Part 1
Part 2

Condoleezza Rice and Dick Cheney sat around a table in the White House. “While President Bush is gone, what do you want to do?”
Cheney shrugged.
Condi thought for a moment. “Want to declare martial law?”
“Yeah… I guess that’s a way to kill the weekend.”

“The desert is hot,” President Bush complained as he and his group hiked across the dunes.
“Then maybe you should take off that winter jacket,” Laura said.
“But then I’d have to carry it, and that would be just be annoying!”
“We love these red shirts you got us!” Bill the intern exclaimed.
“Yay! Hiking through the desert is fun!” Jill the intern said and did a cartwheel.
“You have your fun,” Bush said to himself, “as it will only make your deaths all the more tragic.”
Laura slapped him on the back of the head. “Stop waiting for the interns to die!”
Buck the Marine took off a boot and emptied sand from it. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you hadn’t given our Humvee to those monkeys.”
“Hey! They were honest looking!” Bush yelled. “I was sure they were going to bring it back! I bet it means were close, though, if they’re using psych-ops to try and stop us. What do you think, Bolton?”
John Bolton stood still and let the wind blow through his powerful mustache. He then pointed to the south. “My ‘stache senses evil in that direction.”
Bush charged forward. “Onward to evil!”
Eventually, they came upon a cave in the side of a mountain. Inside, they soon found a dead terrorist on the ground. Bush knelt down and inspected the body. “He was shot in the head… and, from the bullet trajectory, he must have been shot by someone small – like a monkey!” He looked around some more and found banana peels. He took out a pen and picked one up with it. “The terrorist must have then appeased the monkeys with bananas and went on with the sale. It would seem they’re all gone, but perhaps that’s what they wanted us to think before…” He turned to face Bill and Jill. “…THEY SPRING THEIR TRAP!”
“What trap?” Bill asked.
“This is like C.S.I.! Let’s check the body for gunshot residue! Yay!” Jill exclaimed.
Bush snapped his fingers. “I was so sure they were going to get it now. They really need to die soon so this situation seems more serious.”
“If it helped, I could kill that monkey.” Buck pointed to a fat little monkey that was asleep in the corner.
Bush ran over, grabbed the monkey, and started shaking him. “Tell me where the nuke is, you fat little monkey!”
The monkey screeched and furiously flailed its claws.
“Stop shaking that monkey, George!” Laura yelled.
“Fine.” Bush set the monkey on a nearby table. The monkey then pointed at Bush.
“I think he wants your pen so he can write a message for us,” Laura said.
Bush handed the monkey his pen. The monkey quickly grabbed it and bit it in two.
“That was my lucky pen!” Bush grabbed the monkey again. “I’m going to spank you, you bad monkey! I’m going to spank you good!”
Laura grabbed him. “George! We don’t have time for you to spank the monkey! The terrorists probably have the nuclear bomb.”
Bush let the monkey go. “I guess the monkeys will escape punishment this time, but one day I’ll get them. Time now to focus on the terrorists.”
“But I’m tired of killing Muslims,” Buck said. “That’s like all I kill lately. I want shoot other types of for’ners.”
“I’m really getting tired of your whining!” Bush shouted.
Bolton stood at the caves exit. “My ‘stache senses danger.”
Gun shots sounded in the distance. Bush ran out of the cave. “Quick! We have to get close enough that Bill and Jill can get killed in the crossfire!”

Tony Snow walked before the podium only to see an empty press room. “Where is everyone?”
“The press has all been rounded up into prison without a trial… except for those who were mysteriously strangled by some serial killer,” Condi told him.
Tony sighed and walked off. “Whatever; I still get paid the same.”

Bush pulled out his binoculars. “That terrorist camp seems to be under attack.” He looked around some more. “By the North Koreans! …And they have a dong!” Bush tossed down his binoculars. “Aww… now the nuke is back in the hands of the North Koreans. I guess that’s better than it being in the hands of the terrorists but worse than it being in the hands of monkeys. I have a bad feeling their going to use that dong, so we better stop them. How many guns do each of you have?”
“I only brought bag lunches,” Laura said.
“I need nothing but my ‘stache,” Bolton said.
“We just brought our team spirit! Yay!” Bill and Jill said.
“I had a gun, but then you let that monkey borrow it and…”
“I’m really really tired of your whining, Buck!” Bush shouted. “Fine, no guns. We’ll have to use strategery. Everyone spread out around the camp. We’ll throw rocks and sand at the Koreans until they’re like, ‘Hey! Stop that! Here! Take the nuke!’ Then we’ll take the nuke, and our mission will be a success.”
“That’s a stupid plan,” Laura said.
“Well, a stupid plan is better than no plan.”
“Quite the opposite, actually.”
“I don’t care!” Bush yelled. “It’s a fool proof plan, but, just in case, Bill and Jill should start throwing stuff first. Now everyone spread out!”
The rest of the group went away while Bush tried to find a good sized rock. Suddenly, he heard a growl and was lifted into the air. “Aieeee! Giant pandas!”

Bush was dropped into the center of the camp by the pandas. Before him stood the evil Communist Chinese leader. “So, Mr. Bush, I see you’ve met my panda enforcers: Kill-Kill, Slay-Slay, and Murder-Murder.”
“I don’t like the sound of the name of that last one,” Bush grumbled to himself. He then stood up the face the evil Communist Chinese leader. “You monster! I can’t believe you had your evil pandas rip apart Bill and Jill! They were two young kids who had bright futures ahead of them!”
The evil Communist Chinese leader looked confused. “Rip apart who? You mean the interns? They’re over there.” He pointed to some chairs nearby where Bill and Jill were sitting along with Laura, Buck, and Bolton. Bill and Jill waved back at Bush enthusiastically.
“Dagnabbit!” Bush yelled. “If they don’t die soon, people might start liking them… and then they’ll be reoccurring characters… and then we’ll never be able to kill them off!”
“I have one question for you,” said the evil Communist Chinese leader. “Why are you wearing a winter coat in the desert?”
“And I have one for you! Why don’t you shut up?”
The evil Communist Chinese leader sneered. “Defiant at always, I see. Well, I have a surprise for you, Mr. Bush.”
Kim Jong Il stepped forward. He then bowed his head and uttered, “I’m sowwy. I never should have tested that nukey boom boom.”
“You should be sorry!” Bush said. “Now apologize for your hair!”
“Never!”
“As you can see,” the evil Communist Chinese leader said, “the situation is now under control. You and your friends can head home.”
“Wow! Super!”
“I don’t know, George,” Laura said. “I think the Chinese are just trying to defuse the situation so they can keep North Korea as a wedge in that region.”
Bolton twitched his mustache. “My ‘stache does not detect good intentions.”
“You guys need to calm down,” Bush told them. “You always think the worst of China, but, of all the murderous dictatorships, they sure are the… uh… biggest. Anyway, now the nuke is in the hands of China – who already have plenty of nukes – so everything seems to have worked out. Sure, it didn’t all go to plan – Bill and Jill are still alive – but I think this conclusion is good enough. Also, I want to get out of here and go someplace colder so I won’t feel so hot in this coat.”
“Why don’t you just take it off?” Laura asked.
“We already went over that!”
“Not to whine, but I’m sure disappointed I didn’t get to kill anybody or shout, ‘Ooh-rah,'” Buck said. “Also, what’s going to happen with this big… uh… dong?” He pointed to the giant missile standing up in the middle of the camp.
Bush scratched his head. “I guess we have to get rid of it.”
“No! My dong!” Kim Jong Il screeched. “No one touch my dong but me!” He ran over and wrapped his arms around it. This accidentally set it off, and it flew into the air with Kim Jong Il stuck to it and screaming, “I lost control of my dong!”
Bush laughed. “That’s funny because it sounds like he’s talking about his penis.” He thought for a moment. “Also, I guess a poofy-haired dictator being stuck to an out of control missile is funny in itself, too.”
“Yay!” Bill and Jill exclaimed.
“WHY WON’T YOU DIE!”
THE END

