“Babies are the greatest threat facing society today,” the NARAL spokeswoman said. “Compare the number of people affected by the actions of supposed terrorists versus those affected by crying, screaming babies. Worst yet, think of those forced to care for these parasites. That’s why NARAL stands for the destruction of all babies, and why we are proud to give our nomination to one of the biggest baby opponents, Barack Obama.”

There was applause as Obama took the stage. “Thank you. This has been an important issue for me for a long time. At first, I had attended feminist rallies and was confused at what lesbians needed abortions for, but now I understand this is not about the women and the abortions — this is about the plight on this nations that are babies. No one has committed a crime so foul that she should be punished with a baby, so I seek a permanent end to this punishment.
“Do not think I came upon the conclusion that we must eliminate babies with little thought. I spent much time talking to my spiritual mentor about the subject.”

“Jeremiah, do you think Jesus would be against abortions,” Obama asked Jeremiah Wright.
“Who?”
“You know… the guy from the Bible.”
“The what? I don’t got time for your jibber-jabber, half-cracker. I have a gay marriage to preside over.”

“It has become clear to me that babies are a problem we must fight now — not later,” Obama continued. “They are a threat wherever they hide, and I warn everyone that I will make no distinction between the babies and those who harbor them. The time of babies is over. Can we hope to change the world to a place without babies? Yes we can. Yes. We. Can.”
Hillary Clinton ran onto the stage, “You’re giving him the endorsement! But I’ve been trying to kill babies for longer than he has! I was the first one to figure how to store their souls for later feasting!”
“Boo!” the crowd shouted. “Go hang out with your baby-loving hillbillies in West Virginia!”
“You’ll all pay for this!” Hillary screeched. “You’ll all pay! I’ll see you all with babies!” She cackled as she ran off.
“That woman is scary,” Obama said. “Anyway, I find one of the best ways to kill a baby is to get a corkscrew and…”

Senator Barack Obama has a some very introspective remarks for his concession speech after losing by 41 points in the West Virginia primary:
“Do you not see the flag pin, you inbred, hillbilly retards?! I wore a @#$% flag pin for you mouth breathers! I broke my campaign’s only strongly held principle — not being patriotic — for you! My friends won’t even look at me when I have it on. I even found Ayers trying to put a bomb on my car. What more do you want from me?
“Is it because I’m black? Is that why you @#$% crackers won’t vote for me? Now I know why my wife hates America. Well, you better hope I don’t get the presidency, because I will install Ray Nagin as ruler of West Virginia and he will chocolatize your state. When you bitterly head to church on Sunday, you’ll find Wright preaching there about how God wants us to kill honkeys.
“So go pluck your banjos while you can, white trash. And does anyone want a flag pin? I don’t have any use for it anymore.”

“I hate crackers!”
“Yes, I know,” Barack Obama told Jeremiah Wright. “So does everyone else, so now its time to throw you under the bus.”
Obama Secret Service agents picked up Wright and prepared to toss him under the bus. “But I married you! I baptized your kids!”
“And I appreciate that. Say hi to my grandma when you’re under the bus.”
“But I hate that cracker!” Wright said just before being tossed under the bus.
“Now I need to just clear this up with the press.” Obama walked over and stood up on a podium just as the press was assembling. “I was unaware that Jeremiah Wright was a crazy man,” he told them. “This is something I’ve just become aware of… and not something I ignored previously for political expediency. I totally just found out about it now.”
“So you had no idea in all the time he was your spiritual mentor?” a reporter asked.
“When all the time he advised me about the evil crackers,” Obama said, “I thought he was referring to Ritz crackers. I only recently found out how rich and buttery they are — quite the opposite of evil.”
“But didn’t you quote Wright ranting about ‘white greed’ in your book Dreams from My Father?” another reporter asked.
“I’ve never read that book,” Obama answered. “Far as I know, that book is full of extremism, and I condemn it.”
“But… you wrote it.”
“Someone named Barack Obama wrote it; that’s a very common name. Any other questions.”
“Since before you said you couldn’t disown Wright anymore than you could disown the black community,” a reporter said, “are you now disowning the black community?”
Obama shrugged. “I guess. I never particularly cared for black people, especially now that I finally found out what they are like since Wright gave those interviews.”
“So you really never saw any crazy extremism in the twenty years you went to Trinity?” a reporter asked.
“Well… I’m secretly a Muslim,” Obama replied. “Every time I attended a service at Trinity, the whole time I was not paying attention as I was trying to figure out what direction Mecca was so I could pray towards it.”
“So are we to believe–”
“I think it’s one of those Mecca praying times,” Obama interrupted. “So I’m going to have to go now and do whatever it is Muslims do.”
Michelle Obama walked on stage and asked Barack, “You done talking to those crackers? Why do you even want to be president of this country? I hate it!”
Obama looked back to the press. “By the way, also due to things I’ve just suddenly become aware of, I’m getting a divorce.”

