Transcripts from the Oval Office during Obama’s first one hundred days.

AIDE: Syria is attacking Israel. You have to act now!

OBAMA: Just one moment; I’m checking the dimensions of this bucket… Ahh! My head is stuck in the bucket!

AIDE: We need a decision!

OBAMA: Who’s talking? I can’t hear or see; I have a bucket on my head!

* * * *

AIDE: Iran has nuclear weapons and are threatening to use them!

OBAMA: I don’t want to hear about it unless it’s about getting this bucket off my head.

AIDE: But sir, we need…

OBAMA: I’m going to try pounding it against a wall; maybe that will help.

* * * *

AIDE: Al Qaeda is attacking!

OBAMA: Who is attacking? I told you I have trouble hearing with this bucket on my head.

AIDE: Sir, maybe you should invoke Amendment 25 until you get the bucket off of your head.

OBAMA: There’s no need for that! I can handle many things at once. I am a very smart man. In fact, the only reason I have a bucket stuck on my head is my insatiable curiosity. Would you rather an incurious… Are you still here? Hello?

* * * *

AIDE: Russia is invading Georgia… and I don’t mean the country!

OBAMA: Not Russia! They’re going to make fun of me for having a bucket stuck on my head!

BIDEN: Don’t worry! I’m here to help!

OBAMA: Who?

BIDEN: Joe Biden.

OBAMA: Who?

BIDEN: Your Vice President. You selected me for my foreign policy experience.

OBAMA: I don’t remember that.

BIDEN: Well, I am very smart, and I know exactly what to do here… Ahh! Now my head is stuck in a bucket too!

OBAMA: Ow! Keep your bucket away from my bucket!

AIDE: (sigh) I’ll go tell Pelosi she is acting president.

Mario, Princess Peach, and Luigi headed out of Mushroom Castle to go on a picnic. “What a beautiful day!” Princess Peach exclaimed.

“Itsa all right,” Mario said.

“O-oh no!” Luigi stammered, pointing to the horizon, “Itsa Bowser!”

Will Mario the Plumber be able to survive his most taxing adventure yet?

Flying over them was Bowser in his Koopa Clown Copter. Behind him were numerous flying Koopas, each carrying a large bag. “Muh ha ha ha ha!” Bowser bellowed. “We have all of your gold coins, Mario the Plumber!”

“What!?” Mario cried. “How did you breaka into my vault and geta my coins?”

“We didn’t have to break in,” Bowser said. “It’s our right to them since my good friend, Obama Koopa, has been elected President of Mushroom Kingdom.”

Little Obama Koopa popped up next to Bowser in the Clown Copter. “Hopenchange! Hopenchange!”

“This isa crazy!” Mario yelled. “How dida he get elected? Doesn’t everyone knows he pals around with Bomb-Ombs? And what does he want with all my gold coins? He canta roll them up to snorta the coke.”

“Obama Koopa has decided you have way too many gold coins for a plumber,” Bowser proclaimed, “so it’s time to redistribute your wealth. We’re going to give your coins to all the Goombas.”

“Those lazy bastards canta have my coins!” Mario cried. “I worked hard for those coins backa in old the days when a 1-Up actually meant something. Obama Koopa, how can you justify taking from me like this?”

“Hopenchange! Hopenchange!” Obama Koopa responded.

“What does that even mean? You turtle bastard! I will stomp on your head and kicka your shell all over town!”

Luigi tapped Mario on the shoulder. “You can’t say that. It’s racist.”

“How isa that racist?”

Luigi shrugged. “They said so in the media. I donta understand why, but they say itsa racist.”

Mario slapped him. “Shut upa! You’re useless!” He turned back to shake his fist at Bowser as he flew off with all of Mario’s coins. “I’ll breaka your neck for this!”

“At least I didn’t get kidnapped this time,” Princess Peach giggled.

“Shut upa, you stupid bitch!” Mario screamed. “I could be so lucky! They took all my gold coins! This isa serious this time! This willa destroy my plumbing business! I worka so hard on this. You probably don’t even remember when I started out knocking crabs upside down and kicking them before I wasa super.”

“Then again, you still never gotta your plumbing license,” Luigi said.

“How many times have I saved the Mushroom Kingdom!” Mario yelled. “What do I needa plumbing license for! And things certainly weren’t any easier having to drag a useless turd like you around.” Mario slapped Luigi. “Now shut upa! You’re useless!”

“I think you need to calm down,” Princess Peach said.

“They’re is no calming down until I getta my coins!” Mario screamed. “I think I’ll call my cousin Guido this time. We’ll show them!”

“But isn’t he in the mob?” Princess Peach asked.

“He’s a legitimate business man!” Mario answered angrily. “Why do you have to label every Italian-Mushroom Kingdonian as a criminal, you filthy racist whore! I outta slap you around like my useless brother!”

Princess Peach backed off and muttered under her breath, “Greasy wop midget.”

“What did you say!” Mario screamed.

Luigi jumped in between them. “Hey, Mario, we’re just all upset because of Bowser. Letsa not do anything stupid.”

Mario slapped Luigi. “Shut upa! You’re useless!”

Toad ran up to them carrying a gold coin. “Look what Obama Koopa gave me! Isn’t he the greatest?”

“Thatsa my coin!” Mario yelled. He then picked up a trash can and started slamming it into Toad.

“Please stop!” Toad pleaded. “I don’t even know what I did!”