Part 1

“I clearly told the incoming Bush Administration about the monkey threat,” Bill Clinton said to Chris Wallace.
“Really?”
“Yeah it was on a memo somewhere I gave them.”
“What memo?”
“Uh… I don’t remember the name, but I do remember doodling a monkey in the margin of some classified memo… I believe I also drew an X-Wing shooting at a Tie Fighter above it.” Clinton wagged his finger at Wallace. “That was a warning, and President Bush should have heeded it!”
Wallace nodded. “Fair enough. Next question: You seem to be super-glued to who appears to be a common street hooker. What’s the story behind that?”
Clinton’s face turned red and he knocked over the table between them. “I won’t stand for this right-wing hit job! Let’s get out of here, Brandy!” He began to leave.
Brandy was pulled behind him. “Not like I have a choice!”
Condoleezza Rice turned off the TV. “We’re going to continue to be hammered for this. It’s time for decisive action against the monkeys!”
“Do you think they’ll use the nuclear bomb they stole?” President Bush asked. “I mean, are they going to blow up the Statue of Liberty like in Planet of the Apes?”
“We’re not dealing with Islamic terrorists, remember,” Condi said. “Unlike them, monkeys can be expected to act in their own interest, so I doubt they’ll actually use it against us. Instead, they’ll probably use the bomb for political leverage or sell it to fund monkey evil or buy lots of bananas.”
Bush pounded the war room’s table. “We can’t let them do that! That many bananas won’t be a balanced diet!”
Condi rolled her eyes. “Also, they might sell the bomb to terrorists who will use it against us.”
Bush thought about that. “Oh yeah; that’s bad too.” He turned to Rumsfeld. “What do you think we should do, Rummy?”
“I think we should make a decisive strike against Iran immediately!”
Bush was confused. “What does Iran have to do with this?”
Rumsfeld took a swig from his whiskey flask. “I dunno; I haven’t been listening to what you were talking about. I just want to attack Iran!” He crushed the metal flask in his hand. “I want to kill that little midget president of theirs and all of their ayatollahs!”
“We’ll have a war with Iran later,” Bush said. “Let’s focus on the monkey problem now.”
“Bah!” Rumsfeld stood up. “I’m going to go strangle some people. If you want to know what I’m up to, watch the six o’clock news.” He stormed out.
“Whatever; we can do this without you,” Bush called out to Rumsfeld. Bush looked to Buck the Marine. “So, what do you think?”
“Well… uh… I’m just a sergeant in the Marines,” Buck said. “I don’t really make these higher-level decisions. I just came down here because there was free pizza and beer.”
“And, since you ate some pizza, you now have to come up with a solution to the nuclear-armed monkey problem!” Bush told him.
Buck thought for a moment. “Can’t we just shoot them? I mean, they’re hairy and they make lots of gibberish sounds, so they’re just like for’ners. As you may know, my job and my favorite past time is kill’n for’ners.”
“Brilliant!” Bush exclaimed. “We’ll kill the monkeys by shooting them! That’s a plan we can work with. I want the American people to know that, if monkeys obtain nuclear weapons, they will be hunted down and killed like common for’ners.” Bush turned to Clancy. “You’re our intelligence guy. Where are the monkeys now?”
Clancy turned on a PowerPoint presentation and stood up. “Monkeys are twice as hard to find as terrorists. While terrorists hide in caves, monkey can hide both in caves and up in trees.” A slide appeared of a suspicious looking monkey in a tree.
“Oh no!” Bush yelled. “Monkeys could be in any tree right now with a nuclear weapon! We’re doomed!”
“Luckily, though,” Clancy continued, “through a source know as Google, we’ve found out there are lots of monkeys here.” On screen appeared a map of the Middle East and he pointed to an area on it.
Bush stood up. “There are lots of bad people there! We can’t let the monkeys sell the nuke to them! We have to go there and stop them!” He looked at the map some more. “Wait, what country is that?”
“That’s classified.”
Condi sighed. “Countries aren’t classified.”
“Fine,” Clancy said. “I just forgot what one it is. Now, excuse me, there’s some secret work I need to get to.” He walked off.
“That bathroom is the other way,” Condi called to him.
“We have to get a task force together and handle this,” Bush declared. “We can’t let the monkeys roam free or gain power, or things will end up like the Planet of the Apes, and no one wants that, right?”
“The original or the remake?” Buck asked. “In the remake, humans could talk, but they also didn’t have guns. I’d rather not talk and have guns.”
“Me too!” Bush exclaimed.
“While you’re off on another adventure, just remember there is going to be political fallout from this,” Condi said.
Bush scoffed. “Snowman will have that covered.”

“Now that monkeys have the nuclear bomb, hasn’t President Bush proved himself to be even more incompetent than Carter?”
“Let’s not resort to hyperbole,” White House Press Secretary Tony Snow answered. “Keep things in perspective. Monkeys are mischievous creatures, and they tend to steal small items. This time, they happened to grab a nuclear weapon. Still, they’re only monkeys, and they don’t have the capability to operate it.”
“Are we supposed to believe that a nuclear weapon simple enough for Kim Jong Il to use can’t be operated by monkeys?” a reporter asked.
Tony paused for a moment. “Wow, when did you guys learn to ask good questions? Anyway, whatever is the capability of the monkeys, they are being hunted down as we speak.”
“Aren’t you worried that all the anti-monkey sentiments right now will cause a backlash against monkeys?”
“Okay, now that’s the type of question I’m more used to. So, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Just the other day,” the reporter said, “Senator Allen was jumped on by a monkey. He then threw it off and yelled, ‘Get your paws off me, you damn, dirty macaca!’ Aren’t you worried about more such anti-monkey slurs?”
“The Bush Administration is working hard to make sure that peaceful monkeys are respected and…” Tony paused for a moment. “Know what? I’m just going to come out and say we don’t care what people call monkeys.”
“And you don’t care that monkeys are currently being indiscriminately rounded up and imprisoned?” shouted a hysterical reporter.
Tony took a deep breath. “Those are called zoos, and they been around long before this kerfuffle.”
“But, now that monkeys have nuclear weapons, shouldn’t we change the status quo?”
“You guys are starting to get retarded,” Tony said. “You keep it up, and I’m going to give you all a timeout again.”
“Melinda Hawkish, FOX News.” She pushed forward in front of the other reporters. “We’ve passed each other a few times in the hallway back when you worked at FOX News yourself.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I remember you, Melinda. What’s your question?”
“Doesn’t this whole incident further illustrate the Bush Administration’s impotence on the national stage? Why haven’t they immediately responded to the monkeys’ provocation by attacking one of their strongholds, such as bombing the rainforest?”
“That’s just not the way we’re handling it.”
“The American people demand bombings and cool video footage of it!” Melinda shouted.
“Calm down! What the American people should know is that we have a very competent team working on this right now.”

“Well, we have our team together.” Bush stood in the sands of Arabia and looked to the horizon. “There’s me, the brilliant leader and strategerist. There’s Buck the Marine who loves killing for’ners.”
“I just shoot them,” Buck said. “Whether they die or not is up to them.”
“And then there’s U.N. Ambassador Bolton whose mustache is rumored to be able to survive a nuclear blast.”
“My ‘stache bristles with fury,” Bolton declared.
“And my wife, who I’m bringing along since she says we don’t do enough together.”
She held up some paper bags. “I packed everyone lunches.”
“And, last and least, two people I’ve never seen before who can die to give this situation some needed gravitas.”
“We are psyched to be helping you out, Mr. President!” said Bill the intern.
“Super-psyched!” Jill the intern added.
“It’s just great to be a part of something like this!” Bill continued. “I always hoped for experience like this because I want to have big career in politics.”
“I’m so excited for the future!” Jill said. “Yay!”
Bush nodded. “Good. Statements like that will only make it seem all the more tragic when you die.”
Laura swatted Bush across the back of his head. “Stop taunting the interns about how they’re going to die.”
“Fine. Let’s get going!” Bush marched into the desert.
“Shouldn’t we have a vehicle or something?” Buck asked. “Or, at least, a camel?”
Bush looked at Buck with disgust. “You really are a whiner, Buck. I hope you have a better attitude when you start your eighth tour in Iraq after this.”

Elsewhere in Arabia, Kim Jong Il tried to fix his mangled poofy hair. “We track monkeys here! We teach them for what they did to my hair and my dong! It no longer stand up!”
“We’ll get the nuclear bomb back,” the aide said, “but do we really need to carry the missile with us the whole way?” He pointed to the North Korean troops carrying a missile who were lagging behind them.
“Yes! It great dong! Take ten people to carry! As soon as we get nukey boom boom back, we unleash the dong! We make big explosion! Then American and everyone else will fear me and my dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! …”
TO BE CONCLUDED…

Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice ran into the Oval Office. “North Korea has gone nuclear!”

President Bush shrugged his shoulders. “So?”

Condi walked over to a map of the world on the wall. She pointed to one spot. “Here’s North Korea.” She then pointed to America. “Here’s us.”

Bush leaped out of his chair. “We’re on the same map! We have to do something!”

Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld barged into the office. “I hear North Korea did a nuclear test! We must immediately attack Iran!”

“Aww! Not another Middle Eastern war!” Bush said. “We have enough of those.”

“It would ensure your place in the history books as the President with the most wars ever,” Condi said.

Bush sat back down. “I don’t want to be in the history books. I just took this job so my father wouldn’t think I’m a loser.”

The phone rang. Bush answered, and, on the other end, George H. W. Bush shouted, “You’re a loser!” and hung up.

Bush set the phone down. “Aww… it didn’t work.” He looked to Condi. “So, what are the North Koreans going to do with their nukes?”

“Well, they released this statement.” Condi held up a piece of paper and read:

“Test of nuclear explosive super lucky good. North Korea now great super power number one because of fabulous Kim Jong Il. He got eleven holes in one first time he played golf. He super great and not goofy looking at all. Kim Jong Il very sexy and make all women horny. North Korea nuclear power with Kim Jong Il very fearsome and more powerful than fourteen dragons.”

Bush thought about that. “Well, that could mean anything!”