NOTE: This is an IMAO projection of what a Barack Obama presidency could be like.
President Obama was eating his morning waffles. “I sure love waffles,” he said to no one in particular.
His aide rushed into the room. “Sir, Iran has–”
“Why can’t I just eat my waffle?” Obama asked angrily.
“Sir, there is a crisis and–”
“Can you not see the waffle I am eating? You will wait until my waffle is gone to talk to me! I’m the president!”
“Yes, sir.”
Obama took another bite. “I sure love waffles. I guess its the shape I like best. The waffle shape.”
“Maybe you should just eat your waffles instead of talking about them so we can get to business,” the aide suggested.
“Don’t tell me how to eat my waffles!” Obama screamed. “I’m the president!” He then muttered to himself, “Dumb cracker.” He looked back to the waffles. “Mmm… waffles!”

“We have an economic problem,” Barack Obama told a crowd in Pennsylvania, “and the way to handle it is–”
“You’re not wearing any pants!” someone in the crowd yelled out.

Obama looked as angry as he was pantsless. “That has nothing to do with the important issues people care about such as the economy and healthcare. It is a distraction to bring that up.”
“But shouldn’t you have pants?” another asked. “I mean, you have the suit jacket and everything up top, but you only have boxers on down below.”
“This is the problem with you people,” Obama said. “You keep getting distracted by non-issues. If you would just think for a minute, you’d realize your whole moral stick up on people needing to wear pants had nothing to do with the real problems affecting you. It’s quite sad; I was just telling my rich friends in San Francisco how I knew something like this would happen.”
“Did you forget to wear pants?” one of the crowd inquired.
Michelle Obama ran onto to stage and pointed an accusing finger at the crowd. “This is why I hate America! THIS IS WHY I HATE AMERICA!!”
“It’s okay dear.” Obama gently ushered her off stage. “I can handle this.” He turned to the crowd once more. “The Republicans want you to be distracted by this. They want you worrying whether people are wearing pants or not instead of whether you have jobs or access to hospitals. If you people were only a little smarter, you could see this.”
“I really think you should be wearing pants,” one person answered.
“I can’t help you people.” He stormed off stage.

President Bush sat in bed with his wife watching the Obama speech. “I don’t get it,” Bush said. “The Democrats have spent eight years complaining about how I’m all stupid or something, so you’d think they’d nominate someone smart.”
“Well, the Democrats aren’t smart, dear.”
Bush thought about that. “Oh yeah. Guess they wouldn’t know what smart actually looks like.”

“Our biggest threat is Al Qaeda,” Barack Obama told a crowd of supporters. “We need to go after them, and Al Qaeda is not in Ir-… wait… um… that’s not right… uh… the key Al Qaeda leadership is not in Iraq. That’s the ticket! So, no reason for us to be in Iraq.”
“But if we leave Iraq, won’t the leadership set up base there?” a supporter asked.
“No… um… because… of the… uh… the violent Shiites there who will kill all of them.”
“Then don’t we have to worry about the Shiites?” another person in the audience asked.
“No… because… um… they’ll all eventually be… um… eaten by the sandworms. So, if we leave Iraq, everything will solve itself. There’s no reason for us to be there losing money and lives over spice… um… I mean oil.”
“Do you actually know anything about foreign affairs?” someone else asked.
“Well… um… I read the paper every day.”
“Articles or the comics?”
Obama thought about that. “What do the classifieds count as?”