Mario kept slamming the trash can into him. “I’m sorry, but your mercy is in another Italian plumber!”

Finally, Mario stopped and Toad lay still on the ground. “I thinka you killed him!” Luigi cried.

Mario spat on the ground. “I know I did.”

“What did you do, Mario!” Princess Peach yelled. “What did you do!”

“I gotta one of my coins back, that’s what I did!” He took the coin off of Toad. “Now we get the rest. I’m not going to let happen to my plumbing business what happened to my construction business. You remember that, Luigi?”

“You got shut down by the EPA.”

“When a gorilla throws a barrel at me,” Mario said, “I smash the barrel with a hammer; that’s my policy. I don’t got time to first fill out an environmental impact form. Would the government rather me jump over the barrel and let them run into the flaming oil can? Then they become one of those fire creatures; is that good for the environment? Plus, they move around erratically; I can’t jump over those! Do those bureaucrats know anything about business? Ita makes me so mad!” He slapped Luigi.

Luigi clutched his face. “What was that for?”

“For doing nothing, like usual! Now let’s getta those coins back! Get me my weapons!”

“But they took away your weapons,” Luigi said. “Now that Obama Koopa is in charge, civilian possession of bullet bills is illegal.”

“What!” Mario turned to Princess Peach. “You’re the princess; you do something!”

Princess Peach shrugged. “I’m really more of a figurehead. See, we have a bicameral legislature that meets–”

“I donta know what that means!” Mario screamed. “Shutta your mouth. You’re as useless as my brother!” He turned to Luigi. “Just get me my 150cc kart and we’ll go after them.”

“We can’t drive the kart anymore,” Luigi said. “It’s illegal unless you convert it to a hybrid.”

“Thatsa it!” Mario ran into Mushroom Castle and started rooting around in a trunk. “Here it is!” He pulled out a shotgun.

“You can’t have a gun in a platformer!” Luigi exclaimed.

Mario slapped him. “Shut upa! You’re useless! I’m switching genres! Now this game is survival horror, and I’m getting my coins back and killing anyone who gets in my way. You know as they say: Guns don’t kill people; people with mustaches kill people.” Mario chambered a round. “Letsa go!”

Coming November 4th to Nintendo Wii.

Joe the Plumber was busy working under a kitchen sink, which is why he didn’t hear someone come up behind him. He was slammed in the back with a pipe wrench, leaving him crying in pain as he looked up at his attacker: Barack Obama.

“You made one mistake, Joe,” Obama said. “You made too much money.”

“I’m just trying to expand my business.” Joe lay on the floor, clutching his back. “I was just hoping to–”

Obama kicked him. “I don’t care! It’s my money now! Give it to me!”

Joe pulled out his wallet and Obama greedily snatched it away and looked through it. He then kicked Joe again. “There’s not enough in there!”

“What’s going on?” The owner of the house stood at the kitchen’s door, looking shocked at the scene in front of her.

“This doesn’t concern you!” Obama shouted at her.

“Should I call the police?” she asked.

Obama ripped the kitchen phone out of the wall. “You’re not calling anyone, bitch! Now what were you going to pay him?”

“Hey, leave her alone!” Joe pleaded. “This is about me!”

“Shut the @#$% up!” Obama shouted back. He then waved his pipe wrench at the woman. “Write the check out to me! Do it! Do it now!”

The woman broke down crying as she pulled out her checkbook.

Obama walked back over to Joe. “This is why I have nothing but disdain for women.”

“What do you want?” Joe asked desperately.

“I just want to help everybody, Joe.” Obama knelt down and smiled. “Just trying to spread the wealth around. But @#$% like you got to make this difficult. Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take your cell phone, call your banks, and wire $40,000 to me. If you don’t, I’m going to raise your taxes even more by making you lose your Child Tax Credit. And know how I’m going to do that? BY @#$% KILLING YOUR FAMILY!!!!”

The screen turned off and Obama turned to the press. “And that was the dramatization of my new tax plan. Any questions?”

“Why are you so awesome?” a reporter squealed with glee.

“It’s hard.” Obama bowed his head sadly. “Especially when FOX News allows critical things about me to be said.”

“Awww, poor Obama,” the press said. “Everyone is against him.”

“Let’s only write positive things about him and negative things about McCain!” one reporter said.

Another reporter looked confused. “Um… I thought we were already doing that.”

“Eeeeee!” squealed a Barack Obama supporter. “It’s Barack Obama! He’s such a great speaker!”

“It is time,” Obama announced to the crowd. “A time for change. A time for hope. A time for the hope that change brings… but also a time for the change brought forth by hope.” He stared at the crowd intently. “What you must remember is that teleprompter error 0657f8a9. Unrecoverable error. Teleprompter rebooting.” Obama made some hand motions for emphasis. “Dot. Dot. Dot. Welcome to your knew Junior TeleSpeak brand teleprompter. Initializing program. Loading test speech patterns.” Obama paused dramatically. “She sells sea shells by the sea shore. Peter piper picked a peck of pickled peppers.” He took one last long look at the crowd. “End program.”

The crowd cheered wildly. Obama turned to his campaign staff behind him and gave them the thumbs up. “Me speakee good!”

