“End war! Ergah! Leave now!” a crazed man screamed at Senator Harry Reid. Reid slammed the door to his Senate office. He could hear people clawing at it.
“Who are these weird smelling people?” Reid asked his aide.
“Left-wing bloggers, sir. They think they’re responsible for the Democrats’ victory in ’06, and they want the Iraq War ended now.”
“How many are there?”
“I’ve already told you that that’s my favoritest war ever and I’m not going to end it!”
“Not that many, but they’re loud.”
There was more pounding at the door. “Me smirt! You listen me! You end war!”
“Fine,” Reid said. “Guess I’ll finally have to get this war ended so I can get my afternoon nap. I’m old!”
President Bush sat at his desk, twiddling his thumbs. After a while of boredom, he hit the button on the intercom and asked his receptionist, “Any calls for me?”
“No, sir. No calls for you. You’re a lame duck.”
“Awwww.” Bush sunk in his chair.
“Wait, Harry Reid is here to see you.”
“Oh. Okay. Send him in.” Harry Reid walked into the office. “Anyone ever tell you you have the worst porn name ever?”
“We need to talk about Iraq,” Reid said.
“I’ve already told you that that’s my favoritest war ever and I’m not going to end it!”
“Then maybe I have someone who will convince you otherwise — an editor from the New York Times!”
An editor from the New York Times walked into the Oval Office. “We have declared that the Iraq War must end now!”
Bush furrowed his brow. “Haven’t you guys written that exact same editorial every day since forever?”
“Yeah… but this time we mean it!”
“And you don’t care that if we pull out, there will most likely be civil war and genocide?”
“We’re pretty sure you’ll get blamed for it, so we’re okay with that.”
Bush push the button on his intercom. “Clear my schedule for the afternoon. I’m going to spend it beating an editor from the New York Times with various objects in my office.”
“There’s nothing on your schedule, sir,” the receptionist replied. “You’re a lame duck.”
“Excellent.”
“And that’s for not publishing my op-ed!” Bush yelled as he hit the editor from the New York Times with a stapler.
“We’d never publish your stupid crayon scrawl!”
“My pen was broke and crayons were all I could find!” Bush shouted back and hit him with the stapler again.
“I think that’s enough,” Tony Snow said.
Bush looked around the room. “Where did Harry Reid go?”
“I think he got bored of impotently watching you beat the editor from the New York Times so he went out in the hallway and sat down in a chair and fell asleep. He’s old.”
“Well, help me throw this guy out the window. He’ll find his way home; liberals always remember their home.”
“I believe you’re thinking of dogs.”
“Whatever. The point is, we’re throwing him out the window.” Bush and Tony picked up the editor from the New York Times and threw him out the nearest window.
“What did you just throw onto my rose bush!” Laura exclaimed from outside.
“Whoops!” Bush quickly shut the window. “So, Tony, how are things going?”
“Pretty good. No one asks questions at the press conferences anymore since you’re a lame duck and no one care what you think. Also, by your request, we checked the motorcade for Decepticons and it’s all clear.”
“Great.” Bush sat back in his desk chair.
“There are a couple problems, though. A lot of people didn’t like how you commuted Scooter Libby’s sentence.”
“Well, if they saw his sad puppy dog eyes, they would have commuted his prison sentence too!”
“Also, more Republicans seems to be defecting on Iraq and not letting the surge play through.”
Bush nodded thoughtfully. “These are the times where we find out which Republicans have testicles and which ones only have the ‘I Can’t Believe It’s Not Testicles!’ testicle substitute. I’m not backing down on the war. I already lost all my popularity because of the ‘Not Amnesty at All’ for Mexicans debacle.” He leaned close to Tony and whispered. “I’ll tell you a secret: It was really amnesty all along.”
“I don’t think that was a secret, sir.”
“Anyway, the point is that no matter what I do, I can’t get any more unpopular, so I’m going to see this war through no matter how weak and whiny the rest of the politicians get.”
“I think that’s admirable.”
Bush thought for a moment. “Hmm… since I can’t get any more unpopular, maybe I should form some death squads to eliminate my opponents.”
“What?!”
“Squads of death. They’re like a squad that goes around killing people.”
“I know what a death squad is, Mr. President; I’m just saying maybe you should rethink that idea.”
Tony Snow left the room. “I don’t know why death squads get such bad raps,” Bush said to himself. He hit the button on his intercom. “Any calls for me.”
“No, sir. You’re still a lame duck.”
“I’m going to vandalize entries on Wikipedia for the rest of the day.”
“You don’t have to tell me; no one cares what you do.”
“Excellent.”
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