“It is so good to finally meet you,” Jimmy Carter said to the leader of Hamas. “I hope this discussion can help further peace.”
“Kill the jooooos!” yelled the leader of Hamas.

“Yes, I know your grievances and I sympathize,” Carter said. “So what concessions do you want?”
“Die! Joooos die!” replied the leader of Hamas.
“And your adamant about that?”
“Push joooos into the sea!”
Carter thought for a moment. “You’d have to file an environmental impact statement for that.”
“Bash joooos with rocks!”
Carter nodded. “That seems reasonable to me… but I doubt Israel will see it that way. They’re so stubborn.”
“Destroy Israel!”
Carter leaned over and whispered to the leader of Hamas. “Don’t tell anyone, but I agree with you there.”
The leader of Hamas whispered back, “Kill the jooooos.”
Carter smiled and nodded. “Well, I think we made great progress. Hopefully this can lead to you all getting the nation you richly deserve.” He shook the leader of Hamas’s hand. “Goodbye.”
“Kill the joooos.”
When Carter left the meeting room, he saw President Bush standing outside. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re meeting with terrorists,” Bush said. “So off to Gitmo with you.”
“But I’m a Nobel Peace Prize winner!”
Bush punched Carter in the face. He then took Carter’s Nobel Peace Prize. “I defeated you in combat, so the peace prize is mine!”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“Then why do I also have Al Gore’s?” Bush snapped to his Secret Service who grabbed Carter and shoved him in a wooden crate. Bush then put the lid on and sealed it with a nail gun.
The leader of Hamas came out and looked quite surprised by the scene. “Kill the joooos?!”
“He goes to Gitmo too,” Bush told the Secret Service. They shoved the leader of Hamas into another wooden crate which Bush also sealed. He then took out a black Sharpie and wrote “To Gitmo” in big letters on both crates.
Bush turned to his Secret Service. “Send them UPS Ground.”

“Playing darts is fun!” President Bush threw another dart out the window.
“Shouldn’t we have a dart board?” Dick Cheney asked.
“Only if you’re a stickler for playing by the official rules.” Bush threw a dart at a potted plant.

An aide ran into the office. “There’s a crisis in the Middle East! You need to take this phone call!”
“No,” Bush responded. “If you check the schedule, right now is dart time. You’ll have schedule that in for later or it won’t be fair to the darts.”
“But–”
“I said later!” Bush threw a dart at the aide who scurried off.
There was a flash of light and then a strange craft appeared in the middle of the Oval Office. Out of it emerged a man in metallic clothes. “I come from the future to warn you of–”
“AIEEE! A shiny man!” Bush exclaimed. He then pulled out a gun and shot the man dead.
“You idiot; that was a man from the future,” Cheney said.
“How do you know?”
“It’s a well known fact that people from the future wear shiny clothing. He was probably here to warn us of an impending disaster.”
Bush hung his head. “Well, I feel stupid.” He looked back up. “Anyway, we have a time machine; let’s kill Hitler!”
“Sure; why not. I’m not doing anything this afternoon.”

Bush and Cheney waited near a house in 1905 Austria. “Should Hitler be here?” Cheney asked.
“He should be here or I’m going to need to correct his article on Wikipedia,” Bush replied.
A teenager came out of the house. “Kill him!” Bush shouted an opened fire. “Pepper his face, Dick!”
“Die!” Cheney yelled as he fired his shotgun.
“Mein Leben!” Hitler yelled as he was ripped apart by bullets.
“Yay!” Bush exclaimed. “We killed teenage Hitler!”
“That was Hitler? I was just shooting him because he was a teenager.”
Bush checked his watch. “Killing Hitler was tons of fun, but it’s about lunchtime in one hundred and three years. We better get back.”

