“Yachting is quite different from manning a swift boat, Jeeves,” Kerry told his butler as he stood at the head of “I Served in Vietnam.” “Certainly more relaxing without the Vietnamese shooting at you. One thing hasn’t changed, though: the people in all the other boats hate me.”
“You suck!” yelled a nearby boater.
“What are those things in the water, sir?” the butler asked as he pointed at some metallic objects in their path.
“Looks like mines,” Kerry answered.
An explosion rocked the boat. “We’re sinking!” Kerry shouted angrily, “Doesn’t the physics of buoyancy know I served in Vietnam? Well, I’ll get in one life raft and you fill the other with my hair products, Jeeves.”
“What about me, sir?”
“You can swim! What am I paying you for?”
“Can’t I at least have a life jacket, sir?”
“No, I like to use the other ones as pillows.”
The butler groaned. “Of course, sir.”

President Bush laughed hysterically.
“I think you really need to learn the distinction between a practical joke and attempted murder,” Scott McClellan warned.
“Come on!” Bush said, “Look at Kerry’s expression on the satellite photos!”
“Can we get to work?” Cheney asked irately, “Halliburton isn’t paying us to goof off all day.”
“We need to talk about the convention,” Rove uttered as he emerged from the shadows, “The one known as Kerry gained little comfort from his. If we are skilled with ours, victory will be assured… just as the elders predicted.”
“So how is the convention setup going?” Bush asked Rudy Giuliani, “Will there be many balloons?”
“Upon your request, the great city of New York will supply the Republican National Convention with very many balloons,” Giuliani said, “My worry is about the protestors. If they get too out of hand, I will personally go out there and beat them with a tire iron. And you have the Giuliani guarantee that each day of the convention I will be beating protestors… unless there is a Yankee game on. Go Yankees!”
“Thanks, Rudy! You’re the best!”
“This is true. Now, I need some exercise, so I’m going to a sports bar to pick a fight with anyone who doesn’t love the Yankees.” Giuliani then left the room.
“This convention is going to be the best!” Bush exclaimed, “Nothing could ruin it!”
“Come to the war room,” Condi said over the intercom, “We have news of something that could ruin the convention.”
“Dammit!”

In the war room, Rumsfeld was busy crossing countries out on a map of the world. “When do I get my next war?” he demanded of Bush, “We’re running out of evil Iraqis to kill!”
“As I keep telling you,” Bush answered, “when I win reelection. Then you can war all you want.”
“Then you better win!” Rumsfeld snarled.
“On to business,” Condi said, “as we all know, terrorists are plotting to attack financial institutions.”
“But Halliburton needs financial institutions to do evil!” Cheney exclaimed.
“Why are terrorists always plotting to blow up stuff we like?” Bush asked angrily, “Why can’t they blow up something we hate… like themselves.” He thought for a moment. “Oh wait, they do.”
“It gets worse,” Condi said, “We have confirmation of terrorists plotting to attack the Republican National Convention.”
“They could damage the balloons!” Bush exclaimed, “We need to stop them!”
“We have a man on the inside finding information about a terrorist meeting right now,” Condi said, and then pointed to a monitor. On it was video of a number of Muslim extremists.
“Before we continue on about our plot to blow up the Republican National Convention, I’d just like to introduce our newest member, Chomps, the World’s 24,567th angriest Muslim extremist.” The terrorist then pointed to the camera.
“I know this isn’t my field,” Scott said, “but I question the wisdom of constantly using a mentally unstable rottweiler as an undercover agent.”
“Come on, Scott,” Bush answered, “Half my cabinet is mentally unstable.”
“Could you quiet your talking monkey before I strangle him!” Rumsfeld shouted at Bush.
“Yeah, shut up, Scott,” Bush said.
“It is important that we time the attack right so that we kill the crusader President Bush,” said the terrorist leader.
“But I don’t want to be killed!” Bush shouted, “We need to stop them, Condi!”
“Most of us don’t want you killed either, sir,” Condi answered, “but it’s not as simple as stopping this one cell. Many terrorists groups are plotting this together.”
“We’ll have to stop them all!” Bush proclaimed, and then thought for a moment. “Any reason we can’t kill this group now?”
“None I can think of,” Condi answered.
“Hopefully we will succeed in getting John Kerry elected,” the terrorist leader said.
“I like him,” said another terrorist, “He served in Vietnam which proves to me he could be a good leader.”
“What do you think, Chomps?” the terrorist leader asked.
“Hippies!” Rumsfeld said into the radio, “I repeat: Hippies!”
The camera started shaking violently as they heard a snarling sound. “Hey,” they could hear the terrorist leader say, “You kinda look like an angry dog.”
“A very angry dog,” said another terrorist.
“Don’t let him touch us or we’ll be unclean!” was the last shout before the screen was covered in red.
Bush looked to Scott. “Now it’s up to you to stop all terrorists.”
Scott sighed. “Again!”

“So is the White House concerned about the reported plans for terrorist attacks against financial institutions and the Republican National Convention?” asked a reporter.
“Not at all,” Scott answered, “Financial institutions and political conventions get blown up all the time. It’s so common place that the media never even bothers reporting about it.”
“That not true,” said the reporter.
“Shut up!” Scott yelled, “Anyway, I’m just glad that terrorists are focusing on targets like those rather than the one thing that would really dampen our spirits… the one thing that, if attacked, we, the American people, would never recover from. And that one thing is…”

“Nothing better than rolling around naked in a big pile of money,” Michael Moore said to himself, “Except for rolling around naked in a big pile of money while eating fried chicken!” He paused for a second. “What’s that ticking sound?”

“After being declared by White House Press Secretary as ‘the only thing holding America together,’ Michael Moore was the victim of a terrorist attack,” said Melinda Hawkish of FOX News. “Unfortunately, he was too fat to be blown up, and the only thing damaged was his hat.” Melinda stopped for a minute to listen to her ear piece. “What do you mean saying ‘unfortunately’ shows bias?” She looked back to the camera. “If you like Michael Moore, you’re watching the wrong (bleep)ing channel. Now, next up is a special report by Brit Hume on how critics of the FOX News channel tend to have extremely small penises… including the women. FOX News: We report, you decide.”