“McCain wants to distract you from the issues,” Barack Obama told a crowd at a campaign rally. “Instead of focusing on the economy and his mistakes with Iraq, he wants to distract you with my past associations or how I keep getting buckets stuck on my head — things that have nothing to do with the issues that concern you. Recently, McCain has started talking about my association with Crack Dealer Steve… a man I hardly even know and someone who has nothing to do with the financial crisis.”

Crack Dealer Steve waved to the crowd from behind Obama. “Hey. I sell crack to school kids.”

“McCain wants you to forget about the issues and instead smears me by association just because I sometimes play golf with Crack Dealer Steve, occasionally have him give a ride to my kids, and because I’ve driven getaway for him.”

“That reminds me,” Crack Dealer Steve said. “Can you be my alibi for Thursday?”

“Sure.” Obama looked back to the crowd. “And how was I even supposed to know he’s a crack dealer? I just knew him as a respected man in my community.”

“Well, I did introduce myself to you as ‘Crack Dealer Steve’ and asked if your kids wanted to buy some crack.”

“Anyway, the point is not my associations, but my judgment,” Obama said, “the judgment to play down those associations. Also, there are my accomplishments, like how I put together a desk I bought from Ikea two years ago.”

“It’s true; I helped,” Crack Dealer Steve stated.

“Instead, of talking about the important things. McCain wants to spread lies about me.”

“Like that whole Muslim thing,” Crack Dealer Steve said. “It’s not true. I’ve never seen a Muslim get totally hammered as much as Barry.”

“What McCain should be talking about is our financial crisis!”

Crack Dealer Steve nodded. “Lately, I’ve had to raise my prices on crack so much, school kids can hardly even afford it. I guess I can try selling crack to adults, but that’s a market I’m unfamiliar with.”

“Plus, these people McCain tries to associate with me aren’t even necessarily supporters,” Obama continued.

“Again, that’s true,” Crack Dealer Steve added. “I’m not voting for Barry; you can’t trust this spaz with jack. I once had him hold a bunch of crack for me for just a day, and you wouldn’t believe how much was missing when I got it back.”

“Also, to bring up these associations is obvious racism.”

Crack Dealer Steve looked confused. “I don’t get it; how’s it racism?”

“You’re white,” Obama explained. “Notice how they keep bringing up these white people to associate me with as if to emphasize in comparison how black I am. They never bring up all my numerous questionable black associates.”

“Don’t forget me!” Jeremiah Wright called out.

Obama chuckled. “Oh yeah… except for Wright.”

“I hate the honkeys!” Wright yelled out enthusiastically.

“And America,” Obama reminded him.

“Because it’s full of honkeys!”

Crack Dealer Steve shook his head. “You really do hang out with a lot of weirdos. I mean, I’m a crack dealer, and I hang out with a better class of people. I don’t know anyone who bombed the Pentagon.”

Obama covered his mike and turned to Crack Dealer Steve. “You’re really not helping.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to help. I thought I was just here because your kids wanted crack or something.”

“If they wanted crack, they didn’t tell me,” Obama said. “Now stop embarrassing me!”

“Bah. I’m outta here, Barry.” Crack Dealer Steve started to leave. “Oh, but could you give me a ride later? I’m going to have to ditch my car.”

“Sure.” Obama chuckled. “You’re lucky we’re such good friends.”

Sarah Palin relaxed in bed with her husband Todd. “Campaigning to be Vice President is crazy. It’s nice to have a little time back home in Alaska to get my bearings.” She closed her eyes to go to sleep but was woken by loud music and shouting outside. “Not those Russian neighbors again!” Palin yelled. She looked out the window to see that the house across the water from them seemed to be having a party. “Putin! What’s he up to?”

“That guy is always causing trouble,” Todd said. “He uses his leaf blower at odd hours, doesn’t take care of all his weeds, and invades Georgia.”

“Can’t we complain about him to the HOA?”

Todd shrugged. “I think the HOA’s authority ends at the Bering Strait.”

Piper walked in the bedroom carrying Trig. “The loud noise woke Trig and he started crying.”

“Well, this is too much then!” Palin exclaimed. “It’s like they’re having a whole Communist party over there.” She heard rumbling overhead. “Are those jets? Are they flying jets over our house?”

“That’s got to go against both noise ordinances and international treaties,” Todd grumbled.

Palin got out of bed. “I guess we better do something about it then.”

Todd shook his head. “Shouldn’t we leave this up to the military?”

“We’re not going to be one of those states always looking to the federal government to solve our problems.” Palin snapped her fingers in the air. “Willow! Get my moose gun!”

* * * *

“Turn the music up louder!” Putin ordered. “Let us celebrate the Russian empire! Soon we will take back Georgia! Then we will conduct our secret plans to take back Alaska and cripple the U.S. economy. Next, we will take over the universe! It will be under Putin’s control! Me! I’m Putin! Muh ha ha ha ha!”

“Turn that racket down!” someone shouted. “And stop flying your jets over my property!”

Putin looked across the Bering Strait to see Palin standing in front of her house in her nightgown holding a rifle.

“You do not tell the Russian empire what to do, stupid hockey mom!” Putin yelled. “We are the great Russia, and you are but woman. We laugh at you! Ha ha ha ha!”

“You’re asking for it, Dobby!”

“Bah! I pay you no more mind!” Putin turned back to the party. “Make the music louder or I send you all to gulag!”

There was a loud gunshot, and a fighter jet plummeted out of the sky exploding in Putin’s garden. “My prize rose bushes!” Putin screamed.