With a flash, the time machine appeared back in the Oval Office. “So, can killing people in the past have unintended consequences in the future?” Bush asked Cheney.
“No. That only happens when you kill butterflies.”
There was shouting from outside the White House. “Oh no; protesters!” Bush went to window to look. One was holding up a sign that said, “Bush = Van Houtte.”
“Who is Van Houtte?” Bush asked.
One of Bush’s aides walked into the Oval Office. “Jean Van Houtte was a Belgium Prime Minister in the 1950’s. He had a very tepid response to their recession, and thus is widely considered the worst politician of the past one hundred years. It’s not very flattering to be compared to him… though I think to compare anyone you don’t like to him is to belittle the travesty of how mediocre his reaction was to that financial near-crisis.”
“You hear that, Dick?” Bush exclaimed, “We’ve changed the future so people don’t even know of genocidal dictators.”
“Yes, the world has been very peaceful for some time,” the aide said. “It all started about the time some teenager was brutally murdered in Austria after the turn of the last century. Anyway, you have to get ready for your speech at the World Trade Center which still exists.”
“Woo hoo!” Bush turned to Cheney. “We’re time traveling heroes!”
“Whatever,” Cheney said. “Let’s go back in time and kill more people.”
There were screams outside. Bush looked out the window to see the protesters being torn apart by fifty foot tall gorillas with robot parts. “Uh… what are they?”
“Those are the cybernetically enhanced gorillas that really rule the planet,” the aide explained. “When they saw humanity was weak from not being involved in any large wars, they decided to take over.”
“Oh no!” Bush turned to Cheney. “We’ve changed the future for the worse by killing Hitler!”
Cheney shrugged. “How do you know it’s worse? We’re only seeing one side of the cyborg gorillas.”
“You’re right.” Bush looked at his aide. “So, what is the general opinion on them?”
“People never seem to complain about them,” he said. “Then again, if you complain, they eat you.”
“So its hard to tell, then.” Bush thought for a moment. “Well, best not to overreact and go off unkilling Hitler willy-nilly. So, do I have time to watch CSI: Miami off of the DVR before we go to New York? It should have recorded last night, and I really want to find out if Horatio says something mysterious while putting on his sunglasses.”
The aide looked at Bush like he was insane. “What are you talking about?”
“CSI: Miami. It comes on Monday nights.”
“No. It comes on Friday nights. It’s always aired on Friday nights.”
“But that’s a horrible time slot for it!” Bush turned to Cheney and grabbed him by his suit coat. “We’ve caused a dystopian future! We have to go back and stop ourselves from killing Hitler!”
“That sounds boring. Want to go fishing instead?”
Bush paused for a second. “Yeah. Let’s go fishing.”

“I bring you a message of hope and change,” Barack Obama told the fawning crowd. “Of not only change that brings hope… but also of hope that brings change. This is a message that people respond to. It is also not the message of my Democratic opponent Hillary Clinton. That’s why I am leading in delegates, and why she… AIEEE!”

A large object flew at Obama and struck him in the face. The Secret Service quickly surrounded him. Gun drawn, one looked over the crowd shouting, “Who threw that lamp? WHO THREW THAT LAMP?!”

“We interrupt Dancing with the Stars for the special news bulletin: Senator Barack Obama, while speaking at an even in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, was struck by a lamp. It is currently unknown who threw the lamp and whether it was thrown out of racial hatred or for political reasons. We have been unable to get a comment from Senator Obama as he is reportedly locked in his hotel room sobbing uncontrollably. His wife, Michelle Obama, quickly responded, though.
On screen was Michelle Obama at a podium. “While we are saddened that my husband was struck by a lamp, we are not surprised. As a black man, Barack could have a lamp thrown at him just for going to the gas station — nonetheless running for president. This is just another reason I hate this country. I repeat: I really really hate this country and everything about it.”
The news anchor came back on screen. “Originally, Michelle was a suspect for the lamp throwing as its just assumed from her personality that she at least constantly browbeats her husband, but she was in Canada at the time of the incident because she was reportedly so sick of this country that she just had to get out of it for a while.
“Senator Obama’s pastor and spiritual mentor, Jeremiah Wright, had some words to say about the incident.”
On screen was Wright at the pulpit. “First, the white people in the government made HIV to kill the black man. When that didn’t work, now they’ve moved up to throwing lamps. They’ll do anything to stop Barack Obama, because they know that the first thing he’ll do when he’s president is kill all the honkeys! That’s right; he’ll use the secret government labs to make a virus to kill them! It will be a honkey massacre! That’s in the Bible!” He held up a well-worn copy of Hop on Pop. “Right in here… somewhere near the middle, I think.”
The news anchor came back on screen. “The next suspect of the lamp throwing is, of course, John McCain. As we in the media have remembered that he’s a Republican, we’ve also remembered that he’s therefore evil. We had a reporter sit down and ask him about the incident.”
On screen was McCain sitting uncomfortably. “Since you claim to be a conservative,” an off-screen reporter said, “you must also claim to hate black people. Do you feel any remorse for throwing a lamp at Obama because he’s black?”
“As I’ve told you a thousand times,” McCain snarled, “I don’t hate black people; I hate gooks! They tortured me in Vietnam! I’m tired of explaining this! If I could raise my hands high enough, I’d box your ears! Know why I can’t?”
“Because you’re lazy?”
“Because of the injuries the gooks gave me in ‘Nam! That’s it; lower your head so I can box your ears!”
The news anchor came back on screen. “The final suspect for the incident is Senator Hillary Clinton, often rumored to have thrown lamps out of anger when previously in the White House as first lady. Her campaign released this statement in response to these charges:

