“Not another giant hurricane!” Bush griped, “Maybe I did make God angry. Think I should convert to Judaism?”
“No,” Laura Bush answered.
“I just know I’m going to get blamed for this,” Bush moaned, “and it even hit Texas! Why couldn’t it go for Mexico where no one lives that anyone cares about?”
“These things just happen, dear.”
“They didn’t happen to Clinton! This is so unfair!”
“Well, life – and presidencies – can be unfair.”
“Still, I just hope nothing bad happens for the rest of my term.”
Rumsfeld ran into the room, grabbed Bush by the neck, and lifted him into the air. “Rarr! You sent more troops to Iraq! I told you I didn’t need more troops!”
“I only sent two!” Bush gasped back, “Jenna and Barbara!”
“You did what?” Laura exclaimed.
Rumsfeld dropped Bush, growled, and left the room. “I signed them up for the Marines,” Bush explained to Laura, “People said it would prove I believed in my war.”
“Only idiots would say that!” Laura responded.
“And I have to appeal to idiots if we are ever going to eat into the Democrat base!”
“Do you even have the authority to sign people up for the militarily? They’re both adults!”
“I can do what I want!” Bush asserted as he stood up straight, “I’m the President!” Laura glowered at him. “Anyway,” he added, “I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Based on what history?”

“I can’t stand it here, Barbara! It’s hot, it’s dusty, and there is no place to plug in a hair curler.”
“And these clothes they make us wear were not made by Versace,” Barbara said, staring at her uniform.
Buck the Marine walked up to them. “Are you the new Marines?” he asked dubiously.
“I once studied marine biology,” Jenna answered.
“Why does everyone speak gibberish around here?” Barbara asked.
“Uh… did you two go through boot camp?”
“What camp?” Jenna said with confusion.
“That’s some stupid military lingo,” Barbara explained.
Buck eyed the two uncertainly. “Well, since both your nametags say ‘Bush,’ we’ll have to come up with nicknames for each of you.”
“I’ll be ‘Princess!'” Jenna chimed in.
Barbara pulled out her KaBar. “You only said that because you knew that would be my choice! I’ll murder you dead!”
Jenna pulled out her knife. “Not if I murder you first!”
Buck pulled the two apart. “Save it for the enemy! Now, you at least qualified at the rifle range, right?”
“It was noisy there,” Barbara answered, “and, by the way, I don’t want anyone to bother us early in the morning again. As you can plainly see on our tent, it says, ‘Private.'”
“And, for first class tents,” Jenna added, “They really suck.”
“‘Private First Class’ is your rank,” Buck told them.
Jenna looked to Barbara with confusion. “It’s more of the military lingo,” Barbara explained.
There was an explosion nearby. “That’s loud too,” Jenna commented, covering her ears.
“It’s mortars!” Buck yelled as he dropped to the ground, “Hit the deck!”
Jenna and Barbara just stared at him. “Our clothes look bad enough as it is,” Jenna explained, “We’re not going to go and get sand on them too and look like a couple of hobos.”
“And when do we get leave to go shopping?” Barbara asked, “And do you know of some place we can buy other things than headscarves?”
There was the whistle of another mortar in the air, and then the Bush twins’ tent exploded.
“My CDs were in there!” Jenna cried.
“We are so going to have post traumatic stress disorder from this,” Barbara griped.

“Like I said,” Bush assured Laura again, “They’ll be fine. They take after me. Now why don’t you go to the Presidential Library and order the books in that funky number system you like so much.”
“I just might do that,” Laura said as she left the room.
Scott McClellan came in. “I need help handling the press,” he said, “Your poll numbers are still a bit precarious, and how you were videotaped beating up a number of orphan children isn’t helping.”
“I thought I told you to explain to the press that they were staring at me,” Bush answered.
“That doesn’t seem to settle the issue.”
Bush thought for a moment. “Let’s try handling the press the way that General Honore did. Tell the reporters that they’re ‘stuck on stupid’ and should be asking questions pertaining to the next orphans I’ll be beating up.”
“Uh…” Scott started to stammer, but was interrupted by a shout.
“You murdered my son!” came a bullhorn from outside.
Bush looked out the window. “It’s Cindy Sheehan!” he exclaimed, “I thought she was dead!”
“As I explained to you before,” Scott answered, “Just because someone isn’t in the news cycle anymore, doesn’t mean he or she ceases to exist.”
“I’m always in the news cycle,” Bush muttered as he opened the window. He then shouted out, “I didn’t kill your son, you dumb broad!” He looked out a while longer. “She’s got a bit of a crowd with her; I think a rocket propelled grenade would disperse them. Get me a grenade launcher!”
“Uh… I think that would be murder,” Scott answered.
“I didn’t ask for a legal opinion; I asked for a grenade launcher!” Bush shot back.
“It’s not like I keep one on me as a press secretary,” Scott replied.
“Now what do I do,” Bush groaned. An idea then struck him. “Does Cindy Sheehan have any other sons? I could murder one of them, and then I really will have murdered her son! That will put things back to normal!”
Scott just stared at Bush aghast for a few seconds. “I think you’re stuck on stupid, sir.”