“Hey, Poot-poot, know what’s the difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull?” Palin held her rifle in the air. “The moose gun!”

Putin shook his fist at her. “You will pay for this, foolish woman! You will be dead from the us killing you! We will–” A shot flew past Putin’s head. “Flee!”

* * * *

“Finally, some rest.” Palin went to sleep, but was soon woken by a noise downstairs. “What’s that?”

“Could be a burglar,” Todd said. “I guess I’ll check it out.”

“No, it’s my turn to kill the burglar.” Palin got out of bed and crept downstairs. Rummaging around the kitchen was a giant bear. “Not a bear in house,” Palin groaned. “Taking care of bear’s in the house was Track’s job.” Plain turned around to see Willow standing behind her. “Fetch me the Bowie knife.”

“Can’t we just shoot it?”

“What did I tell you about firing guns in the house? Now get me the knife, Willow.”

“I forget where it is.”

“Well where did you last see it?”

Willow thought for a moment. “I think in a deer’s neck.”

Palin rolled her eyes. “I guess we’ll have to improvise.” She crept over to the piano. “And we just got this tuned.” She ripped out a piece of piano wire and walked towards the bear. “Hey! Yogi!”

The bear stood up, and Palin jumped on its back, wrapping the piano wire around it’s neck. “You got in the wrong house, bear!”

The bear failed around, knocking over furniture. Palin held on tight. “Strangling a bear is a lot harder than I remember.”

Todd came down stairs. “Honey, if you had to strangle a bear, you should have called me.”

Palin struggled to keep hold of the bear. “I’m a modern woman; I can do this myself.”

“I’ll help loosen him up for you.” Todd ran over and started punching the bear in the gut. Soon, it fell down dead.

Piper ran over and kicked the fallen bear. She held her hands in the air triumphantly. “I helped!”

“You sure did, sweetie.” Palin looked around. “Now how did it get in here?” She noticed the front door was wide open. Outside, she could see their trash was knocked over.

“You should be careful with your trash,” Putin laughed from across the Bering Strait. “That can attract wild animals.”

“I know you’re behind this, Putin!” Palin yelled. “You’ll not get away with this!”

“Bah! You cannot threaten Russia! You do anything, we will point nuclear missiles at you!”

Palin scoffed. “So what? You can nuke whole sections of Alaska and we’ll never even notice.”

“You think you’re tough, hockey mom, but you will soon see that– She’s got the moose gun again! Flee!”

* * * *

“Maybe we should just move,” an adviser told Putin.

“Are you crazy mad!” Putin shouted. “You want to put my house for sale in this market? No, we figure out way to get by this silly hockey mom. We need to find advance technology that is immune to moose gun.”

“But nothing can resist a moose gun!” the adviser exclaimed. “Especially not moose!”

“It no matter!” Putin said. “I have plans that will not fail.” He pointed to a whiteboard he had propped up behind him. “Alaska will soon be mine!” He heard a loud noise. “What is that? Aieee! Snow machines!”

“Out of the way, Ruski!” Todd Palin raced right through Putin’s house on a snow mobile. Putin dived to the floor as Todd smashed right through his whiteboard.

“My plans!” Putin screamed.

“I’m winning! Yeah!” Todd yelled as crashed through one of the doors. Numerous snow mobiles followed close behind.

Putin got up and shook his fist at the snow mobiles. “You will pay for this! I will–” Putin was bowled over by a pack of dogs.

“The Iditarod is through here, right?” asked a man on a sled.

“Alaskans!” Putin screamed. “Foiled again by that hockey mom! Maybe she’ll be elected vice president and move away.”

“But I like Obama,” Putin’s adviser said. “I even call the Democrats to ask how I can help. They sent me a box full of absentee ballots for someplace called ‘Ohio.'”

“I bet this will fix the economy!” President Bush fervently wrote out his new plan, but then his desk caught fire. “Aww! I just screwed things up even more! Why am I always doing that?”

He grabbed one of his five fire extinguishers the staff always made him keep on hand and put out his desk. He turned to Dick Cheney who was entering the office. “Where’s my economy guy?”

“He’s fled.”

Bush shrugged. “Well, I did hire him because he was smart.” He put the empty fire extinguisher in his “Stuff to Throw at Harry Reid’s Head” box. “So what’s the plan now, Dick?”

“You just need to get the Congress to pass your $700 billion bailout plan.” Cheney rubbed his hands together greedily.

Bush kept a suspicious eye on Cheney as he sat back at his charred desk. “And then what?”

“That money will then be split up and sent to different corporations to help fix the economy.”

“But really…”

Cheney laughed evilly, the only kind of way he laughed. “All the corporations the money goes to will be shell corporations of Halliburton. Halliburton will recollect the $700 billion and then we’ll flee with it to Mexico. We’ll then use the funds to start a new government there.”

“Doesn’t Mexico already have a government?”

“Eh… considers your definition of ‘government’.”