“The idea that Hillary Clinton throws lamps in irrational fits of rage is a rumor spread by sexist, misogynist individuals. Anyone could have thrown a lamp at Senator Obama, and the fact that Senator Hillary Clinton was seen in the are holding a lamp for some reason while looking extremely enraged proves nothing. The fact that Senator Obama has made such an ordeal out of a simple lamp throwing when Senator Clinton wasn’t even fazed by imagined snipe fire once again shows the difference in experience between the two candidates. Also, if Senator Obama doesn’t wants lamps thrown at him in the future, maybe he shouldn’t be such an annoying little upstart who gets in the way of a political future destined by fate that no one, and I MEAN NO ONE, can stop me from achieving! You hear that, bitch!”

President Bush was woken by the phone ringing. “What time is it?” He glanced at the clock: 3 A.M. “Oh… come on…” He picked up the phone. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”
“Sir, this is Secretary Gates. We have–”
“3 A.M., Robby. Can’t this wait until morning?”

“Sir, we are on the verge of–”
“I’m a busy man, you know. I have stuff to do in the morning.”
“Sir, this is very important. India and Pakistan are on the verge of having a nuclear exchange.”
Bush was quiet for a moment. “Wow. Really? …You really thought that was something worth waking me up at some ungodly hour? How in the world does that affect us?”
“We are talking about–”
“And what do you expect me to do, anyway? I’m not Superman; I can’t just fly over there and grab the missiles out of the air. Did you get the presidential phone mixed up with your Superman signal watch, Dick Grayson?”
“I think you mean Jimmy Olsen, sir.”
“It’s too early in the morning for me to keep secondary comic book characters straight!”
“Honey?” Laura asked, half asleep. “Is it something important?”
“No,” Bush answered her and put the phone back to his ear. “Why are they even doing this now? Doesn’t India and Pakistan know what time it is? Don’t they have to sleep?”
“It’s a different time there, sir.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not the same time there as it is here?”
“What? Now time travel is involved? It’s way to early in the morning for me to be dealing with this crap.”
“Sir, a nuclear exchange is an unprecedented incident. This is a world changing event, and we will need you to lead.”
Bush sighed. “Fine.” He started to get out of bed.
“Ha! I punked you!” Gates said.
“Oh, man…”
“Yeah, there’s nothing happening. I just felt like pulling a prank on you.”
Bush laughed. “You got me. That’s like the third time this week, you rascal.” Bush hung up the phone and laid back in bed. “My staff is wacky.”

Obama knelt by his maternal grandmother. “You just sit here while I give my speech.”
“You make me proud, little Barry.”
“I will, grandma.”

