“So, how was your visit to the Middle East?” Cheney asked Bush.
“Well, Saddam had a daring escape with the help of Zarqawi, and I pursued him with my father. We heard he was after Stalin’s secret stash, but then found out he was really after the magical artifact of Stalin’s ‘stache – Stalin’s moustache that was shaved off his dead body before he was dumped in a river. I then got the help of the ‘stache expert John Bolton and caught up to Saddam just as he replaced his moustache with Stalin’s. Then I got bored and forgot what happened next.”
“Where’s Bush Sr.?”
Bush shrugged his shoulders. “Stuck somewhere in Syria, I think. Don’t we have business to attend to?”
“We do need a new SCOTUS nominee now that we finally got rid of Miers,” Condi stated.
“Who’s Miers?” Bush answered.
“I’ve told you tons of times that suddenly pretending you never heard of her isn’t going to get you out of this,” Laura scolded him, “You better get a good nominee this time if you’re going to send me out to defend him or her. I don’t want Rush Limbaugh making fun of me again.”
“Fine,” Bush grumbled, “So who do the blogs want? Those guys are annoying, and I want to shut ’em up.”
Condi looked on her laptop. “‘Not Gonzales’ seems to be the consensus.”
Alberto Gonzales leapt to his feet brandishing a switchblade. “I’ll cut them!”
“I can’t nominate him anyway,” Bush said, “Where would I find another angry, torturing Mexican to replace him?” Bush thought for a moment. “I know! I’ll nominate a ninja!”
“No more stealth nominees!” Cheney shouted.
“How about Judge Evel Conservative of Texas,” Condi suggested, “He’s presided over more rulings for execution than any judge. He’s even then strangled some convicts himself as soon as the ruling was handed down… sometime only when the jury is only halfway through reading the verdict.”
Bush thought about this, but a man racing back and forth on a rocket scooter screaming, “Weeeeee!!!” was breaking his concentration.
“Can you stop that, Scooter Libby!” Bush yelled. He then looked to Cheney. “Why do you keep him around?”
“Sometime I like to have perfectly legal classified discussions with him that he may or may not pass on to the press to destroy our enemies,” Cheney answered.
“Oh yeah, we might have indictments coming,” Bush grumbled. He looked to Libby. “You promise me you won’t have some big shootout with police if they try to bring you in.”
“Okey-dokey.”
Bush stared at him a second. “Why do you have an assault rifle slung over your shoulder?”
“It’s not an assault rifle,” Libby answered, “It’s a semi-auto with only a pistol grip and detachable magazine.”
“Okay then.” Bush thought for a moment. “I heard this could affect Rover too!”
Out of the darkness, the hooded figure of Karl Rove appeared. “If lying to a grand jury is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.”
“But what happens if you’re indicted?”
Rove’s eyes glowed red. “You will pardon me.”
“I… will… pardon… Karl… Rove…” Bush said in a monotone voice as he stared back blankly, “and I will eat corndogs until I puke.”
“He always does that when I give him instructions,” Laura sighed.
Bush shook himself out of his trance. “Don’t worry, Rover; being indicted ain’t so bad. Is it, Smiley?”
“You get to be in all the papers!” Tom Delay stated, “By the way, when all is said and done, I’m going to have Ronnie Earle’s skull sitting on my mantel.”
“That’s the spirit!” Bush said, “Now, getting back to the Supreme Court Nominee, do you think I should use another one from Harry Reid’s list of recommendations?”
A large rotteweiler broke through the ceiling over Bush and started biting him violently. Out in the hallway, Rumsefld was heard yelling, “Someone seen my dog?”