Bush thought about it for a moment. “Well, at least we have a plan.”

elektronik sigara –
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The left wingers were scampering through the forest and soon saw their prey. “It’s McCain’s new VP pick Sarah Palin,” one said. “Let’s get her!”
Palin stood assuming in an open field, and the left wingers were soon upon her. “You’re inexperienced!” one shouted.
“You’ve barely been in politics!” said another.
“It was irresponsible of McCain to pick someone as unexperienced as you as a running mate!” shrieked another.
“So it would be better for her to be at the top of ticket?” asked a familiar voice from behind.
“IT’S A TRAP!” one of the left wingers shouted, but it was too late. The ground gave out beneath them and they all fell into a pit.
“Now we’re trapped!” a left-winger cried.
“And you brought me with you!” Barack Obama yelled angrily as he sat on the floor of the pit.
“Aww, how could we fall for such an obvious trap?” one left-winger whined.
“It must have been Rove!” one shouted. “I thought I heard him.”
“You’re ‘The One’!” a left-winger said to Obama. “You can get us out of here!”
“I’ve never held a real job in my entire life!” Obama said. “I don’t know how to do anything useful!”
“Muh ha ha ha!” laughed the hooded figure of Karl Rove who stared down at them from above.
“Could you throw down something to help us up?” Obama asked.
“Yessss,” Rove hissed, “I can throw down some… FLESH EATING BEETLES!”
The group screamed as giant beetles rained upon them.
“What do we do!” one cried.
“I know!” said another. “We can yell misogynistic things at Palin! That’s bound to help us!”
“Good idea,” Obama said. “Let’s do it quickly.”
One of the left-wingers looked up. “Uh… she has a moose rifle… and I’m pretty sure she knows how to use it.”
“Oh,” Obama said. “Then let’s wait on that.”

“So now I reveal my awesome pick for running mate,” Barack Obama told the assembled crowd. “Joe Biden.”
There was silence and some coughing from the audience.
“I will remind you that I am Obama — the One — and everything I do is perfect and should not be questioned!”
The crowd cheered enthusiastically for Biden. “You’re the best, Obama!” one of the reporters yelled.
“I just want to say that Turok Osama here is very clean and articulate for a black man.” Biden patted Obama on the head. “I think he’s a great candidate — not as good as McCain — but still pretty good.”
“Why did you wait until 3 AM to send the announcement text message?” a reporter asked.
“Well, I started working on it at 6 PM,” Obama said, “but those text messages are hard. I mean, like each number represents three or four letters… and I forget how you do the punctuation. But, hey eventually I got that message out. And that’s the determination I plan to bring to my presidency… to hit buttons until things get done!”
“Isn’t Bocka Yo’Mama precious! Just look at those ears!” Biden flicked one of Obama’s ears.
“Did you pick Biden to fill your experience gap?” a reported.
“I don’t have an experience gap!” Obama answered indignantly.
“Blasphemer!” another member of the press yelled at the reporter.
“But Biden does have more experience at the… uh… stuff with… er… countries that aren’t ours…”
“Foreign policy,” Biden assisted.
“See, he knows that stuff.”
“What do you have experience at?” the reporter asked.
“Well… uh… today I made myself a sandwich.”
“We ate at Subway,” Biden said.
“Where I told them exactly what I wanted on my sandwich which is a lot like making it!”
“You didn’t like your sandwich.”
“Shut up!”
“So who do you think McCain will pick as his VP?”
“Certainly no one as good as Biden,” Obama said.
“Certainly no one with my IQ,” Biden scoffed. “Hopefully he’ll not be dumb enough to pick Jindal who right now is finding out that running a state government isn’t anything like running a 7-11.”
“So… uh… do you think that Biden’s gaffes may be a problem,” a reporter asked.
“It’s well documented that Biden’s brain trails his mouth. For instance, his brain his still probably processing what he had for breakfast while his mouth is reacting to things now, but that’s something we can deal with.”
“Did you guys see the Olympics.” He stretched his eyes with his fingers. “Want to see my imitation of the Chinese?”
“That’s okay,” Obama told him. He turned back to the press. “Anyway, Biden should help with our down to earth image. By the way, did you see how many houses McCain has?” He chuckled. “I bet he doesn’t even know the price of organic arugula since he always sends his servants to Whole Foods to pick it up for him. I’ve only done that a couple times.”
“You think Biden will connect with middle America?” a reporter asked.
“Of course I will, idiot!” Biden yelled. “Except with those gun owners. They’re all deranged! We need to lock them all up!” He thought for a moment. “But if I try to lock them up, they may shoot me. I’ll need to poison them while they sleep. Yeah, that’s it: We need to poison gun owners.”
“Uh… remember… he knows a lot about foreign policy!” Obama tried to say cheerily.
“We should write to check of $200 million to al Qaeda. Maybe then they’ll like us!” Biden said.
“You want to give money to terrorists?” an incredulous reporter asked.
“I graduated twice as Valedictorian from my high school!” Biden shouted. “Don’t you question me!”
“Could you shut up!” Obama said to him angrily. “I never wanted you as my running mate! I wanted Sebelius! I was told I needed you for your experience!”
“Yeah, weren’t you only eleven when I first entered the Senate, Ongo Bongo?” Biden laughed. “You were just a little knee-biter then. And now look at you.” Biden looked at Obama for a moment. “You kinda look like a monkey.” Biden turned to the press. “Doesn’t he look like a monkey? I mean, they say Bush looks like a monkey, but I think Yamaha is even more monkey-like.” A thought seemed to strike Biden. “I’m not saying that because he’s black, though; I’m saying it because of his monkey features.”
Obama sighed. “I think we’re done for now.”