Obama walked to the microphone. One of the crowd shouted, “We love you Obama!”
“I love you too, press,” Obama said. “Now, it’s time to talk about the important issue of race. As you see, I have my grandmother with me…” He pointed to his grandmother behind him who smiled and waved to the press. “…a horrible ignorant white racist.”
“What! Why you little–”
“There she goes again.” Obama chuckled. “Probably about to say another racial epithet.”
“You little bastard! I–”
“Yes, we know, grandma,” Obama interrupted her. “Black people love to steal and rob. You told me a million times.” He looked back at the press. “Still I love her, and she showed her love to me in her own racist way, making sure she always had plenty of fried chicken and watermelon for my visits.”
“I raised you, you ungrateful–”
“It’s okay, grandma,” Obama told her. “Remember? It’s me; your grandson. I’m not going to steal your purse.” He turned back to the press. “You see, I can’t disown Jeremiah Wright anymore than I can disown my crazy racist grandma.”
“How dare you compare me with that insane preacher you decided to hang out with. I should–”
“Yes, I know, grandma. You hate Mexicans too.” He looked back to the press. “I want to create racial healing and understanding, so that’s why I want you to know that all black people are just like Wright and suspect you white people of making HIV to kill them. From that understanding, we can begin the healing.”
“I always knew you were a lying little–”
Obama laughed. “I better take my grandma home before she starts another ignorant, racist rant.”
“We’re all going to vote for you, Obama!” one of the reporters shouted.
“Thanks.” He then turned to his grandma. “Time to go home now.”
“I’m going to tell everyone how you–”
Obama looked to an aide. “Take her to a nursing home.”
“Which one?”
“I dunno; one with locks.”
His aides carted away his screaming grandma. Obama smiled to himself. “I love racial healing. Dumb crackers just eat that up.”

“It’s time to begin oral arguments on District of Columbia vs. Heller,” Chief Justice Roberts said, “First, let’s–”
“I will kill you!” Justice Scalia brandished a gun at everyone in the room. “You try and take my gun, I will shoot you and you will die!”

“Scalia has a gun!” Justice Bryer shrieked.
“Dude, calm down,” Justice Thomas told Scalia. “Now give me the gun.”
Scalia handed it over. “I was just telling everyone I was going to shoot them.”
“I know.”
“Anyway,” Roberts continued, “we will begin oral arguments by–”
“I will shoot you in the face and I will kill you!”
“Scalia has another gun!” Bryers shrieked.
“I will use this to put bullets in you! You think Kennedy is the deciding vote? The deciding vote is my gun!”
“Chill, man; come on,” Thomas told Scalia and slowly took the gun away. “Everything is going to turn out all right, okay?”
“Fine.”
“Let’s all keep cool heads,” Roberts said. “First arguments will be from–”
Scalia whispered to Justice Alito. “Can I see one of your guns?”
“You aren’t going to threaten everyone with it, are you?”
“No. I just want to see it.”
“Okay.” Alito handed Scalia a gun.
“I will kill you all! You try and take my guns, you will all be dead by me shooting you!”
“Scalia got yet another gun from Alito!” Bryers shrieked.
“I will extra kill the liberal Justices!”
“You need to calm down.” Thomas slowly took the gun from Scalia.
“Now let’s finally get started,” Roberts said. “The lawyer representing D.C. can begin his statement.”
“D.C.’s ban on handguns is perfectly constitutional. There is no right to–”
There were a number of gunshots, and the lawyers fell dead.
“Okay, who shot the lawyer?” Roberts asked.
“Well, Thomas has all the guns,” Souter said.
“Oh of course!” Thomas exclaimed. “If there is a shooting, blame the black man!”

“General Petraeus, I have a question for you,” President Bush said.
“Sure. What is it, Mr. President?”
“What do you think about a war with Iran?”
“That would be extremely idiotic at this juncture, sir.”

Bush nodded. “Yeah… but would it be newsworthy?”
“Yes, I could see that being a hot topic.”
“Like, do you think it would lead the news cycle?”
Petraeus pondered that. “Yes… unless Britney Spears had a tragic death.”
“Well, what’s the chance of that?”
Petraeus shrugged. “Hard to say.”
Bush thought for a moment. “Well, I guess that’s just one of the risks when going to war. You see, I’m tired of all the news being about the next president. I’m still president. The news should be about me. And I’m tired of hearing about that Obama.” Bush leaned close to Petraeus ear and whispered, “I hear his middle name is ‘Hussein,’ just like that bad man.”
“Why are you whispering?”
“If McCain hears me mention that, he gets angry. And, he could be president one day and abuse his power against me!” Bush leaned close to Petraeus again and whispered, “I also saw Obama in Muslim clothes.”
“Where did you see that?”
“At a mosque.”
“Why were you at a mosque?”
“To pray towards Mecca.”
“Are you sure that actually happened?”
“I didn’t get to be president by being sure of things!” Bush went and sat back at his desk so he could pound it for emphasis. “Now what was I talking about?”
“I hesitate to remind you, but you were talking about war with Iran.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.”