Rumsfeld pounded Bush’s desk. “We need to kill that poofy-haired freak!”

“That’s your solution to everything. Last night when we were playing Scrabble and couldn’t find the die, you said we should murder Kim Jong Il.”

“There’s no die in Scrabble,” Condi said.

“Let’s not have this argument again!” Bush yelled, pointing at her ferociously.

Condi rolled her eyes. “Anyway, from the size of the blast, we’re not even sure North Korea was successful in setting off a nuclear explosive.”

“Well, what does intelligence think?” Bush looked to a man wearing a black suit and sunglasses who was standing in the background. “Clancy, you’re my intelligence guy. Did North Korea make a real nuclear blast?”

“That’s classified.”

“Classified classified… or it will be in tomorrow’s New York Times classified?”

Clancy adjusted his black tie. “I can’t answer that.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny whether that technique will cause me to give you the information.”

Bush rubbed his chin. “By asking nicely, I could get the information,” he thought out loud, “or I could just be wasting my time. Well, I can’t take that risk.” He looked to Condi. “I’m off to the U.N. to see if we can do sanctions against North Korea to teach them they are a bad bad country.”

“The U.N.?!” Condi exclaimed. “They suck!”

“Rarr! I want to bomb the U.N.!” Rumsfeld yelled. “I want to kill them and all of their sympathizers!”

Bush stood up. “No! We go to the U.N., wait for them to completely bungle this, and then we start bombing. That’s how civilized people do things!” He then threw his stapler through the window to signal the conversation was over.

“Where big nukey boom boom?” Kim Jong Il demanded. “There was supposed to be big nukey boom boom!”

“I’m afraid the test was a failure,” Jong’s aide said.

“What! But I need big nukey boom boom for new Taepo Dong missile! I need it for big powerful dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!”

“Please stop saying ‘dong’. We’ll get working on a new test.”

“Make big nukey boom boom! Big nukey boom boom for my dong! They shall know I am powerful!” Jong looked around and shouted, “Where’s my hairdresser? I need my hair bigger and poofier! Need hair so big that I tower over all others! They shall all fear Kim Jong Il! They shall shake in fear before my giant poofy hair! Then I’ll show them my dong, and they will flee in terror! Hee hee hee!”

“It’s the ‘stache!” Bush said as he entered into the U.N. chamber and sat next to Ambassador John Bolton. “I’ve heard a lot of U.N. members complain you’re not respecting this place.”

His powerful mustache bristled. “It deserves no respect.”

“Okay, but can you at least refrain from urinating in the auditorium… especially on other U.N. members?”

“No.”

Bush shrugged. “Well, I tried.”

Bolton looked around. “Where’s my pen?”

At the podium, President Vincente Fox began speaking. “The U.S. plans to make a fence along our border, and we think this is very bad. First of all, they have no right. Second of all, if the fence keeps out my citizens, who will pick their beans? Thirdly…”

Bolton glared at Fox and noticed a blue pen in his pocket. Bolton stood up and pointed at Fox. “That thieving Mexican stole my pen!” Bolton then charged the podium, knocking over tables and chairs and world leaders in the process. He then leaped at Fox.

“Aye carumba!”

As Bolton pinned Fox to the ground and proceeded to pummel him, Bush took the podium. “Since the floor is open, I just thought I’d say that North Korea having nuclear weapons is very bad. Kim Jong Il is a short little pot-bellied, poofy-haired dingus, and that’s exactly the sort of person who shouldn’t have the ability to blow lots of stuff up. I hope you’ll all help me in enacting sanctions against them. If you do, I’ll order pizza for everybody… maybe even breadstick too. We got a deal?”

“No!” shouted the Chinese ambassador.

“Why?”

“Because, we’re… well… Communists and evil.”

“Oh, okay.” Bush said. “But everyone else is for it, right? And when I mean everyone, I mean the countries that aren’t small and dinky and stupid.”

“We’re against sanctions too,” the Russian ambassador said.

“What? I thought you guys weren’t evil anymore.”

“No. We tried not being evil, but it didn’t work out for us. So we’re evil still, and we’re against sanctions.”

“This is useless,” Bush said. “We need to–”

“You’ve spoken long enough,” Kofi Annan said. “Many other people here would like the floor to express their hatred of Jews, so why don’t–”

Bolton smashed a chair into the back of Kofi’s head. He then unzipped his fly. “I need to pee.”

Bush fled for the exit. “I’m outta here.”

Kim Jong Il walked into the nuclear test room with his extra poofy hair adding nearly two feet to his height. “Now I tall! Everyone fear me! With big nukey boom boom, everyone will fear my dong as well! Dong! Dong! Dong!”

“Stop saying ‘dong’, and we’ll start the new test,” the aide said.

Jong rubbed his grubby little hands together. “Yes! Now we will have big nukey boom boom!”

Suddenly, there was lots of clawing and screeching all around them.

“What is that?” Jong demanded. Then his face went white with terror. “Someone protect my dong!”

“We need a plan of action!” Bush exclaimed.

“We’re going to send in all our available Marines and take out that freak Kim Jong Il,” Rumsfeld said. “Buck the Marine, you ready?”

Buck looked around. “Uh… where are the other Marines?”

“You’re the only one available.” Rumsfeld said. “So get ready to go into North Korea, kill Kim Jong Il, and set off all the nuclear bombs.”

“You might want to run away before they go off,” Bush suggested. “Oh, and one more thing, on your way out, head through South Korea and then get some surveillance of their animators. I want to get a special preview of the upcoming Simpsons movie!”

“Uh… while I appreciate that you have such confidence in me to keep sending me on these solo missions,” Buck said, “my training really is more squad based… you know, where there a group of us looking out for each other’s back.”

“That sounds like whining!” Bush yelled. “And how many wars did whining ever win?”

“There was this French one–”

“No wars! I was in the Vietnam War, and, because of all the whining, we lost that one!”

“I thought you were in the States for that?”

Bush pounded his desk. “And no part of the U.S. fell to the Vietnamese! Now, you go invade North Korea and don’t whine about it!”

Condi ran into the room. “Something weird has happened! The North Koreans were going to do another test, but something stopped them. And then we got this tape!”

“You can’t fool me!” Bush said, pointing at what was in Condi’s hand. “That’s a DVD!”

“Whatever.” Condi put in the DVD player.

“Will it have 5.1 surround sound?” Bush asked.

“I don’t know!” Condi hit play.

On screen was a monkey jumping around and screeching. “Yay! This movie has a monkey!” Bush laughed and clapped his hands. “Movie funny!” He then noticed something. “What’s that behind the monkey?”

“It’s a North Korean nuclear weapon!” Condi exclaimed.

“Oh no!” Bush yelled as he stared at the now very threatening monkey who was screeching and pointing at the screen. “The monkeys have the bomb!” He put his head in his hands. “I’m the worst President ever.”

Condi patted him on the back. “Pretty much.”
Continue reading ‘In My World: Nuclear Dong’ »

Bush looked at the proposal for the new 700 mile wall to be built on the Mexican border. “We’re going to have to drive by a lot of Home Depots to find enough day laborers to build this thing.”
Cheney then came into the Oval Office and turned the TV on. “You have to see the new DNC ad.”
A black and white picture of Mark Foley appeared on screen. “The Republicans is the party of pedophilia,” an announcer said.
Gerry Studds appeared on screen. “Back in 1983, I was caught having sex with a 17 year-old male page, and the Democrats censured me. That taught me my lesson for the numerous terms in the House I served afterwards. One thing I never did, though, was e-mail or chat online with that page; that’s just sick. All the Republican leadership should resign over that.”
Mel Reynolds appeared on screen. “As a Congressman, I was involved with a 16-year-old campaign volunteer. In, 1995 I was convicted on 12 counts of sexual assault, obstruction of justice and solicitation of child pornography. I then was convicted for bank fraud, furthering my spiral of decline. Luckily, Bill Clinton pardoned me, helping me with the healing process. Why hasn’t George W. Bush pardoned Mark Foley? Is it because President Bush approves of the behavior?”
The announcer came back on. “The Democratic Party: Against buggering youths for almost a week now.”
Cheney turned the TV off. “The Democrats are really trying to make an issue of this. Frankly, it’s the only issue they’ve been able to come up with this year.”
Just then, Representative Barney Frank barged into the office with a young attractive woman at each side. Behind him came a Muslim imam. “It has come to our attention that there are hidden gays in the Republican party, and, as we know, they are preying on children. Thus, the Democratic party has taken it upon itself to ferret out any gays in office for the public’s safety.”
“Huh? Wasn’t a gay prostitution ring once run out of your apartment?” Bush asked.
“What! That’s ridiculous!” Barney Frank exclaimed. “I’m as straight as they come.” He looked to his two floozies. “Isn’t that right Starla and Bambi.”
“Barney Frank is more man than we can handle,” Starla said.
“He’s so much man it’s scary,” Bambi said.
“He’s so manly that he sleeps with other men and…”
“That’s enough,” Barney Frank interrupted. “Anyway, we’re going to locate all the gay menace in the Republican Party, and, in a show of religious diversity, we’re going to handle them in the traditional Islamic way.”
“We’ll collapse a wall on them,” the imam said.
“It’s in the Koran,” Barney Frank added, “or, at least, I think it is. Religious books tend to be kinda long, you know?”
Bush noticed a boy standing near the imam. “Is that your assistant?” Bush asked the imam.
“He’s just someone I keep with me!” the imam answered quickly.
Barney Frank then pointed at Bush in an accusatory way. “Isn’t it true you had a drinking problem!”
“Well… yeah. So I quite drinking.”
“Was it because the drinking caused you to lust after young boys like it did Mark Foley?” Barney Frank exclaimed.
“No! That’s crazy!”
The imam then ran up towards Bush. “Admit your homosexual desires! Isn’t it true that you’re so disgusted by the sight of women that you want to dress them all up like frumpy ninjas?”
“Only Nancy Pelosi!” Bush then thought for a moment. “Wait, what are you talking about?”
“Can you idiots get out of here?” Cheney snarled.
Barney Frank walked over to Cheney. “This questioning would make you uncomfortable, wouldn’t it? As both John Edwards and John Kerry tactfully pointed out in the 2004 debates, your daughter is a lesbian. As we all know, gayness is genetic. Thus, you’re gay!”
The imam ran up to Cheney. “You have the characteristic snarl of a gay pedophile! Admit you’re gay and accept your punishment!”
The imam was then blasted in the face with a shotgun, surprising no one.
“You peppered my imam with a salt shell!” Barney Frank yelled. “That’s wrong on so many levels!”
Cheney chambered another round. “Yet it felt so right. Now get your trash out of here!”
“Yeah! Get out of here, you gay-bashing homos!” Bush said. “You and the Democratic Party may hate gays, Barney Frank, but we love them.”
After Barney Frank dragged the imam out of the room, Bush turned to Cheney. “We do love gays, right?”
Cheney shook his head.
“Aww! Everything is so confusing now!”

