“There’s nothing better than visiting a high school,” President Bush said to himself as he entered the high school. “Teenagers are the best kind of people out there; angels, every one of them.” The high school gym seemed dark and empty. “Where is everybody?”
The lights turned on, and the entire school was seated in the stands. Ahead of Bush was the principal dressed as a judge behind a podium. “We’re conducting a mock trail for your war crimes!”
“What?!” Bush exclaimed. “This is stupid. Agent Smith, harm everyone involved with this!”
“Your Secret Service Agent can’t help you,” the principal said. “We mock killed him and mock captured you.”
“It’s true,” Agent Smith said, a sign reading “Dead” taped to his shirt, “I’m mock dead. Can I go get a sandwich?”
“Fine,” Bush groaned.
“Take your seat of shame!” the principal ordered Bush.
Bush walked over and took a seat next to the principal. “Back in my days, if the President visited, we gave him something better to sit on than a metal folding chair.”
“Quiet, war criminal!” the principal shouted as he banged his gavel “Time for your trial to begin!”
“Man, now I have a trial and I don’t even have my lucky cowboy hat with me.”
A student walked up to Bush. “I’m Finkelstein; I have the honor of being your defense attorney.”
Bush looked the kid over. “You look like a nerd; I want someone else.”
“But I worked so hard on your defense! And everyone else doesn’t like you or doesn’t care!”
“Fine; I guess a nerd might make a good lawyer.”
A long-haired teacher walked up to Bush. “I’m this school’s history teacher and I’m going to be the prosecution. You’re going to mock pay for all your real evil!”
Bush looked at Finkelstein. “You seem smarter than that hippy, at least.”
“Now you will answer for your crimes!” the history teacher said. “So, Mr. Bush, after stealing your presidency, isn’t it true you started an illegal war?”
Bush was shocked. “How did you find out about my secret attack on Lithuania?”
“I’m talking about Iraq.”
“Oh, that’s not an illegal war,” Bush scoffed. “The only people who think that war is illegal are morons who are stupid. If it was so illegal, then how come I did it? Answer that one, hippy.”
“You didn’t get U.N. authorization!”
Bush chuckled. “Why would I need their permission? They’re just a Jew-hating puppet organization we use when we feel like it… and we didn’t this time. Now that we have John Bolton to kick them around, we might use them more.” Bush leaned towards the history teacher and whispered. “I heard his mustache can deflect bullets.”
“And how do you justify the U.S. killing civilians?”
Bush looked confused. “You mean the nice civilians, or the civilians who shoot at us and try to blow up each other?”
“And what about the troops using white phosphorus?”
“I don’t know anything about that, but, even if it’s true, white phosphorous is completely harmless.” Bush searched his pockets and found a metal container. “I just happen to have some with me, and you’ll see that…”
When the canister opened, the phosphorous flew into the history teacher’s face. “Aiee! My face! My unwashed face!”
Bush looked at the instructions on the canister. “Whoops! It says, ‘Do not apply to face.’ Other than that, though, this stuff is harmless.”
“You just committed another war crime against our history teacher!” the principal yelled.
“Bah; that was just plain ol’ assault.”
Finkelstein now approached Bush. “Didn’t you start the war in Iraq to protect America?”
“Bush good,” Bush said. “Bush help good people. Bush smash bad men.”
“Why are you talking like that?” Finkelstein whispered to Bush.
“I’m trying to make my language accessible to our nation’s youths.”
“Uh… teenagers are able to speak basic English.”
Bush considered that for a moment. “I thought this was a public school.”
“Enough!” shouted the principal. “I now call our special witness, human geography teacher Jay Bennish!”
Bennish ran into the room. “You may have thought that Nazi youth’s tactics to destroy me by letting people hear what I say would have worked, but I’m still here!” He then pointed at Bush and looked to the students around him. “Have you all seen what he does? He uses words and things to influence you… just like Hitler!”
“I think I’ll respond to this one, nerd friend,” Bush told Finkelstein as he stood up. He then walked over, knocked Bennish to the ground, and started punching him.
The principal banged his gavel. “The President can’t punch a teacher!” He held up a large book. “That goes against NEA guidelines.”
“Thank you,” Bush said as he took the book. He then started whapping Bennish with it while saying, “Don’t be stupid! Don’t be stupid! And stop whimpering; this is for your own good!”
“This must end!” the principal ordered, banging his gavel again.
Bush checked his watch. “Yeah, I have a fundraiser to go to.” He looked to the principal. “Go ahead and give me a verdict.” Bush then pulled out his .45 revolver, cocked it, and put it to the principal’s head. “And make it a favorable one.”
“I find President Bush not guilty on account of him having a gun to my head,” the principal said nervously.
Bush put away his gun. “Good enough.” He then looked at the students. “High school is not a time for foolishness like this. This is a time to learn math and grammarness and play sports, or, alternatively, to flunk out and ruin your life. It is not the time to learn to be a political retard; that’s what college is for. You students need to demand more from your teachers.”
“Does this mean we have to go back to class now?” one student moaned.
“By Presidential decree, today is a half-day!” Bush declared.
“President Bush! President Bush!” all the students chanted as they ran out of the gym.
Bush turned to Finkelstein. “You did a good job. If you want a political internship one day, I’ll see if some congressman doesn’t mind hiring nerds.”
“Thanks, President Bush!”
Agent Smith entered the gym. “I heard a commotion here, so I thought I’d check it out when I finished my sandwich.” He looked around. “Well, I finished my sandwich; what happened?”
“You’re not very good at this, you know,” Bush told him.
He shrugged his shoulders. “So what? Secret Service Agents have a great union. So, are you going to help me find my gun now?”
Bush sighed. “Fine, but try not to lose it again today.”