“Okay, little children,” John Kerry said, “It’s time and to bask and admire who will be your new president. By the way, I served in Vietnam.”
“You’re a mean scary man!” said one of the kindergarteners.
“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” Kerry screamed. He then turned to his butler. “Jeeves, flip these children off.”
“Certainly, sir.” The butler rose his middle finger at the children who then began crying.
“Bwa ha ha ha!”

“Kerry went berserk at a school event, and the media is barely covering it,” Bush fumed, “It’s time for some serious campaigning. Kerry is a haughty, French-looking liberal, and a total political opportunist whose soul is for sale in exchange for high office. Also, he’s gone insane from Botox injections directly into his brain. Those are the facts about John Kerry; now we have to figure out how to distort them to make him look bad.”
“You’re an idiot,” Condi remarked, “Anyway, I want you to meet who is going to be the new Iraqi president.”
“Hey, Mr. Iraqi,” Bush said as he shook the Iraqi’s hand.
“Hi, President Bush,” the Iraqi answered in a high-pitch voice, “I think we should have a lot of oil contracts for Halliburton.”
“If you think that’s best,” Bush stated, “I hope we can work together.”
“Watch me dance!” the Iraqi exclaimed and started dancing.
“Hee hee!” Bush laughed, “He is dancing!” He then became suspicious. “Wait a second… he’s a puppet!” Bush turned to Condi. “I told you no puppets for governing Iraq!”
“But you said you like puppets,” Condi answered innocently.
“Only to liven up boring cabinet meetings,” Bush declared, “I want to set up the Iraqi government right.”
“But having a puppet run Iraq will help us strategically,” Condi told him.
“And Halliburton demands it,” said Cheney who was up in the rafters working the marionette strings.
“No puppets!” Bush declared, “We have to do things right if we want to take down the terrorists who plot against us as we speak.” Bush then looked up to Cheney. “I didn’t say to stop making him dance.”

“We must kill more people!” Osama bin Laden’s subordinate shouted.
“I want to, but that American president is too smart for us,” Osama answered, “He will always outwit us. We need to influence the election to get him out and that Frenchman in.”
“But how will we do that.”
Osama grinned evilly. “I’ll use my vast sums of terrorist money to run ads just before the election trashing Bush and praising Kerry. Muh ha ha ha!”
“Actually, under campaign finance reform,” the subordinate said, “that’s now illegal.”
Osama was silent for a moment. “Then we have no choice but to BLOW PEOPLE UP!”

Clancy, Bush intelligence guy, ran into the room. “There is terrorist chatter on the wires.” He then opened the fridge and took out a soda.
“You’re supposed to put a quarter in the jar for each on of those you take,” Bush told him.
“That would leave evidence I was here.” Clancy took a drink of his Mr. Pibb.
“So what’s the chatter say?”
“I don’t know; it’s in some weird language… maybe Arabic.”
“Don’t you have anyone to translate that?” Bush asked in frustration.
“If I did, the translation would be highly classified.” He took another drink of his soda.
Bush took out his wallet and handed Clancy a twenty.
“They’re plotting to bomb the Capitol building,” Clancy said and then left.
“To the Capitol!” Bush announced.
“Isn’t this something for the police and bomb squad?” Condi commented.
“Come on; like you have anything better to do this afternoon.”

Bush and Condi ran through the Capitol building until they saw someone familiar. “What are you doing here, Rummy?” Bush asked.
“I came here to strangle Ted Kennedy,” he said, “but I couldn’t find his neck. I saw a weird looking guy walking around, though, so I strangled him.” Rumsfeld pointed to a dead terrorist. “I also found this.”
“It’s a bomb!” Bush exclaimed, taking the device from Rumsfeld and carefully setting it on the ground. “Hey, there’s a monkey inside!”
“It must be a delayed monkey-fuse bomb,” Condi stated. “If you shake it too much, the monkey will get aggravated and set the bomb off prematurely. After a while, though, he’ll just get bored and set it off anyway. Thus, we’re working against a time limit.”
“This is stupid,” Rumsfeld remarked, “I’ll see you guys later at the bar.”
“Rumsfeld is right,” Condi said, “We need to get out here!”
“If we do that, lots of innocent people will die!” Bush answered, “I will stay here and do whatever I can to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“You’ll have to defuse the bomb then,” Condi told him, “That’s done by disconnecting the monkey’s trigger. First, we’ll need a banana to distract the monkey. Then you need to carefully take off the casing whil watching for any failsafes. If there are wires connected to the screws, then you’ll…”
“On second thought,” Bush said, “this sounds too hard. Let’s just chuck it somewhere it will hurt no one we know or care about.”

“Senator Tom Daschle was attacked by a suicide monkey bomber in his office today,” the anchorwoman announced, “Though badly burned, he was heard to utter, ‘I’ll get Bush… and his little dog too!'”
“Not Barney!” Bush exclaimed.
“Why a monkey would bomb Senator Daschle is unknown,” the anchorwoman continued, “but a leading zoologist suggested that monkeys have just as much ability as people to tell who are slimy weasels. In reaction to the attack, presidential hopeful John Kerry said, ‘It is a horrible tragedy and I served in Vietnam.’ The President has yet to respond.”
The phone rang. “Hello,” Bush answered.
“What do you think of the terrorist attack on Daschle?”
“I think it’s funny when Daschle gets hurt.”
“This just in,” the anchorwoman said, “The President has now responded to the attack saying that he think it’s funny when people get hurt.”
“You misquoted me!” Bush shouted at the screen.
“Now back to part sixty-three of our indefinite numbered series on why Abu Grahib invalidates the entire war…”