“The Democrats continue their search to ferret out the gay menace within the Republican Party,” the news anchor said. “Gay Republicans are a danger to children, they say, and must all be located and locked up. They are also focusing on bloggers and blog readers, who, as commonly known, are all gay and like to molest children… except for Frank J. of IMAO.us who exudes so much masculinity with each letter he types that other men find him threatening.
“As part of our own reporting, we sent a reporter and camera crew to Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld’s house to question him on whether he is gay.” The anchorman bowed his head solemnly. “There were no survivors.”
Bush turned from the TV to Condoleezza Rice. “We can’t let the Democrats control this issue. I want you to stop work on the blood test for detecting cylons and instead make a blood test for detecting the gays infiltrating our society. We need to stop them and their sympathizers!”
“Okay, I guess,” Condi said. “I was just humoring you with the cylon test anyway.”
“And we’ll need humor when the gays finally attack, coming at us in their gay planes and gay tanks and shooting at us with their gay bullets.”
Condi frowned. “I think you might be getting a little carried away.”
Bush hung his head. “You’re right. I even collapsed a wall on Senator Frist today. After what he said sounded like he was suggesting we negotiate with the Taliban, I was sure he was infected with gay madness.” Bush spotted Tony Snow. “Hey, Snowman, I have a statement I want you to deliver to the press.”
“Sure. What is it?”
“I want it to be known that this homophobia is so gay. Anyone obsessed with it is a homo, and there’s nothing the Republicans hate more than homos!”
Tony thought about that. “I might phrase that differently.”

“I think people judge Islam too harshly,” Bush said aloud as he wrote his speech. “The reason for violent reactions to even the slightest criticism of Islam is obviously just a way to cover up their homosexual tendencies. Once we realize that, we can come to a peaceful understanding of each other.”
Bush held up his speech. “This should end violence in the Middle East!”
Bush’s intercom buzzed. “Senator George Allen here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
Into the Oval Office walked a man wearing white sheets and a white hood. Bush was taken aback. “Why are you dressed as Senator Byrd?”
“I’ve decided to come out as who I really am,” Allen announced, “A black-hating, Jew. I hoping you’ll support me on this.”
Bush considered that. “How about I support you in spirit but not in word or action.”
Allen pointed an accusing finger at Bush. “I always knew you had some macaca in you!” He then stormed out.
“My great grandmother was a macaca and I don’t care who knows!” Bush shouted. He then took a sip of his coffee. “That guy just is not presidential material.” When he set the mug down, sirens went off.
“NUCLEAR MISSILES ARE BEING LAUNCHED AT PAPAU NEW GUINEA IN T MINUS 20 SECONDS!”
Bush quickly picked up the phone. “Abort! Abort!” The sirens then stopped. “One of these days I’m going to learn to stop using the The Button as a coaster.”
The wall then burst open. “Rarr!” Donald Rumsfeld roared as he charged towards Bush.
“I got a door, Rummy!”
Rumsfeld grabbed Bush by the collar, knocking over the desk. “People are leaking classified information! I want whoever is responsible found! I then want him cut into four pieces which will then be placed at the four corners of the world as a warning to all others!”
“Hey! I don’t like it either! We have an election coming up, and people are leaking information to try and make me look bad. If things keep going this way, after I leave office I could end up like Bill Clinton, red-faced and wagging my finger at some interviewer.” Bush then thought for a moment. “Well, I guess it could be worse; I could end up like Carter. That guy is more odd spectacle than man.”
Rumsfeld dropped Bush to the ground. “They say my wars have created more terrorists. If that’s true, then how do I have all of these?” Rumsfeld dropped a number of terrorist skulls on the floor. “I get more every day, and I mail them to school teachers to use as teaching aids so they can hold them up to students and say, ‘Look; this is what happens if you become a terrorist. The Secretary of War will boil your head until nothing is left but a clean skull which he will then mail to a teacher to be used as a teaching aid.”
Bush stood up. “Don’t worry, Rummy; we’ll set things straight. They’ll know we kill terrorists good, and I’ll stop all the leaks.”
“You better! I’m still working on my war plans with Iran, and I don’t want it leaked that, as soon as we conquer Iran and take their oil, our troops are marching straight into Venezuela to take its oil.”
“But I didn’t think Venezuela was next to Iran.”
“They’re close enough!” Rumsfeld then marched away, smashing another hole through a wall as an exit.
“To catch the leakers, I need a brilliant plan!” Bush said to himself. He then laughed evilly. “I got it!”

Bush changed the channel on the TV. “We’re going to watch the news.”
“But I was extremely ready for some football!” Vice President Cheney grumbled.
“I know, but I just implemented a brilliant plan.” Bush smiled manically as he sat on the couch to watch the TV. “I distributed twelve different classified documents that would be extremely politically damaging to me to twelve different parts of the CIA. I’ll just wait and see which one leaks and then I’ll know where the leaks are coming from.”
“This just in,” the news anchor said, “The New York Times has been leaked twelve different classified reports that reflect very poorly on President Bush’s performance in fighting terrorism. According to the reports, President Bush gave WMDs to Al Qaeda in exchange for a bag of candy, ordered the bombing of several villages in Denmark when he mistakenly thought that country was in the Middle East, and he only decided to invade Iraq because he thought he left his car keys there. Who knows what kind of backlash this will have for the Bush administration, but, I think I speak for the American people when I say I hope it’s extreme.”
“Great plan, idiot,” Cheney said.
“I can’t believe they leaked all of that!” Bush yelled. “That ungrateful CIA! All this after I made sure they could belly slap terrorists all they want! That’s it; anytime we find out cool classified information, I’m not letting the CIA find out. Who needs them?” Bush slumped down in the couch. “I get most of my information from the Drudge Report nowadays, anyway.”

A horrible roar echoed through the hallways.
“It’s the Bolton!” shouted a UN peacekeeper. “Open fire!”
They all fired, but Bolton wasn’t even slowed.
“His mustache! The bullets are bouncing right off it!”
“Then fire around it!”
“We can’t! It’s too big!”
Bolton came ever closer, his ‘stache quivering with fury.

