremors. “Who am I kidding! I just hate Bush because of how he walks and… uh… stuff.” Chait started punching a wall.
“We hate Bush because he has too many Secret Service agents guarding him!” shouted one of the Islamic extremists in the back.
“I hate Bush because he stole my pills!” yelled Helen Thomas.
A man with a bushy mustache stood up. “No one hates Bush more than me! I lost my job because of him.”
“He only cares about the rich like me,” Moore said firmly.
“And I lost two sons because of him,” the man continued.
“If only Bush would help the poor get healthcare,” Chait stated.
“Yeah… it was a healthcare issue,” the man said uneasily, “By the way, I need a place to crash since… uh… Ashcroft is after me with the Patriot Act since… uh… I said things about Bush– Yeah, that’s the ticket!”
“What your name?” Moore asked.
“Saddam Hu… I mean Ed.”
Chait answered is cell phone. “What? There is an infiltrator in our group!”
“Probably a jooo!” yelled one the Islamic extremists, “I mean neo-conservative!”
Moore looked to one of the most trusted members of the Bush Haters club. “Chomps, the world’s angriest Bush hater, do you have any suspects?”
“Gerrrarh,” Chomps answered.
“Maybe it’s just the unidentified pills I took,” Al Fraken said, “but doesn’t Chomps kinda look like a rottweiler with a mustache glued on and wearing a Rastafarian hat?”
“And he’s barely more coherent than Ted,” Chait added.
“We can’t just turn on each other for our odd appearances,” Moore said, “Then again, those are kinda sharp, jagged looking teeth he has now that I can see them since he’s curled is lips up. And the way he’s staring at each of us with a thirst for blood is a bit unsettling.”
“All this questioning of him seems to have made him angry,” Chait said, “Very angry.”
“Uh oh.”

Donald Rumsfeld sat on his back porch, drinking his whiskey. Suddenly Chomps ran up.
“There you are,” Rumsfeld exclaimed, “I always wonder where you go running off to during the day; guess you have business of your own to handle. Now what’s that in your mouth?”
Chomps dropped the item and panted happily.
“Looks like someone is missing an arm,” Rumsfeld chuckled, “Guess that’s why God gave us two.”

Volume 1
At his campaign headquarters, O’Yama, eater of souls and Democratic presidential candidate, sat at his throne and contemplated the destruction he would soon unleash across the world. A lone figure then entered his chamber.
“Announce yourself!” O’Yama demanded, standing to his full height of over nine feet not counting the horns that protruded from his dark helm.
“I’m Terry McAuliffe, the DNC Chairman,” McAuliffe said, “I just want to see if you’re a team player unlike a certain Governor Howard Dean whom I won’t mention.”
“Ask your questions quickly before I become annoyed,” O’Yama answered, his voice subdued but still threatening.
“So… what’s your view on abortion?”
O’Yama clenched his fist and held it up in a threatening manner. “I’m for the killing of all things!”
“Supports a woman’s right to choose,” McAuliffe said to himself as he wrote in a notepad. He looked back to O’Yama. “What are your views on the war in Iraq?”
O’Yama chuckled, his laughter so cold as to chill one’s soul. “Saddam’s torture of his citizens pleased me. I would not have stopped him.”
“Against Bush’s unilateral action in Iraq,” McAuliffe said as he continued to write in his notepad. “So what do you think of affirmative action.”
O’Yama’s eyes glowed a fiery red and then he stated in a ferocious voice, “Mend it; don’t end it.”
“Great, great,” McAuliffe said smiling, “Now, one more question: Under that evil looking armor you have on– you wouldn’t happen to be a minority, would you?”
“I have grown weary of you,” O’Yama announced. He then shot a fireball from his hands which knocked McAuliffe backwards, sending the man crashing through a window. He then fell three stories to the pavement below.
Helping McAuliffe to his feet were Bill and Hillary Clinton. “So how’d it go?” Bill Clinton asked.
McAuliffe brushed off his suit. “I think we can work with him.”