“Thank you for being here,” Rick Warren said.
“Uh… er.. you’re… um… welcome,” Barack Obama answered with nervous looks to the audience.
“First question: What is your name?”
“My name is… um… Barry… uh… I mean Barack… um… Obama.” Obama looked quite flustered. “McCain isn’t getting these questions ahead of time, is he?”
Warren shook his head. “No, he’s in the cone of silence. Now here’s the next question: When does life begin?”
“Um… er… I don’t… uh… that questions is… um… above my pay grade.”
“So you don’t know when life begins?”
“I… um… don’t know lots of things.”
“Well, let’s go with more specific examples, then. A ten-year-old: Would you say he’s alive and fully human?” Warren asked.
“Yes, I guess I would… um… probably say that a ten-year-old is a person.”
“Okay. How about a five-year-old?”
“Well… uh… they go to… um… kindergarten, right? So… um… if you go to a… um… government funded school… uh… you’d probably have to be a… um… person.”
“What about a two-year-old?”
“Well… uh… now we’re getting into a bit of a gray area.” Obama could see the audience was a bit cold to him. “Now… uh… I know some people… um… are wondering about my… uh… vote on the… uh… Born Alive Act, but… um… I want to assure you that… uh… I am not for… um… infanticide. I just won’t… um… stop those who are… uh… and I may ask for… um… government funding for them.”
The audience stared at Obama with disbelief.
Obama stretched his collar. “You sure McCain won’t get these questions ahead of time?”
Warren looked insulted by the question. “No one can defeat the cone of silence!”

John McCain sat within the center of the cone of silence staring at its bare, white walls. There was no sound. He was truly isolated. “Rick Warren may think his cone of silence is impenetrable,” McCain said to himself, “but he underestimates the power of DARK REPUBLICAN MAGIC!” McCain began to summon forth the Dark Powers. “Satan, Cthulhu, Skeletor… hear my call! Show me what lies beyond!”
A dark cloud swirled before McCain revealing the stammering Barack Obama. “Muh ha ha ha!” McCain laughed. “Now I’ll know all the questions beforehand! GOP minions, can you hear me?”
“Yes, sir, we can hear you,” answered a minion, “and we’re running each question Rick Warren is asking through a building full of supercomputers to determine that absolute best answer for each. You’ll be so prepared for this interview that in comparison they’ll want to send Obama home on a short bus.”
McCain tapped his fingertips together. “Excellent. I see Warren is asking a question on faith. I’m going to tell a story of a Vietnamese guarding drawing a cross in the sand. Make sure that other people will back me up; brainwash them if necessary.”
“If you’re going to make up a story,” the minion said, “why not have it be about you doing something Christian?”
“Bah!” McCain shouted. “I’m the master of evil! Don’t question my methods! We should just feel lucky those meddling Kos Kids haven’t found out that I was never a POW and spent the Vietnam War at the North Pole punching baby seals in the face.”
McCain watched as Obama stammered in response to more questions. “So, what did you guys do to him to make him look so stupid?”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“Hmm. Maybe we’re putting too much effort into this.”

“You get out of Georgia! That’s where we make Coca Cola!” President Bush yelled at Putin.
“That’s a different Georgia, man of stupid brain,” Putin answered. “Georgia is its own country.”
“What? Did they secede again? Is it over slavery? If so, screw ’em.”
“You can do nothing to Russia,” Putin laughed. “Your country is weak.”
“We are totally not!” Bush yelled. “You take that back, Dobby!”
“We will see how you do at game, then we will see if you have power to back up your threats.”
“Yeah, we will see!” Bush sat back down next to Laura to watch women’s beach volleyball.
“You need to calm down and enjoy the games,” Laura said.
“I can’t calm down. We have to show strength to the Russian!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Hit it in bounds, you stupid sluts!”
“You’re a bit tightly wound,” Laura said. “You need to relax.”
“I can’t! The Russians are causing trouble and I just know that the Chinese are up to something. I’m going to send the Secret Service to check the rafters of our room for ninjas.”
“Again?” Laura exclaimed. “If you were going to be so worried about ninjas here, you never should have come.”
“I didn’t know before I came here how often I’d think I see ninjas up in the trees,” Bush responded. “Also, I’m pretty sure every place around here is haunted.”
“That’s just because everything here is built on the mass graves of dissidents and homeless people,” Laura said. “Stop worrying.”
“But the homeless are good haunters!” Bush exclaimed. “They’re use to have no fixed place to exist!” He looked back to the game. “Why can’t you bitches keep it in bounds?!”
“Your country is weak!” Putin yelled.
“Just wait until you see Michael Phelps swim!” Bush retorted. He then whispered to Laura, “I hear he’s the illegitimate son of Aquaman.”
“I thought Aquaman is gay?”
“You shut up!” Bush yelled angrily. A secret service agent walked up to them. “I got your hot dog.”
“Goody!” Bush unwrapped it. He was startled to see chopsticks came with it. “What in the world is this? I bet it’s some sort of Chinese death threat!”
“If you’re so worried that the Chinese led us here just to kill us all, why don’t you ask them about it,” Laura suggested.
“I did! They told me that if they’re planning to kill us all, that their internal affairs and no concerns of ours.” He turned to his Secret Service agent. “I don’t trust the Chinese. If you see any Chinese around me, you kill them.”
“Just watch the game, dear,” Laura said.
“Okay.” Bush watched the game for a few moments. “Why can’t you hussies keep it in the blue line?!”
“Russia has nothing to fear from weak Americans!” Putin laughed.
“Rarr!” Bush growled. “I should have known the Russians were going to be warmongering from all the Tom Clancy videogames I’ve played.”
“According to those, how do things turn out in the end?” Laura asked.
“We all die. Repeatedly. They were very hard games.” Bush took a deep breath. “I bet I know how the Chinese are going to kill us. It’s the air. They’ve poisoned the air, and a couple weeks of breathing it will cause us to drop dead soon after we get back.”
Luara rolled here eyes. “That one we knew before coming.” She looked back to the game. “Keep it in bounds, you whores!”