“The UN guys give you much trouble here?” President Bush asked John Bolton.
“No. They are nothing to me.”
“Cool.” Bush looked around the luncheon to the other foreign dignitaries. “I thought we were supposed to come in our tribal clothes. That’s why I have my cowboy hat and my gun belt.” Bush patted his six-shooter.
“They allowed you to bring that in here?”
“No one complained who wasn’t shot.” Bush smiled. “I’m gonna pistol whip that Ama-dibba-dabba-dooble midget from Iran. I don’t like him.” Bush looked around again. “Hey. There’s Hugo Chavez! I want to hurt him too!” Bush ran over to Chavez.
“El diablo!”
“I don’t know what that means,” Bush said, “but I have a message for you.” Bush hit Hugo with his pistol, knocking him to the ground. He then started stomping him. “That’s right! I stomp Communists!”
“Diablo hurt Hugo!” Hugo cried.
“Then why don’t you see if you can get a hug from one of your terrorist friends.” Bush then spat on Hugo. “Nutjob.” He walked back over to Bolton. “This luncheon is fun! I should come to U.N. Security Council meeting more often. I wonder who I should hurt next?”
“You stupid American!” Jacques Chirac shouted at Bush. “Why must you oppress the dictators of the world? France will use all its power to stop you!”
Bush just stared at Chirac. After a few moments, Chirac tossed his wallet to Bush and dropped to the ground and curled up into a ball. “That’s right.” Bush looked through the wallet and then tossed it back to Chirac. “That’s all stupid French money. Get it exchanged for real money then give it back to me.”
“Yes sir,” Chirac squeaked and then scampered off.
Bush kept looking around. “So where’s the itty-bitty Iranian?”
“There.” Bolton pointed to the entrance to the luncheon where Ahmadinejad stood, peering inside cautiously.
Bush strolled over and smiled mischievously. “Come on in, stubby. I want to ‘greet’ you.”
Ahmadinejad looked at Bush and shivered. “Uh… I would but…” He pointed at a bottle on a table. “There’s wine! Yeah, that’s the ticket, I can’t come in because there is wine. Wine has alcohol and that’s against what Allah says in… uh… that book I read.”
Bush looked at the bottle. “That’s sparkling grape juice.”
“Well… uh… that’s something made to resemble an alcoholic beverage, which is also an insult to Allah… or something… I think. I’ll have to consult an imam on this.” Ahmadinejad ran off.
Bush went out into the hallway and shouted at him, “Yeah! Go run off to your imommy!”
“So, you have your speech ready?” Bolton asked Bush.
“Yeah. I think it will go over well. I’m not the best public speaker, but I could be worse.”

“The next question goes to Senator George Allen.”
Peggy Fox looked through her notes. “My question is…” She stood up and pointed an accusing finger at Allen. “Joooooooooooo!”
“I’m not a Jew! I’m not a Jew!” Allen exclaimed. He pointed back at Fox. “You’re a macaca!” He then moved his finger to point at everyone in the audience. “You’re all macacas!”

“The next speaker is President Bush of…” Kofi Annan checked the paper he held. “…the United States.”
The auditorium erupted in boos. Bush fired his gun in the air. “Shut up! I’m speaking now!” Bush pulled out some index cards and began reading out loud. “Now, you know we all hate the U.N. here in America. It’s stupid and annoying. Plus, it’s full of foreigners who all smell. A number of times I’ve suggested turning this building here into a big shooting range. If that happens, we won’t give you any warning though; just one day a bunch of people will enter here firing guns. Also, I hate your leader, Coffee Anna. I don’t want to be accused of using racial slurs, but he’s a dumb cracker and I curse his mustache.
“But I digress. The reason I’m here is because of Iran and how its dwarven leader wants nukes. I was going to beat him up, but he actually runs pretty fast on those stubby little legs. I shouldn’t just focus on him, though, since he’s just a puppet of those mad mullahs. And it’s appropriate that he’s a puppet because he’s small… like a puppet. Anyway, if Iran keeps trying to get nukes, I will nuke them. But, I don’t want to hurt the citizens of Iran who want democracy, so I’ll use those nukes that only kill one person at a time on Ama-jibber-jabber and those mullahs.”
Bush looked to Bolton. “What do we call those nukes that only kill one person at a time?”
“Bullets.”
Bush addressed the auditorium. “Yes, I will kill the Iranian president and the mullahs with bullets.” He started reading from the index cards again. “I would like your support in this. I don’t actually need it, though, because I’m the President of the most powerful nation ever. Actually, I’m not even going to stay and listen to your speeches to see if you support me, because those speeches will be in crazy languages I don’t understand and they will be made by people who don’t even live in America. Now, I don’t listen to what most Americans say, so why would I listen to people who don’t live in America? That wouldn’t make any sense at all.
“Still, you people can help me. Many of your countries are stupid, but you can still follow simple instructions.” A wallet was tossed to Bush, and he caught it and checked the inside. He then pocketed it. “See, even a Frenchman can follow simple instruction when given forcefully. I know some of you will never help me, like Hugo Chavez, so I’ll probably beat you up while you’re here since I don’t have time to fly to each of your countries and then beat you up.”
Hugo held up a Noam Chomsky book to protect his face. “Save me from Diablo!”
“That’s the only reason I like having the U.N.,” Bush continued. “It brings all the dictators to me so I can beat them up instead of going to their countries… which usually smell. One day, I would like to break Castro’s hip… preferably before he dies.”
Bush took out his last index card. “In closing, after this November, I can pretty much do whatever I want since I no longer have to worry about public opinion. What I will want to do will probably cause many of you to cry and me to laugh. It will be fun. Thank you, and God bless.”
Suddenly, a bunch of people ran into the auditorium firing guns. Bush was surprised for a second, but then he slapped his forehead and said, “Oh yeah, that started today.” Bush took his gun out and fired it into the crowd. “Yee haw!”

“I don’t care anything about terrorism!” Bill Clinton declared loudly to Sandy Berger and Madeleine Albright. “I just care about getting BJs from interns!”
“Wow,” President Bush remarked, “this ABC movie really does make Clinton look bad.”
“You’re not watching ABC, dear,” Laura Bush told him. “You’re looking out the window. Clinton and his friends were coming over today, remember?”
“Oh yeah. I forgot why I was scotch-guarding everything.”
“And I’m going to go hide the valuables. Call me if you need anything.” Laura headed out the door.
Clinton, Berger, and Albright entered the Oval Office. “Hey! Dubya! Good to see you, man!” Clinton exclaimed.
Bush quickly backed away to avoid a hug. “What do you want, Slick?”
“Just the usual, ya know.” He bit his lip. “I’m looking for my legacy.”
“Well, I ain’t seen it. I did see some odd garbage by the dumpster out back; that might be it.”
Clinton laughed. “Dubya is a funny guy, ain’t he?”
Albright looked unamused. Berger looked around the room in a way that made Bush quite wary.
Clinton walked through the office. “Man, I miss this place.” He suddenly stopped in one spot and smiled as he looked to Bush. “Know what I used to do right here?”
Bush was horrified. “No! And I don’t want to know! If you try and tell me, I’ll punch you in your big stupid mouth!”
“Fair enough.”
Bush looked suspiciously at the three of them. “So what are you guys up to?”
“Just thinking of the history books,” Clinton said. “You see, that recent slanderous miniseries on ABC got us really thinking again about how history will look back on my administration. The problem is, my presidency was between the end of the Cold War and before 9/11. It was eight, uneventful years of economic prosperity.”
“Yeah, that must have been rough for you. Now, can you get to your point, because I was going to give a speech today on–” Bush noticed his written speech was missing from his desk. “Where did my speech go?” He pointed an accusing finger at Berger. “Did you shove it down your pants?”
“No… I… Okay, I did.” Berger pulled the speech out of his pants and handed it to Bush.
“Aww! Now it’s going to smell of Berger pants!” Bush quickly put it back on his desk. “Why do you always have to shove stuff down your pants?”
“I have the opposite problem,” Clinton chuckled. “I can’t keep things in my pants.”
“We all know your problem, Slick.”
“Anyway, Dubya what we’re worried about is that our administration will get unfairly ignored,” Clinton said. “I’m just afraid that people aren’t going to remember a good economy years from now and something must be done to make sure people remember me far into the future.”
“So, let me guess, you’re going to star in some pornos?”
Clinton shrugged. “I have some offers, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I need to make it more apparent to the public that my administration anticipated the terrorist threat.”
“That would be nice for you,” Bush said, “except you didn’t. Instead, that was just another mess left for me.”
“There was no terrorism until you came along!” Albright screeched. “You! You! You! It’s all because of you!”
“Actually, weren’t there a number of attacks during–”
Albright started hitting Bush with an umbrella. “You! You! No terrorism until you!”
Bush swatted her away. “Get away from me, you old bat!” His phone started ringing. “It’s the Attorney General; as much as I like reminiscing about when Democrats were just scumbags instead of completely nuts, I have to take this.” Bush picked up the phone. “What is it, Speedy?”
“I want to get information out of our terrorists suspects, but I’m all confused on what I’m allowed to do without it being considered torture. I’m being told I can’t yell at them, I can’t play loud music, I can’t shine lights in their eyes, and I can’t connect their gonads to car batteries because that’s all ‘torture.'”
“Just do what your heart tells you is right.”
“Well, in my heart, I hate all humanity and love to hear people scream in pain.”
“Whatever; just figure it out because I have Bill Clinton bothering me.”
“Man, I’d love to hook his gonads up to a car battery.”
“No, he’d probably like that.” Bush hung up and looked to Clinton. “I’m not going to help you with your stupid legacy, Slick. I have problems enough making it seems like I’m not the worst President in history.” Bush thought for a moment. “Well, worst two-term President in history. I’m finally getting my polls numbers nearing 50%, and it won’t help things to be seen near you.”
“Fine,” Clinton said. “I just thought you and me could be friends and help each other out. So, how’s the wife?”
“She not a conniving shrew who I have a sham of a marriage with, if that’s what you’re asking.”
Clinton laughed. “You’re good with those zingers. So, seriously, like what’s she wearing?”
Bush knocked Clinton to the ground with a right-hook.
Clinton picked himself off the floor. “Entirely justified. If you knew exactly the sort of things I was thinking of doing to your wife–”
Bush punched Clinton again, sending him back to the floor.
Clinton chuckled and wiped the blood from his mouth as he stood back up. “I really need to learn when to shut up. At least I didn’t ask you about your daughters.”
The next punch knocked Clinton into a wall before he fell to the ground. Suddenly, a hulking mass appeared at the doorway. “Reno hungry!” it declared.
“Okay, Janet.” Clinton stood up once more. “We’ll go get lunch now.” Clinton looked to Bush. “Just think about helping my legacy, and maybe I can help yours.”
“And you think about getting some serious therapy,” Bush answered.
Clinton chuckled as he and the rest walked out the door. “That Dubya; he’s a funny guy.”
Laura then came to the office and looked at the floor. “A blood stain! Well, I guess I was worrying about even worse stains to clean up when I heard he was visiting.”
“Yeah, Slick sure has an effect on people when he drops by. If anyone needs me in the next three hours, tell them I’m showering.”

