“Here’s your new sister, Miss Beazley,” Laura Bush said as she set down the puppy in front of Barney.
“Yipe! Yipe!” Barney yelled angrily at the Scotty dog pup.
“Yip! Yip!” Miss Beazley responded fiercely.
“Yipe! Yipe!” Barney snarled, moving closer.
“Yip! Yip!” Miss Beazley barked, holding her ground.
“Will you two shut up!” President Bush yelled, throwing down the comic section of the newspaper. “You sound like the U.N. Next thing I know, you’ll be barking about how the Jews control everything.”
“They’ll take some time to get used to each other,” Laura said.
“Just lock them in a closet,” Bush stated, “I have important things to get done.”
“That’s bad parenting.”
“Worked on the girls.”
“They’re in a cross-country shooting spree with the feds after numerous bank robberies!” Laura shouted.
“And they haven’t been caught yet,” Bush said as he picked back up the paper. “Hey, you read about these people theorizing that Abraham Lincoln was gay? You know, once when the ghost of Lincoln turned into a fiery demon and chased me down one of the White House hallways, he stopped for a moment to comment on the drapes.”
“You and the ghost of Lincoln get along as I take the dogs for a walk,” Laura stated as she led out the dogs.
Bush’s paper flew out of his hands. “Stop stealing my paper, Lincoln!” Bush shouted.
“I also hid your remote!” answered an unearthly voice, “Muh ha ha ha!”
“Dang. Better just get to work.” Bush walked out and soon spotted Scott McClellan. “My inauguration is coming up really soon,” Bush told him, “and I want to make sure my second term is the best in the history of the universe. Thus, I want my new cabinet prepared. Now, one thing I’m concerned about is if the terrorists find the location of our Hidden Valley. If they attack that, it could cut off our critical ranch dressing supplies. Pass that on to the soon to be Secretary of Homeland Security Bernard Kerik.”
“Uh… he withdrew because of scandals.”
“Then pass it on to whomever we’re filling that post with.”
“For one thing,” Scott said, “I’m your Press Secretary, not your personal aide. Second…”
“And get me a soda, bitch!” Bush shouted and slapped Scott across the back of his head.
Scott scurried off and Bush then found Condoleezza Rice and Colin Powell together. “Good. Colin, I need you to teach Condi everything you know about Secretary of State.”
“Well…”
Powell was silenced by a sharp punch, knocking him to the floor. “I already have all the knowledge I need. Hearing him talk will only make me dumber.”
“Good,” Bush said, “That will save time.”
“I wanted Secretary of Defense, though!” Condi shouted.
“But Rummy is doing a good job,” Bush answered, “and… well… I’d be too scared to fire him. But, if he leaves the job for some reason…”
“Or an accident befalls him,” Condi added, grinning evilly.
“Yeah, or if that, then Secretary of Defense is yours.”
“Muh ha ha ha!” Condi laughed.
“Good to see you’ve gotten your humor back,” Bush smiled. He then turned to Alberto Gonzales. “Now, I want you to go talk to little Johnny Ashcroft to learn everything he knows. No wearing a sombrero while being Attorney General or calling everyone ‘stupid gringos’ which I know you’ll want to do since you’re Mexican.”
“I’m American, sir.”
“That’s the spirit,” Bush said, slapping Alberto on the back, “Also, the cafeteria serves burritos, so it will seem like you’re right at home.” Bush then walked off.
“Stupid gringo,” Alberto muttered.

“Well, golly gosh, muchacho” John Ashcroft said, “let me think of all the things to tell you.” He pointed to a room off to the side that had a pad of paper and pen hanging on the wall and crumpled paper on the ground. “This is where we start the day. You write a human right on a piece of paper and then throw it on the ground and trample it. It’s to get you in spirit for the rest of the day, by golly.”
“Whatever, churchy,” Alberto responded, “What else is there?”
“Jeepers, let me think.” Ashcroft then pointed to a room where people were busy typing. “Here is where we make new bills such as the Patriot Act, the I Love America Act, the Only People Who Hate Baby Jesus Would Be Against this Act Act, and the Happy Act.”