“On today’s agenda,” Dick Cheney announced at the meeting of Big Oil, “Evil!”
“We should raise prices again!” Skeletor suggested.
“Excellent!” Cheney said. “Anymore ideas for evil?”
“We should propose drilling in more national parks,” Black Manta stated. “How about Disney World?”
“Great idea,” Cheney said. “But there is still the problem of Barack Obama. Let’s face it: We’re no match for his hope and change.”
“I can handle him,” Lex Luthor remarked. He held up a strange looking device. “This is my new shrink ray I’ve perfected. With it we can shrink Barack Obama down to miniature size.”
Cheney touch his fingertips together and smiled with glee. “And then we can place him in our pocket!”
“Robble robble robble!” the Hamburglar agreed.
“Muh ha ha ha!”

Obama played with toy trucks in a sandbox. “I’m going to be a fireman when I grow up!” he exclaimed.
Cheney wearing a mustache disguise approached Obama. He held out a wad of bills. “I have a campaign contribution for you if you come with me.”
“Ooh!” Obama exclaimed. He reached for the bills, but then he took a long look at Cheney. “Something seems to be suspicious about you.”
“I also have a lollipop for you.” Cheney held up a Tootsie Roll.
“Yay!” Obama ran to follow Cheney.

“So, in conclusion, real hope and change means letting the oil companies drill wherever they want and randomly raise prices for no reason,” Obama told the press. “Also, we should destroy all alternative energy cars with hammers and fire. This is what I support, and what I’ve always supported.”
“Should we conclude anything by the fact that you’re giving this speech from Dick Cheney’s front pocket?” a reporter asked.
“You’re a racist!” Obama responded.
“Robble robble robble!” the Hamburglar agreed.

“Drill! Drill!” President Bush shouted as the people put together the drilling equipment.
“What are you doing in my house?” Harry Reid demanded as he walked up to Bush.
“I lifted the ban on off-shore drilling, and I’m starting with your house,” Bush said.
“My house isn’t off-shore!”
Bush shrugged. “I was going to move your house off shore and then drill it, but that seemed excessive.”
“Why do you want to drill my house?!”
“Because I hate you, stupid.” Bush punched Reid in the face, knocking him to the ground. “You’re stupid!”
“I’ll get you for this!” Reid ran off.
“And do what? Get me thrown out of office within a year? Lower my approval ratings.” Bush chuckled and made a call on his cell phone. “How’s the drilling in San Francisco going? …Well, if any hippies start to give you trouble, just drill in their heads… Of course it’s legal. I told you you could do it, so it’s legal!” Bush hung up the phone and walked over to Dick Cheney. “So do you think we’ll strike oil soon?”
“With all the drilling we’re doing, it’s inevitable,” Cheney said. “And then we’ll steal it and watch the puny humans suffer!”
“No!” Bush yelled. “We’re supposed to get more oil so the American people will love me again and burn Democrats in tribute to me.”
“Halliburton was under the assumption this was an evil, no-bid drilling contract,” Cheney explained. “If you want them not to be evil, that costs extra.”
“How much extra?”
“Twenty percent.”
Bush thought about that. “That’s too much. Well, if the American people really are going to elect Obama, I guess they deserve to suffer.”
“Whatever. I’m way passed the point of feeling I need to justify my action.” Cheney rubbed his hands together greedily. “I love evil!”
Bush shrugged. “Evil is alright. Time to try and explain things to the press.”
Cheney continued to watch the drilling equipment. “Puppets are in the car.”

“Obama is such a tool. I want to cut his nuts off.”
“Uh… the mike is on,” one of the reporters said.
“Why do you think I’m reading the teleprompter?” Bush shouted in response. He looked back to the prompter. “But enough about Obama’s nuts; I’m here to talk about drilling. People don’t like high gas prices, so the obvious thing to do is drill for more oil. Anyone who whines about gas prices and isn’t for drilling is a stupid annoying person who should be drilled in the head — maybe by one of those flying silver sphere things from the horror movie Phantasm. Did you see that? Anyway, we should make those and release them at the Democrat National Convention. That would be fun.” Bush stared at the screen for a second. “I guess that’s all I wrote. Any questions?”
“Are you going to drill in ANWR?” a reporter asked.
“Why wouldn’t we? Who would stop us? Moose? Eskimos? We can handle them. I’m thinking we’ll also drill in Canada. I hear they have oil there and they don’t have any use for it because they’re not technologically advanced enough.”
“Will we be drilling in Iraq?”
Bush looked confused. “There’s oil there?”
“What about research into alternative fuels,” another reporter asked.
“I have a clock that runs on a potato,” Bush said. “It’s pretty neat.”
“I mean how about paying others to do research into alternative fuel?”
“Oh. Well, we’re doing that. The drill we’re using in Yellowstone runs on ethanol. With research like that, we’ll be able to continue to drill for oil even if we run out of oil.”
“What about alternative fuels for cars?”
“It’s has always been the position of my administration that that is gay.” He checked his watch. “I’m getting tired of this. Is my presidency over yet?”