“Where am I?” Joe Wilson cried.
“An undisclosed location,” Dick Cheney sneered.
“A place you’ll never escape from,” President Bush said.
A evil laugh emanated from the shadows, and Wilson could only assume it came from Karl Rove. Wilson then looked around the room. “This kinda looks like the Denny’s near my house.”
“Maybe it is.” Bush accepted a coffee from the waitress. “So, Joe, we’re really tired about hearing about you and your wife, so it’s time to put an end to this.”
“What did you do with my wife?”
Bush smiled. “We simply strapped her to a table with a laser beam slowly moving towards her to cut her in half.”
“But don’t worry,” Cheney added, “She’s a…” Cheney did air quotes. “‘Secret Agent’. I’m sure it will be no trouble for her.”
“Leave my wife alone!” Wilson cried. “She’s my meal ticket!”
“Speaking of meals…” Bush put on some protective gloves and set a lead box on the table. “Why don’t you have some… YELLOW CAKE!” Bush opened the box, took out some uranium, and shoved it in Wilson’s mouth.
“Noooo… mmmrph…”

“Is it really my job to hold people up while you pummel them?” Tony Snow asked.
“Yes, Snowman.” Bush landed a couple more punches into Senator Harry Reid’s gut. “You should have read your job contract more closely.” Bush punched Reid again, but then stopped. “Aww, now I’ve forgotten why I’m punching him. You see, that’s why I always liked Tom Daschle better: I never forgot why I was punching him. Okay, Tony, let him go.”
Reid stumbled out of the Oval Office.
“And don’t do whatever you did again!” Bush yelled at him. He turned to Tony. “So what’s next?”
“I believe you’re meeting with Mayor Ray Nagin.”
“This place is nice!” Nagin said as he entered the Oval Office. “But it could use more chocolate!”
“Grab him!” Bush shouted and picked up a tire iron. Tony held Nagin’s hands behind his back while Bush readied his tire iron. “I’m gonna bash you in the head, Nagin, until you start talking sense!”
“This is totally un-chocolaty!” Nagin yelped. He then wiggled out of his suit jacket and ran off.
“Tony!” Bush yelled. “You need to keep a better hold! Nagin is weasely!”
“Sorry, Mr. President. Anyway, I have a press conference soon, and it’s just been reported that Joe Wilson has mutated into a half-man, half-badger. Do we have an official statement on that?”
“I don’t know anything about that!” Bush screamed at Tony. “Stop accusing me of everything!”
“Uh… okay. Are you all right, Mr. President?”
“I’m just a bit stressed, that’s all. We could lose Congress in the upcoming election, so I need to get things done now. There’s still a lot of work to be done to move most of the government under the authority of Halliburton.” Bush thought for a moment. “Hey, Tony, could you go drive to the Home Depot and see if there are any Mexicans who want to do some government work for cheap?”
“As I said, I have a press conference.”
“Fine! Don’t help! Do your stupid press conference and talk to the dumb press people! I have to catch a flight on Air Force One for speeches and fund raisers and stuff, and guess who isn’t invited?”
“I really don’t care, sir.”
“That’s right! You!”

“So, I just wanted to warn you that there is a murderer loose in the UN headquarters,” Bush told John Bolton over the phone.
“I know. The UN is horribly inefficient so I’ve been killing people to speed things up. Also, with each soul I take, my ‘satche grows in power.”
“Oh… okay then. Well, keep up the good work.”
“By the way, the President of Iran wants to debate you.”
“But I hate debates! They’re so boring! And especially don’t want to have one with some guy I can’t pronounce the name of!” Bush thought for a moment. “I guess I’ll talk to Rumsfeld about just nuking Iran, because I was really set on the idea that I’d never have another debate.”
As Bush hung up the phone, a TSA agent approached. “Sir, we need you to step aside for special screening before you’re allowed on Air Force One.”
“Why?”
“Our records show that you previously nearly killed the President, which makes you a special risk for this flight.”
“But I didn’t mean to choke on that pretzel!”
“Is that a liquid you have with you?”
Bush looked at his bottle of Mountain Dew. “That’s my Dew, man.”
“Liquids aren’t allowed past security. You’ll have to hand that over.”
Bush clutched his bottle tight. “No one takes my Dew!”
The TSA agent frowned. “Fine, then I guess you aren’t getting on the flight.” He picked up his walkie-talkie. “Go ahead and take off.”
Bush watched as Air Force One left without him. “Aww… there goes my plans for this week. Might as well go play videogames and leave representing the administration up to Snowman.” He took a sip of his Mountain Dew. “Eww! This is diet! I don’t want this!”

“Yes, I can say quite conclusively that Bush was never a member of the Nazi Youth, and, if Wikipedia says otherwise, then someone should correct it. Next question.”
David Gregory stepped forward.
“Are you going to behave this time, David?” Tony asked.
“I always behave!” Gregory snapped.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. What’s your question?”
Gregory held up a piece of paper and read from it. “The Republicans failed to anticipate the insurgency in Iraq and failed to react appropriately. Because of the distraction of this war–”
“That’s not a question, David,” Tony interrupted. “You’re just reading the Democrats’ talking points.”
“No I’m not! No I’m not!”
“I can see the DNC logo on that piece of paper from here.”
“Nuh-uh!” Gregory tried to hide the piece of paper under his suit jacket. “That was just a blank piece of paper.”
“Then I guess you could let me see it.”
“No! Mine!”
“Now you’re acting like a child, David.”
Gregory dropped to the ground and started pounding it while screaming, “I’m not acting like a child! You’re acting like a child! Waaaah!”
Suddenly, Rumsfeld burst through the wall to the press briefing room. “Nazi appeasers! All of you! Kill Nazi appeasers! Rarr!”
“Aieee! There’s murder in his eyes!” yelled a reporter.
Rumsfeld chased after the press who fled in a panic. Tony shook his head. “Can’t I have one press conference that doesn’t end with David Gregory throwing a hissy fit and Rumsfeld trying to kill everyone?”

Bush waited by his car in the desert as a truck and a limousine pulled up. Out of the limo exited an Arab gentleman. “Are you ready to buy?”
“If you have the product,” Bush answered.
The Arab opened the back of the truck and took out a barrel. He then pulled off the lid. “Pure crude oil. Yours for only $25 a barrel.”
The Arab began to replace the lid, but Bush stopped him. “I want to check this out.” He stuck two fingers into the crude and then tasted it. He frowned and then leapt at the Arab, grabbing him by the neck. “You watered it down, you macaca!”
“No! It’s pure crude oil! I swear!”
“If you’re product is so great… THEN WHY DON’T YOU DIE IN IT!” Bush shoved the Arab’s man head into the barrel of oil and held it there until he stopped moving.
“Great,” Condoleezza Rice sighed, “You killed another Saudi prince.”
Bush left the Arab in the barrel and walked back to the car. “So what? They have thousands more.” They both got in the car.
“You just seemed more stressed and more murderous lately,” Condi said as the car headed out of the desert.
“Hey, not only do I have these gas prices to worry about, but I got terrorism and Iraq and Iran and Hezbollah and North Korea and stupid Democrats and illegal immigration.” Bush looked to the driver. “You’re legal, right?”
“No hablo ingles.”
“See!” Bush said to Condi. “They’re all problems and they’re not getting better. If I don’t solve them all before the end of my term, everyone is going to say, ‘Well, that Bush guy, he was no good.’ They might even strike my name from the list of Presidents and I’ll be forgotten like President Redding.”
“Who?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, Mr. President, since you can’t solve all problems, maybe you should try focusing on one thing. I would suggest–”
“I could cure cancer!” Bush exclaimed. “Then everyone would remember me as the best President ever!”
“I was going to suggest focusing on terrorism,” Condi said. “You don’t anything about cancer… or curing… or, well, anything.”
“Bah! That’s what they told the guy who cured polio, and now everyone remembers his name… uh… Louie Pasteur.”
Condi shook her head. “I guess I’ll warn Tony to prepare defending you to the media for your newest misadventure.”
“That’s what he’s there for.”