Bush held his sword into the air. “By the power of Grayskull… I… have… the… POWER!!”
“I don’t think it works that way,” Scott McClellan commented.
“Maybe it works this way,” Bush said, and then smacked Scott in the face with the flat of the sword.
“Ow!” Scott yelled, “Why do you keep doing that?”
Bush rolled his eyes. “Because you yelping in pain is funny; do I need to write you a thesis or something?” Bush looked at his enchanted sword, the Crat-Cutter. “Maybe I can unlock its secret if I hold it higher.” He prepared to power up. “Thundercats… HO!!!” he yelled as he plunged the sword skyward, accidentally stabbing the ceiling.
“George!” Laura Bush yelled, “What did I say about using swords in the house?”
Bush quickly concealed the sword behind him. “Uh… be really careful when I do it.”
“No, I said never in the house and you know that,” Laura said sternly, “If your going to play samurai, you do it in the backyard under the supervision of that nice Asian man.”
“But Zatoichi’s blind.”
“And yet he doesn’t cut up the house with his sword.”
“Alright,” Bush answered, and then looked to Scott. “You better go take over your press duties from Rumsfeld.”
“Okay, but I just like you to know, Bush,” Scott said sincerely,” that I have faith in you and that you can save the world from the wrath O’Yama.”
“Thanks, that means a lot,” Bush answered, “I and I have something to tell you too.” He then whacked Scott in the face again with the flat of his sword.
“Ow!” Scott yelled and then ran off.
“I think I’m taking that sword away from you,” Laura said, approaching Bush.
“Stop, foolish woman,” Karl Rove uttered as he emerged from the shadows, “Bush must train to use that sword to slay the evil demon O’Yama or the world will be destroyed thus causing the Republicans to lose Congress and the Whitehouse.”
“Fine,” Laura grumbled as she walked away, “I’ll get some ice ready to put his finger in when we rush George to the hospital to have it reattached.”
“Your training begins now,” Zatoichi announced, standing by the door to the backyard.
“Talk to you later, Rover,” Bush said, “I’m going to be a samurai.”
“May the ancients of the Republican party guide you to victory,” Karl Rove said before disappearing back into the shadows.
Bush went out into the yard with Ichi. He then swung the sword around. “How are you going to tell if I’m doing it right if you can’t see?” Bush asked.
“From the sound of your sword swing, Bush-san, I can tell you are holding it backwards,” Ichi said, “Remember: Blade faces the enemy.”
Bush rotated the sword in his hands. “This katana is complicated,” Bush complained, “So how do I use it’s magical powers?”
“The magic comes from your heart,” Ichi answered, “The sword will strike true if you wield it with honor, truth, and justice.”
“Can I wear a cowboy hat when I do it?” Bush asked excitedly.
Ichi sighed. “Yes, you can wear a cowboy hat.”
“Yee-ha!” Bush exclaimed, “I’m gonna give that O’Yama a samurai sword slaying… Texan style!”

“No more breathing for you!” Rumsfeld yelled as he squeezed the neck of a reporter.
“You can stop strangling people,” Scott told Rumsfeld, “I’m taking back the press conferences.”
“Fine,” Rumsfeld said, releasing the reporter, “My arthritis is starting to act up.”
“Any questions from anyone not strangled?” Scott asked as he took the podium.
“How do you respond to reports that Bush went on some mystic quest to Japan?”
Scott gave a forced chuckled. “Why is it every time Bush disappears without notice for a few days it’s assumed he’s on some ‘mystic quest’?”
“People are saying he’s gained a legendary sword in Japan to slay the Democratic presidential hopeful O’Yama, Eater of Souls,” said another reporter.
“How can you jump to conclusions like that?” Scott responded, “How do you know he didn’t go to India to get a magic spear to slay John Edwards?”
“Well, O’Yama is the frontrunner, and thus he would have more motivation to slay him.”
Scott shook his head. “You people always assume the most partisan reasons for everything.”
“So why has Bush been seen practicing with a katana on the White House lawn?” asked one reporter.
Scott shrugged his shoulders. “He’s always practices with various Asian weaponry; that doesn’t mean anything.”
“So, in the upcoming debate, are you going to guarantee that Bush will not slay any of the ten presidential hopefuls?”
“I think I’ve made things clear on that issue,” Scott answered, visibly sweating, “Doesn’t anyone want to talk about the ‘quagmire’ in Iraq?”