“Happy Act? I haven’t heard of that one.”
“Well, jeepers, it’s a new one,” Ashcroft said, “It allows us to lock in prison without a trial anyone who questions the act.”
“Why? What’s in the act that people would question?”
“Actually, by golly, the only thing in the act is the provision to lock up people who question it. It’s to weed out those who just criticize everything we do.”
“Sounds good. Now let’s get to the cool stuff.”
“Jeepers, slow down there, my Hispanic colleague,” Ashcroft said, “There’s a lot to the rest of our operations. Now, we threw a number of suspects in dank holes without a trial – or paperwork – and I forgot where those holes are. So, you might want to try finding some when you start your job. Just listen for, ‘Help! Help! I’m being repressed!’ and mark down the location.”
“I’ll have some secretary do that,” Alberto responded, “I ain’t looking for holes all day. There’s no one in them I care about.”
“That’s the spirit,” Ashcroft declared, “Now, these rooms over here are where we torture suspected terrorists to get information or because it’s a slow day and we’re bored. Now, first you take a car battery and…”
“I know how to hook up a car battery to a man,” Alberto shouted, “Do you think I’m stupid because I’m Hispanic?”
“Well, yes, yes I do. Have I been speaking too quickly for you?”
“Just finish showing me this place before I decide to smack you around,” Alberto answered angrily.
“Golly. Okay. I guess I better introduce you to Psycho Stan, head of the ATF. He’s a hold over from Reno.”
“Just point me in a direction and people will die and buildings will burn!” Psycho Stan snarled, looking on the verge of snapping.
“Best to be careful how you use him,” Ashcroft said, “as he tends to not leave people in a condition good for questioning, by golly. You should keep him busy, though, or he’ll get bored and just start randomly shooting stuff.”
“I ain’t killing no one right now!” Psycho Stan declared angrily.
“Jeepers. Just wait a moment.” Ashcroft then picked up a sack, “Here is our mailbag, Mr. Mexican Man. It’s usually full of letters that say mean things about me and hurt my feelings, golly gosh.” Ashcroft took out a letter and read it aloud. “‘Dear Ashcroft, you are a stupid fundamentalist who tramples people’s rights. You should lose your job and go to prison.'” A tear rolled down Ashcroft’s cheek. “That was hurtful.” He handed the letter to Psycho Stan. “Find who wrote this and throw him in a dark hole where he’ll never be found.” Ashcroft then looked in the mailbag again. “Hey, here’s a letter for you, Gonzales.”
Alberto took the letter. “‘Gonzales, how you allowed torture in Guantanamo Bay is criminal. You should never be Attorney General.'” Alberto handed the letter to Psycho Stan. “Find this stupid gringo and send him to Gitmo for torture.”
“I’ll burn his house down, too,” Psycho Stan snarled before running off.
“Now let’s get you a burrito since you’re Mexican,” Ashcroft said as he led Alberto to the cafeteria.
“There better be good salsa… or I’m gonna cut someone!”

The doorbell rang at Rumsfeld’s house. Chomps barked fiercely. The doorbell made him angry.
“Let’s go see what it is, boy,” Rumsfeld said as he set down the gun he was cleaning. When he opened the door, all he saw was a bottle of whiskey on his doorstep. Chomps barked at it.
“It’s just whiskey,” Rumsfeld said as he picked it up, “Whiskey never hurt anyone.”
In the shadows, Condi watched and smiled. “Yes, drink the whiskey, you old fool,” she whispered.
Rumsfeld opened the bottle and took a sip. “Tastes like it was laced with cyanide,” he commented. He then drank the entire bottle. “Yep, definitely cyanide. Not as much as I usually like to spike my whiskey with, but it’s the thought that counts.” He then tossed out the bottle and reentered his house along with Chomps.
“Dammit!” Condi exclaimed, “Now I guess I’ll have to learn that stupid ‘diplomacy’ crap!”