“Rarr!” Rumsfeld shouted. “I’m the Secretary of War! What am I doing in this lab? Science is for homosexuals!”
“I want you to help me cure cancer,” Bush said. “It will make you seem more likeable. Now, the first step in curing cancer is to have a test subject with cancer to try your cure on. Open up that barrel, take out a test monkey, and give it cancer.”
Rumsfeld opened the barrel covered in warning signs and took out a monkey. “How do I give it cancer? I only know how to snap their necks.”
“We have to dose it with radiation.” Bush looked around the room. “The copier! I bet that’s full of radiation. Hold the monkey down in the copier while I press the copy button.”
Rumsfeld pressed the monkey against the glass and Bush hit the copy button. The monkey screeched and tried to claw away each time the light flashed in its face.
“He seems to not like this,” Rumsfeld observed.
“Then it’s probably working in giving him cancer!” Bush kept hitting the copy button. “Copy the monkey! Copy the monkey!”
Rumsfeld looked at the copier tray. “All I see coming out of this is a bunch of pictures of an angry monkey.”
“And that’s worth something too!”
Suddenly, the barrel of monkeys fell over and the angry screeching monkeys ran out the door.
“You didn’t put the lid back on tight!” Bush yelled.
“Handling monkeys isn’t my job,” Rumsfeld snarled.
There was a scream, and then a desperate Laura Bush appeared at the door. “There are monkeys loose in the White House!”
“Hmm… I wonder how that happened?” Bush said innocently. “I better call the exterminator.”
Laura looked at the monkey being held on the copier. “What are you doing with that monkey?”
“Well… uh… when we found there were monkeys in the White House,” Bush said, “we thought we better copy one to send the image to the police to see if they can identify the monkey as part of a terrorist plot. What we were most certainly not doing is trying to give the monkey cancer.”
Laura gave Bush and Rumsfeld a suspicious look. “I’m keeping an eye on you two.” She then left the room.
Rumsfeld took the monkey off the copier. “I’m done here.”
“What? But we haven’t cured cancer yet!”
Rumsfeld tossed the monkey into a nearby receptacle. “I have the deaths of many brown people to plot.”
Bush ran to the receptacle. “Hey! That bin was for recyclable paper only!” He turned to see that Rumsfeld had already left. “I’m surrounded by incompetence. Now I have to sort this paper from monkey before all our recycling is ruined.” He reached into the bin, and then quickly retracted his hand. “Ow! Either a monkey or some paper bit me!”

“As you all know,” Bush told the press assembled on the White House lawn, “Terrorists are trying to use explosive liquids to kill people. Thus, for security purposes, it is required that all you reporter empty your bladders before meeting with me for questions. If any of you are caught peeing during this press conference, this guy over here will shoot you.” Bush pointed to a nearby Marine.
“I’m Buck the Marine and I kill terrorists.”
“You tell ’em, Buck!”
“Mr. President,” said one reporter, “why are you standing on a pile of dead terrorists? Is that supposed to be symbolic of something?”
“Yes, it’s symbolic of how my administration has killed many many terrorists and will kill many more. I want terrorists to know that we will kill them, and then I’ll stand on your dead body and answer questions from moron reporters. That’s right, with me, you get results… results we can stand on. Thus, Republicans tower over Democrats because we look down upon from our large piles of dead terrorists while Democrats have no dead terrorists to stand on. Hell, them Democrats never killed nobody. But look under my feet; these people are dead because of my policies. That’s results. It may not smell nice, but hardwork isn’t always pretty.”
“Why isn’t the pile larger?” asked the FOX News reporter.
“Well… it ain’t like it’s all the terrorists we killed… it just symbolic of how many we killed.” Bush turned stern. “Now stop being so critical, FOX News. You just recite the talking points we send you each day and then we’ll lend you our dead terrorists for those fluff pieces you do. Next question.”
“With the growing price of gas–”
“Why are you asking me about gas prices!” Bush asked angrily. “Can’t you see I’m standing on top of a pile of dead terrorists? I am mighty! Ask me good questions about killing terrorists!”
“Are you worried that standing on a pile of dead terrorists could be interrepted by some as being offensive to Muslims?”
“Well, this organization CAIR raised that concern… but then I found out that those guys are Islamic and had them arrested for being fascists. Any more questions? And remember to speak up because I’m way up here on top of a pile of dead terrorists.”
“Are you going to support the Republican candidate in the Senate race in Connetticut?”
“Why are you asking about Conetticut?” Bush shouted. “Are you not noticing this huge pile of terrorists I’m standing on? Who cares about Conetticut? Americans care about dead terrorists. Now, some one give me a good question.”
“How are you going to get all those dead bodies off the White House lawn?”
Bush was silent for a moment. “Hadn’t really thought about that. Well, the bodies should all decompose, so I guess the problem will take care of itself. Anyway, I want to show you this cool new thing that should lead to even more piles of dead terrorists.”
A fierce looking robot marched out from behind the pile of dead terrorists. It held its hands up in a threatening manner.
“People are worried about discrimination in trying to find terrorists at airports,” Bush continued, “but a robot can’t be unfairly prejudiced because it’s got circuits and electricty for a brain. Thus, we’ve made robots that will patrol the airports, identify terrorists and terrorist supporters, and crush their heads with its mighty robot steel hands.”
“But won’t this–” a New York Times reporter started to say but then had his head crushed by the robot.
“I should note that there are many different definitions of terrorists,” Bush said. “This robot was programmed by Condi, so it will… and there goes the head of a Reuters reporter. Anyway, as I look down upon you all from my pile of dead terrorists while you tremble in fear of my head-crushing robot, it brings me hope for a great American future. I hope it brings all those watching hope as well. To further that hope, I want to introduce yet another weapon against terror: Drunken Rumsfeld!”
A bleary Rumsfeld stumbled out onto the lawn.
“The terrorists may have their deadly liquids, but no liquid is more deadly than whiskey when applied to Donald Rumsfeld. He’s now a mindless killing machine!”
Rumsfeld’s stared at the press.
“Aieeee!” one reporter screamed. “He has murder in his eyes!”
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled as he chased the reporters.
“I guess that ends the press conference,” Bush laughed to himself. He then looked for a way down from his pile of dead terrorists. “Uh… a little help here.” No one answered. “Hello? Anybody around?” Still no answer. “Head-crushing robot, could you get me down without crushing me?”
The robot just stared at Bush with its cold, lifeless eyes.
“I guess I’ll just wait up here then.”

Chomps seemed to smell something in the air that made him excited.
“I smell it too, boy,” Rumsfeld told the rottweiler. “That’s the smell of war brewing. If things continue as they are in the Middle East, we will soon be in a new World War, and all our enemies will suffer. Then maybe I can complete my goal as Secretary of War and conquer all of Europe.”
“What are you doing?!” Bush exclaimed.
Rumsfeld set down a nuclear warhead. “We’re moving the nukes around in case of more war.”
“Don’t put them in the White House dining room! Laura will kill me!” Bush’s cell phone rang. “It’s Condi; I have to take this.” He answered the phone. “What’s up?”
“I can’t stand it out here in the Middle East!”
“Well, there’s lots of conflict now with Hezbollah and what not, so we need you out there… talking to people or something. Honestly, I don’t know what the Secretary of State does; that’s why I didn’t get that job.”
“I have to talk with all these Islamic idiots out here, that’s what I have to do! And guess what: they don’t like women. Not too fond of black people either.”
“Just do your best to keep your temper and not try and stab one of them in the eye with a fork again.”
“It was the heat,” Condi explained. “Made me sluggish; that’s why I missed.”
“You’re missing my point. You try that diplomacy thing… the variety without the eye-stabbing.”
“You’re not the boss of me!” Condi hung up.
Bush put his phone away and turned to Rumsfeld. “I really am not getting much respect lately.”
Rumsfeld put a warhead on the dining table, knocking off some silverware. “My job is much easier if you don’t talk to me.”
“I guess I’ll head to my office to do some work.” A thought stuck him. “Or maybe Celebrity Poker is on!”
Bush headed down the hallway and ran into Senator Joe Lieberman. “Hey! It’s my favorite Senator!”
“About that; I was wondering if you could publicly denounce me.”
Bush was confused. “Why would I do that? I love you Joe!”
“Well, it would help in the Democratic primary if you spoke out against me.”
Bush was even more confused. “When did you become a Democrat?”
“I’ve always been a Democrat. Don’t you remember me and Gore running against you in 2000?”
Bush thought for a moment. “What gored you in 2000?”
“Forget it. Just please publicly denounce me. It will be a big help.”
“Whatever you say, Joe my buddy. Hey! I got an idea! I could say you molested my daughters!”
“Uh… how about something a little less extreme.”
“Okay; whatever you want, Joe. You’re my best friend in the Senate. Why, if I were gay and I could get the laws changed, I would marry you. I don’t think my father and I would ever see eye to eye on it, but eventually…”
“Uh… yeah… nice talking to you, Mr. President.” Lieberman gave Bush one last odd glance before turning and quickly walking away.
“What a nice fella.” Bush turned to see Laura standing behind him, staring at him angrily.
“There are nukes all over the dining room!”
“It was Rumsfeld! Go yell at him!”
Laura glared at Bush until he began to cower. “Rumsfeld is old, crazy, and warmongering; you’re supposed to keep an eye on him. I want you to personally put all those nukes back where they belong!”
“The linen closet?”
“No! The nuke bin in the garage! And move them soon; Rumsfeld’s dog is chewing on one of them, and the radiation poisoning could cause him to vomit. Then there will be another thing for you to clean up.”
“Okay.” Bush headed back for the dining room. On his way, he caught sight of a TV.
“There has been another deadly attack in the Middle East leaving at least six injured,” the anchorman said. “The suspect for the attack has been described as ‘Bush’s crazy black woman’ and is said to be armed with some sort of eating utensil.”
“How come I get the feeling this isn’t going to reflect well on my administration,” Bush muttered to himself. He then noticed a group of school children touring the White House. “Hey, I wonder if any of them want nukes?”