“There are some new rules for this debate,” the moderator said, “We’re going to be more strict about opening and closing remark lengths, please no applause or other interruptions from the audience during the debate, and no eating the soul of the moderator.” The moderator took a careful glance to O’Yama. “I’m not trying to single anyone out, but those are the rules. We’ll now start with the opening remarks, and, by random draw, the first one will be from Representative Dennis Kucinich.”
“Thank you,” Kucinich said, “I just like to say that I will be the candidate of peace. One of my first acts will be to make a Department of Peace that will stop wars and continue the fight against mind controlling space lasers. In fact…”
“Quiet impotent fool!” O’Yama screamed as he aimed his hand at Kucinich. Lightning then shot from O’Yama’s fingertips, electrocuting Kucinich and dropping him to the ground.
“It’s not your turn to speak, O’Yama,” the moderator said gently, “We need to respect each other’s time and not zap each other.”
“You will not tell me what to do, insignificant bug!” O’Yama yelled, his eyes glowing with an even brighter fire as he once again aimed his hand and shot lightning from his fingertips, electrocuting Kucinich and dropping him to the ground.
“I’m sorry to say, but I guess this is what we can expect from O’Yama,” John Kerry said, “I guess he’s too afraid to let others speak.”
“How dare you say that to me, you haughty French-looking Senator from Massachusetts who, by the way, served in Vietnam!” O’Yama shouted, his anger shaking the auditorium, “You will pay for your impudence!” He aimed his hand and shot lightning from his fingertips, electrocuting Kucinich and dropping him to the ground.
“I… cede… the rest… of my… time…” Kucinich uttered as he lay on the ground.
“O’Yama, you are next,” the moderator said.
“Long I have waited in the void, dreaming up the destruction of the world and progressive policies that will curb the might of corporations. When elected, I will bring death, misery, and increased pay for teachers. Finally, the streets will run red with blood, evil will rule the day, and there will be an affordable prescription drug plan for the masses. Fire and lava will consume the land, all with the multilateral support of the U.N. And, not only will I undo the ruinous policies of George W. Bush, I WILL EAT HIS SOUL!”
The entire audience erupted into applause.
“Please, quiet,” the moderator warned, “No applauding during the debate.”
The applause all stopped except for one clapping slowly at the back of the room. Everyone turned to see a man in a cowboy hat.
“Nice speech O’Yama,” President Bush said. He then drew the Crat-Cutter. “Now I’m gonna cut you good!”
“Boo!” the Democrat audience yelled.
“You’re worse than Hitler!” screeched one next to Bush.
“Would Hitler be nice enough to teach you some Japanese?” Bush asked the man. “This is called the ‘kashira’.” He then struck the man in the head with the hilt of his sword.
“Foolish mortal!” O’Yama yelled, “How dare you try and stand up to my might. Witness my power.” O’Yama now held out both hands, lightning shooting from all his fingertips, electrocuting Kucinich and dropping him to the ground.
“You can zap Dennis all you want,” Bush responded, “but you won’t intimidate me!”
“Then try handling this!” O’Yama said as he threw a fireball at Bush. With a swift swipe of his sword, Bush cut the fireball in two, setting people in the audience on fire to each side of him.
“Ha! Ha! You set your own supporters on fire!” Bush mocked.
“We will settle this one on one!” O’Yama shouted, drawing a giant katana that glowed red.
Bush charged the stage and clashed with O’Yama, the other Democrat presidential candidates fleeing for cover. Bush was quick, but O’Yama was powerful, Bush blocking one of his swings only to be knocked backwards. Bush rolled back to his feet and persisted, coming at O’Yama with a quick series of swings. O’Yama easily deflected them, and then attacked. Bush was two slow, and took a cut to his side.
“Ow!” Bush yelled as he stumbled backwards and fell on to his back, “Zatoichi never told me swords hurt so much!”
O’Yama laughed evilly as he slowly approached the prone Bush. “Now your soul will be mine!”
Bush began to panic, and thus he tried to remember what Zatoichi told him at the end of his training. You are an idiot. You will probably lose. I am going to find a bomb shelter to hide in. echoed in Bush’s head. “Guess it’s up to my Texan know-how,” Bush said to himself.
O’Yama posed over Bush, holding his sword over his head to deliver the final blow. Before, O’Yama could, though, Bush sent a quick kick to his groin.
“Arggh!” O’Yama yelled as he crumpled over in pain, “Why did I listen to my political advisor and not wear the codpiece to the debate?”
Bush sprung back to his feet, and, with a quick swing, severed O’Yama’s lowered head. Instantly O’Yama’s body was consumed in a black flame as he disappeared back into the void.
“I saved the world!” Bush exclaimed as he waved his sword around and danced a jig.
The Democrats in the audience all booed.
“I’d like to be the first to condemn this blatant, partisan attack,” Representative Richard Gephardt said.
“It was racist too,” declared Al Sharpton, “Though I haven’t figured out exactly why yet… but I will!”
“Warmonger!” yelled an audience member as the rest continued to boo.
Bush ceremoniously sheathed his sword. “Ah, shut up, you whiny little bitches.”