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA, ET AL., PETITIONERS v.
DICK ANTHONY HELLER
ON WRIT OF CERTIORARI TO THE UNITED STATES COURT OF
APPEALS FOR THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA CIRCUIT
[June 26, 2008]
JUSTICE SCALIA delivered the opinion of the Court.
We consider whether a District of Columbia prohibition on the possession of usable handguns in the home violates the Second Amendment to the Constitution.
We turn first to the meaning of the Second Amendment.
The Second Amendment provides: “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” The two sides in this case have set out very different interpretations of the Amendment. Petitioners and today’s dissenting Justices believe that it protects only the right to possess and carry a firearm in connection with militia service. See Brief for Petitioners 11–12; post, at 1 (STEVENS, J., FLAMING HOMO, dissenting). Respondent argues that it protects an individual right to possess a firearm unconnected with service in a militia, and to use that arm for traditionally lawful purposes, such as self-defense within the home. See Brief for Respondent 2–4.
Having basic reading comprehension and not having our heads shoved up our asses, we agree with the latter. Furthermore, we have determined that anyone who agrees with the D.C. law is a little preening little nancy and should be beaten or shot for being a pinko. See Findings on the Tiny Penises of Gun Haters. More specifically, everyone in D.C. should immediately be given a gun, and anyone who protests should be shot in the groin, shot in the face, and then shot in the groin once more for good measure. Then their houses should be burned down. We’ll make a weekend of it. I’ll bring beer. See video from last year’s Supreme Kegger.
Guns are awesome. See any action movie. America is awesome. Therefore, anyone against guns is against America, and people against America should be injured and forcefully ejected from the country. See Ronald Reagan’s Treatise on Dealing with Hippies. In this spirit, I’ve shot dead the four dissenting Justices and buried them out back. See suspicious mounds of dirt behind the Supreme Court. This makes this now a unanimous 5-0 decision, and Justice Kennedy smartly lives another day.
The issue of incorporation was not brought before the Court, but out next step will be to grab our guns, form a posse, and head to Chicago. The citizens are disarmed, so they will be easy pickings and their stereos will become mine. See the barrel of my gun. I shall kill Mayor Daley and place his head upon a pike in the town square as an example to others. Usually the execution of laws falls on the Executive Branch, but I have the summer off and it sounds like fun.

We are aware of the problem of handgun violence in this country, and we take seriously the concerns raised by the many sissies and fascists who believe that prohibition of handgun ownership is a solution. Because we take their concerns seriously is why I kill them. The Constitution leaves the District of Columbia a variety of tools for combating that problem, including the non-fascist kind, but the enshrinement of constitutional rights necessarily takes certain policy choices off the table unless you want my boot up your ass. These include the absolute prohibition of handguns held and used for self-defense in the home. Undoubtedly some think that the Second Amendment is outmoded in a society where our standing army is the pride of our Nation, where well-trained police forces provide personal security, and where gun violence is a serious problem. I will find these people and kill them, or my name isn’t Anthony “The Bull” Scalia.
It is so ordered.

Barack Obama was alone in the playground playing with some blocks. “Now that that mean lady is gone, I’m gonna be pesident,” he said to himself.
Mahmoud Ahmadinejad slowly crept near him. “Hello, little Barry.”
Obama waved at him enthusiastically. “Hi! I’m Barack Obama, and I’ve been in the Senate…” He held up three fingers. “…this many years and now I’m gonna be pesident.”
“I heard!” Mahmoud sat down next to him. “So what are you up to?”
Obama stacked some more blocks. “I’m building a prison for all the mean people who don’t want to pay for universal healthcare and own guns.”
“It looks nice. Anyway, I think we should go somewhere and talk.” Mahmoud pointed to his van parked next the playground.
Obama suddenly became cautious. “My campaign manager said I’m not supposed to talk to dictators.”
“That’s crazy!” Mahmoud said. “I’m the democratically elected president of Iran. Shouldn’t you be able to talk to a leader of a country like me.”
Obama was hesitant. “I dunno.”
“And we both want American out of Iraq… I just work towards that end more actively. Shouldn’t we talk so we can better combine our energies to achieve a goal we both want.”
“Maybe… but my campaign manager told me…”
“And I lost my puppy and need your help finding him,” Mahmoud told him.
“Your puppy! Oh no! Where did you lose him?”
“Israel took him!” Mahmoud narrowed his eyes. “I will wipe them off the map.”
Obama was cautious again. “I really think I’m supposed to stay here.”
“But I have candy!”
“Yay! Candy!” Obama screamed as he scampered off towards Mahmoud’s van.

“This just in: Senator Barack Obama has made a deal with Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to cut off all ties with Israel in exchange for five candy bars,” the anchorman said.
“I heard Ahmadinejad tried to only give him only four candy bars,” the anchorwoman commented, “but Obama negotiated him up to five. He is so shrewd. I just love him so much. I want to give myself to him sexually.”
The anchorman nodded. “Me too. I bet he has soft hands. Anyway, John McCain, who I remind you is very old, was quick to condemn Obama’s diplomacy, calling Obama a ‘little whippersnapper’ and told him and all his buddies to stay off his lawn.”
“I guess he doesn’t like black people,” the anchorwoman added.
The anchorman nodded again. “He is a Republican.”