Not Really in Frank’s World: The War on Christmas Part II

Part I
“But Santa,” the little boy asked innocently, “shouldn’t you be saying, ‘Merry Christmas’?”
“Oh, ignorant little brat, er, I mean, precious child, that might offend the five per cent of the population who don’t celebrate that particular holiday.”
“But, Santa, that’s bulls***!”
“My! You sure do have a filthy mouth, little boy,” Santa observed.
“That’s because I’m not a little boy; I’m…” the “boy” said, removing his disguise, “I’m… RUMMY!!!
Then the young mother’s baby carriage exploded into a million pieces, and emerging from the wreckage was none other than Chomps the World’s Angriest Dog!
“Oh, my goodness!” the young mother exclaimed. “Then who is…”
“It is I! Alberto Gonzales! Ju stoopid gringo!” said the Attorney General, removing his fuchsia jumper. “Now lemme defend Navidad, or I’ll cut ju.”
“I thought my kids looked a little bigger,” the young mother said. “But if you’re here, where are my children?”
“Oh, they’re in an undisclosed location,” explained Rummy.


“Hey, Mister Vice President? Do ya wanna play hangman?” the actual little boy asked.
“Go f*** yourself, kid. Oh, and Merry Christmas,” Cheney replied.


“Condi, are we there yet?” President Bush whined. “I feel sick.”
“It’s your own fault,” Condi scolded, “Your helicopter isn’t built to hold two people, and that’s why you’re on the roof.”
“Aw, dang it!”
“Hold on! We’re heading in for a bumpy landing!!!”


A loud whirring noise filled the mall.
“What’s that?!” Santa yelled.
The glass ceiling shattered (literally, not metaphorically; women’s wages continued to be suppressed just as they should be) as Condi smashed the helicopter on through.
Bush picked the shards out of his hair and the bugs out of his teeth and then leapt off of the helicopter and into the mall fountain.
“All right, now what’s all this nonsense about ‘holiday’ this, and ‘diversity’ that?” Condi demanded. “Well, Fat Man? Talk!”
“First off, I have a gland problem,” Santa retorted. “Secondly, I’m not really Santa; I’m…”
“Hey, that’s my line,” Rummy asserted.
“I’m… Aquaman!!!
“Aquaman! It figures that some one as totally lame as you would try to destroy Christmas,” Bush said whilst shaking the water out of his ear.
“Yes, and with the help of my fish friends, no-one will be able to stop my reign of secular terror!” Aquaman cackled.
“You moron, we’re landlocked; there aren’t any fish for miles!” Bush corrected.
“Nu-uh! The aquarium is right across the way! Aqua friends, attack!
Just then, schools of goldfish, guppies, plankton and even a rare spotted turd snail swarmed the President within seconds, prompting Chomps to act. He lunged at the sea life, devouring the creatures in a single loud gulp.
“Thanks, Chomps!” Bush said, “Hey! Where’s my watch?”
“Now, as for you, Aquaman,” Rummy began, “I think that we have a special punishment in store for you…”
“No! Think of the Geneva Convention! For the love of God!” Aquaman begged.
“Poppycock,” Rummy scoffed, “and I thought that ‘God’ was verboten?”
“Hey, what say we gut this gringo pescado-hombre and get on home, Holmes?” Gonzales suggested.
“Nah, it’s Christmas. We ought to be more charitable…” Rummy replied.


The President and the First Family were opening their gifts on Christmas morn:
“George, thank you for the lovely jewellery, but how were you able to afford it?” Laura asked.
“Afford? Why, Sweetheart, haven’t you ever heard of a five-finger discount?”
“What?” the First Lady responded, her tone flattening. “Did that war whore help you shoplift for Christmas again?”
“No, of course not!” Bush defended, “Girls, do you like your mall security guard uniforms?”
“Yes, Daddy!” Barbara and Jenna answered enthusiastically.
“And I just love my new watch! I… misplaced the old one.” Bush fibbed. “I wonder what ol’ Rummy and the gang did with Aquaman?” he thought.


“Welcome to the Museum of Tolerance!” the Quaaludes-popping tour guide exclaimed. “First, we’ll begin with our Aquarium of the Rainbow, which features fish of every colour, creed and life-style. Children, please say hello to our newest addition, Aquaman!”
“Hello, Aquaman!” the children said in unison.
“Please help me!” Aquaman screamed, “The blowfish have been more than living up to their name! Please don’t leave me with the pufferfish for another minute!”
“Oh, look at how he frolics, children!”
Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah and Happy Festivus!

Robert Byrd: Senator, Kleagle, Homosexual?

In a recent Senate debate, Sen. Robert Byrd (Crotchety Old Coot-WV) took a position on Arctic oil drilling clashing with that of Sen. Ted Stevens (R-AK).
Here is what he said:
“I love this man from Alaska. I do. I love him,” Byrd said on the floor, even as he disparaged Stevens’ procedural moves. “I feel that my blood in my veins is with his blood.
“I love him,” Byrd finished, “But I love the Senate more.”

He then added, “But I don’t love that n***** from Illinois. He can go hang himself.”
A Congressional aide then emptied Sen. Byrd’s colostomy bag and lulled him to sleep.

Not Really in Frank’s World: The War on Christmas

President Bush was in sitting in the Oval Office in his PJs, posting on his blog…
“And… that’s… why… all… lib’ruls… suck… Save!”
Just then, a very pleased Karl Rove emerged from the shadows.
“Sir, the prophecy that once predicted your dooom now has a brighter future in store for you. Your polls are up.”
“Karl? I thought that you were indicted and stuff. I even turned your office into a playroom for Barney!”
“Yes, I know; I discovered an early Christmas gift in my inbox this morning.”
“You can’t say that!” the President gasped. “It’s not politically correct!”
“Oh, God…”
“You can’t say that, either!”
Just then, Bush’s face was met by a swift back-hand.
“George, what did I tell you about political correctness?” inquired an exasperated Condi Rice.
“That only hippies and college professors pay it any mind?”
“Exactly. Now come on, we have to go fight the War on Christmas!”
“But I thought that Christmas was good!” Bush said before being slapped again.
“No, the war was started by left-wing zealots and big retail merchants; we’re defending Christmas.”
“Oh, all right. Let’s go!”
“And put on something first. That Curious George pattern doesn’t really become you.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” Bush griped.


The President, the Secretary of State and Karl Rove waited at the landing pad.
“I think you’ll like my new helicopter,” boasted Bush. “It’s radio-controlled, and it makes five different weapon sounds!”
“Yes, but does it actually fire weapons, per se?” asked Condi sceptically.
“Do malted milkball machine guns count?”
“Dooooom!!!” Karl Rove bellowed.
Just then, a thunderous crash filled the area with dust and débris.
“A perfect landing!” Bush stated proudly.
“I’m flying,” said Condi.


“Look, children! It’s Santa!” said a young mother with several younglings in tow.
“Ho, ho, ho! Happy holidays! Come and tell Santa what you want for the religious celebration of your choice,” St. Nick declared.
“Something’s not right…” the young mother said to herself.
TO BE CONTINUED…

Yea! I get to guest post!

Hello, all!
This is Damian G. of Conservathink, usurping the blog-throne of Frank J. guest bloggin’ it old school at IMAO.
First off, I’d like to thank the Academy for this honour, but mostly, I’d like to thank Kevin (a.k.a. Cadet Happy) who allowed me the opportunity to pollute Frank’s blog with my filth.
Anyhoo, it’s getting late, and as we all know, the zombie monkeys come out at night to feast.
Later!

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the green mile

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