“I decided to make this announcement in person,” Bush told the press.
“We like Dana Perino better,” a reporter said. “She’s pretty.”
“Well you’re stuck with me today!” Bush shouted. “If any of you were hoping for a date with Dana, it ain’t gonna happen because she hates all of you!”
“Plus, she’s married,” a reporter said.
“How do you know that? Are you stalking her? You’re creepy! Now, as I was saying, I have an important announcement… which I forgot but I wrote it down somewhere.” Bush pulled out some index cards. “Red, Yellow, Blue, Red, Red, Blue, Blue, Red, Yellow, Blue… wait, I think that’s a cheat code for X-Box game I wrote down…” He pulled out another card. “Here it is: I’m going to war with Iran!”
There was an audible gasp among the press.
Bush smiled. “That’s right! It’s shocking! Shocking and newsworthy! Any questions? I’m sure you must have many.”
Helen Thomas stepped forward. “Why do you want to kill Iranian children? What do you have against Iranian children?”
Bush rolled his eyes. “I thought she was dead! I’m only talking to you guys myself because I thought I heard she was dead! Next question.”
“Why?”
“Because…” He paused for a moment. “Oil, I guess. Does that make sense?”
“I thought the problem with Iran is them pursuing nuclear weapons?” a reporter said.
“Maybe that then,” Bush responded. “The point is, I have a good reason. Next question.”
“What troops will you use for this operation? Aren’t they already over-extended in Afghanistan and Iraq?”
Bush thought for a moment. “Well, what are you doing?”
“Um… reporting.”
“That’s not important.” Bush turned to his Secret Service. “Seize him! He’s drafted and going to Iran!” The Secret Service dragged away the screaming reporter while Bush looked back to the press. “See, I can do stuff like that because I’m still the president and powerful! Next question!”
“Will you be using local support to overthrow the current regime?”
Bush shook his head. “Nah… don’t plan on that.”
“But aren’t there many Iranians opposed to the current regime who want democratic reforms?”
“Maybe… but sucks to be them, I guess. I’m not falling into the trap of trying to set up a new government again; this time we’ll just obliterate the enemy country. In fact, I’ve been talking to NASA for a plan to nuke it from orbit like they should have done in Aliens.”
The press stared at him in shock and confusion.
“You know… ‘Game over, man! Game over!'” The press continued to stare at him. “You don’t know that movie? I swear that sometimes you guys are so stupid that it’s unbelievable.”
“You’re going to do a nuclear strike against Iran from space?” a dumbfounded reporter asked.
“Exactly! I bet you guys such stupid and shoddy reporters, though, you’ll say I was referencing the first movie, Alien.” Bush thought for a moment. “Then again, it is pretty confusing that the sequel is just the plural of the first movie. You kinda always want to say, ‘The second Alien movie,’ just to be clear.” He looked up at the reporters. “Now what was I talking about again?”
“Hey it’s Obama together with Spitzer!” a reporter shouted. “And Spitzer brought his hookers with him!”
The reporters all ran to the new spectacle. “No! Stay here!” Bush yelled at them. “I’m important! Come on! Obama probably just mistook Spitzer for a foreign leader because he’s inexperienced just like Hillary is kindly warning us!” Bush stood there a moment, alone. “Guess I might as well see what my dad is up to.”