Democrats on Thursday said they remain opposed to President Bush’s pick for U.N. ambassador, contending that John Bolton has not yet repaired his reputation as an ineffective “bully.”
Bolton was noticeably disturbed by this characterization, and proceeded to give numerous Senate Democrats wedgies while forcing others to eat dirt. He then made every Senate Democrat hand over his or her lunch money (or, in Ted Kennedy’s case, his booze money).
In other news, Senator Joe Biden held an impromptu press conference where, while held in a headlock by John Bolton, he admitted for the first time that he is in fact a “little girl.”

Bush turned to Cheney. “Hezbollah really needs to stop this @#$%. Israel really has to go ahead and kill those mother@#$%ers. What do you think?”
“Hezbollah should go @#$% themselves.”
“Mr. President…” Tony Snow tapped Bush on the shoulder and pointed to the press who were staring back at them wide-eyed. “…the mike is on.”
Bush sighed. “Oh @#$%; not again. What we really need is a big @#$%ing sign that tells us when the mike is on.”
“We have one.” Tony pointed to a lit sign behind the press that clearly said, “Microphone On.”
“Well, we need a @#$%ing bigger one!” Bush looked to the press and smiled. “Anyway, what I wanted to tell you all was that I think there can be a peaceful solution to the crisis in the Middle East with no more deaths necessary.”
“Will this ‘peaceful solution’ involve the killing of mother@#$%ers?” a reporter asked.
“No… not necessarily.”
“What about the @#$%ing children!” Helen Thomas cackled. “Why won’t you stop the @#$%ing Israelis from killing children?”
Bush shook his head. “What the @#$% is she still doing in the White House Press Corps? Does anyone capable of coherent though have a question?”
“What exactly is Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice supposed to accomplish in her meeting with foreign leaders?” another reporter asked. “I mean, what the @#$% is she out there doing?”
“Well… uh… what isn’t she doing?”

“I’m here to help bring an end to this crisis,” Condi told the foreign leaders.
“How?” asked one of the foreign leaders, “You’re not doing anything but meeting with people for short talks.”
“Well… talking is doing something.” They stared silently at each other for a while. “I think we’re making progress.”

“Isn’t it true,” said a reporter, “that the U.S. is simply standing back and waiting for Israel to go ape-@#$% and @#$%ing kill everyone?”
“No,” Bush answered, “that’s not the full extent of our strategy. And, can everyone stop swearing? Kids could be watching this.”
“Research shows that the only people who @#$%ing pay attention to these press conferences anymore are the @#$%ing bloggers,” the reporter said. “Actually, I’d like to say this for any @#$%ing blogger who may be reading this transcript: @#$% you, you @#$%ing pajama-wearing, ankle-biting, basement-dwelling little @#$%!”
“Whatever.” Bush looked to the rest of the press. “Do you guys have questions on anything else?”
“I have questions about your incompetence in the war,” said one reporter.
“I have some about your trampling our civil rights,” said another.
“I have yet some more questions about Abu Ghraib,” said the New York Times reporter. “We’re planning yet another article on Abu Ghraib to accompany the article about a new secret program we found out about.”
“Well, this press conference is now over!” Bush yelled. He turned to Cheney. “These reporters need to stop this @#$%. We really should kill all there mother@#$%ers.”
“Mr. President…”
“I know the mike is on!”

Based on a true story.
“It’s good to talk to the troops here in Afghanistan,” Rumsfeld said. “We can all feel good knowing that we accomplished our mission and killed all the Taliban.”
“But the Taliban aren’t all dead!” shouted a Marine in the audience.
“What!? Rarr!” Rumsfeld smashed the podium in front of him in rage. “Then what am I doing here just talking?” Rumsfeld pulled out dual .45s. “Time to kill some Taliban! I’ll need someone to come with me and count my kills.” He looked towards one Marine. “You! What’s your name?”
“Buck.”
“Buck who?”
“Buck… the Marine!”

“Hey, Omar, I don’t think this whole ‘Taliban’ thing has worked out as well as we thought it would.”
“Why do you say that, Ahmed?”
“Well, it started out fun with us beating people to death who didn’t have long enough beards and blowing up giant Buddha statues–”
“And don’t forget oppressing women!”
“Of course, Omar – everyone loves that. Anyway, it was fun starting out, but now we’re hunted and killed like dogs– and these beards are really itching.”
“I would not worry, Ahmed; I can feel a benevolent presence watching us as we speak.”

Rumsfeld spied on the Taliban with binoculars. “There they are. Time to make them all dead. How many do you think there are?”
Buck shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Maybe thirty.”
“We need to flush them our way so we can show them their entrails before they die.”
Buck checked the magazine on his M-16. “That is an educational death. You’d be surprised how many people have never seen what real entrails looks like before a Marine guts them. So how do we flush them out?”
“It’s being taken care of.”

“So what should we do now, Omar?”
“I dunno, Ahmed. We could get a copy of the New York Times and see what the American military is up to.”
“But I hate that fish-wrap! I’d rather covert to Judaism than read Krugman or Dowd.”
“Then let’s consult Chomps, the world’s angriest Taliban, on what to do. Hey, Chomps, what should be our next attack?”
Chomps just growled.
“You know, Omar, Chomps kinda looks like an angry rottweiler.”
Omar nodded. “A very angry rottweiler.”

As Chomps chased the Taliban, Buck and Rumsfeld gunned them down. It was over in minutes.
Buck surveyed all the dead Taliban as he reloaded his rifle. “I never get tired of shooting the Taliban. They yell funny things and they fall down dead. If I had a camera, I bet it could win one of those funny video contests.”
Rumsfeld holstered his pistols and pet Chomps on the head. “I certainly like killing people better than giving speeches. Now I’m off to Baghdad. The troops deployed there better not tell me they’ve failed to kill all the Iraqis.”
“But the mission never was to kill the Iraqis.”
“What!? Rarr!”

“Dong! Dong! Dong!”
“What is it, Dear Leader?” asked Kim Jong Il’s aide.
“We launch Taepodong missile now! We show world we mighty!”
“But I don’t think the missile is ready for–”
“Show them my dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!”
“Fine! Will launch the missile! Just stop saying, ‘Dong.'” The aide gave a motion to the missile command, and they commenced launching a missile.
Jong rubbed his grubby hands together. “Hee hee hee! Now all the world will fear my dong! First, I must get my hair poofier! They will fear me when my hair is poofy and they see my dong! Poofier! Poofier! Dong! Dong!”
“I can’t make it any poofier!” cried Jong’s hair stylist. “If it gets any more poofy, the static electricity it would generate could set off the nuclear warheads and kill us all!”
“Poofier! Dong! Dong! Dong!”
The aide got off the phone. “That was the Chinese. They say they want their trains back. Did you steal the trains the Chinese sent their aid on?”
“No steal! Trains are part of aid! Trains are ours!”
“I know we need more trains, but, if we keep taking the Chinese trains, they won’t send anymore aid.”
“They will do what we tell them when they see my dong! Launch another Taepodong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong! Do–”
“Okay! Please just stop saying, ‘Dong.'” The aide motioned to missile command to launch another missile.
“Hee hee hee! All will see my dong and cower!”

Bush watched the sky with binoculars and started giggling. “Know what the North Koreans call these?”
“The missiles?” Condoleezza Rice asked.
“Yeah. They call them ‘Taepo.'” Bush laughed some more. “What the hell kind of name is that?”
“I believe it’s a Korean name.”
Bush thought about that. “I guess that makes sense, then. So, can we shoot down the missiles?”
“What I’m hearing from the military commanders is that they’re falling harmlessly into the sea too fast for us to shoot them down.”
Bush considered that. “So you’re saying we’re impotent to shoot down the North Korean’s impotent missiles?”
Condi giggled. “Do you realize you just called Kim Jong Il’s dong ‘impotent’?”
Bush stared at her. “I don’t get it.”