Hillary Clinton sat in a coffee shop with a a group of supporters in New Hampshire. “Isn’t this nice: Meeting with regular folks. That’s my favorite part of campaigning.”
One man looked at her unconvinced. “Then why do look ready to claw your own face?”
Hillary’s smile started fading. “It’s just…” She paused to collect herself. “I…” Here’s eyes started misting. “I just…” She began crying. “This campaigning had been so… sob… hard on me.”
“I’m sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean it. Please stop crying.”
Tears were streaming down her face. “Everyone… sob… has been… sob… so mean to me.”
“Well, we all like you here,” one person said. “Don’t we?” Everyone in the coffee shop agreed. “So there’s no reason to cry.”
“People just think… sob… the worst of me… sob… because all I ever wanted… sob… is unlimited power.”
“No no. We know that’s natural for a woman to want. Please stop crying.”
“It’s just that all… sob… the anger against me… sob… is hard to take… sob… I keep praying… sob… to a higher power… sob… for it to stop… sob… but it never lets up… sob… and I’m beginning to wonder… sob… if there really is a Satan.”
A woman nearby patted her on the back. “There is and he’s listening to you. It’s all going to be okay.”
“People seem to think… sob… I’m some naive liberal… sob… they thought… sob… I was going to accidentally screw up… sob… healthcare in America… sob… with my plan… sob… but really… sob… I was going to destroy it on purpose… sob… to spread suffering.”
“We know that,” a man told her. “We know you’re devious and not naive.”
“And I’ve worked… sob… so hard… sob… to be president… sob… my whole life… sob… and now that’s going to be… sob… taken away from me… sob… by a colored man… sob… with the name of homicidal dictator.”
“No! That’s not going to happen,” another woman assured her. “The country is still racist; they’ll never vote for Obama.”
The waiter came by the table. “Um… Can I get you something Senator Clinton?”
She tried to wipe away her tears. “I’d like… sob… a caramel… sob… macchiato.”
“Oh, um… I’m afraid we’re out of caramel.”
Hillary started crying even louder.
“Is there anything else I can get you?” he asked in a panic. “Anything at all?”
“What I really like… sob… but most places don’t have it… sob… is the blood… sob… of a new born baby.”
“There’s a hospital just a block away and I know where the nursery is. Just please stop crying and I’ll be back in a minute.” The waiter ran out the door.
“I think I better… sob… leave and get… sob… a handle on myself.” She stood up and began to slowly walk away from the table.
Bill O’Reilly ran over and knocked her down to the floor. “Stop blocking my shot of Obama!”
“I’m… sob… sorry.”
“Shut up and stop the crying! You’re messing up the recording of me shouting at people!”
Hillary crawled away into the corner and just sat there crying.
“Is there anything we can do to cheer you up?” one woman asked.
“You could… sob… tell me… sob… a joke.”
“Well… um… what’s black and white and red all over?”
“I don’t… sob… know.”
“A penguin with a sunburn.”
Hillary stopped crying, and soon a cackle began to form inside her and grow until she cackled so loud that small children five counties over began crying for no reason.
The patrons of the coffee shop stood back in fear. “Are you sure you’re done crying?”

“We knew the destruction of those interrogation tapes was going to be a big deal,” White House Press Secretary Dana Perino told the press, “but luckily we found a new copy so we’ll just show you what’s on it so your imaginations will stop running wild.”
On screen behind her was scene of a Muslim man looking panicked as unseen people prepped him.
“So, yes,” Perino said, “what you are seeing here is the interrogators connecting a car battery to the subject’s gonads. That seems pretty bad, but, come on, he’s a terrorist! Who really cares what we do to him?”
On screen, the terrorist started screaming. After a couple minutes, one reporter asked, “Since this is supposed to be an interrogation, shouldn’t he be asked questions at some point?”
Perino was silent for a moment. Finally, she shrugged. “Okay, you got us. It wasn’t an interrogation. We just thought shocking a terrorists gonads would make an entertaining video for the CIA Christmas party. Still, are you going to feel sympathy for him? He’s a terrorist!”
They watched as the terrorist on screen kept shaking and screaming. Eventually, a reporter asked, “Don’t you mean ‘holiday’ party.”
“Yes, sorry, it’s for the CIA holiday party.”
On screen, they watched as for another minute straight the terrorist kept screaming. “So… how long does this go on?”
“A while,” Perino said, “The battery is a Die Hard.”