“Here is our current military problem,” Rumsfeld told President Bush as he put a slide on screen. It was a picture of smiling faces of many different races and cultures. “Foreigners! And the solution is: Kill all foreigners.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck in a rut, Rummy,” Bush said. “So I’m bringing in some fresh ideas.”
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled. “How dare you!”
“Calm down. I just want everyone to be on board in fighting the terrorists, so I thought I’d bring in a Democrat to help with planning as co-Secretary of Defense. It was easy to pick, since there is only one Democrat actually laying out a plan.”
There was a pounding on the door to the conference room. “The door won’t open!” a voice shouted.
“Did you try the handle?” Bush suggested.
“The what?”
“Sheesh.” Bush walked over and opened the door. In walked Murtha clad in pajamas and slippers.
“Where am I?”
“You’re in a conference room at the White House to help with military strategery,” Bush explained slowly.
“Can I just go ahead and strangle him now?” Rumsfeld asked.
“No. Let’s first hear what he has to say.”
Murtha walked over to a map of the world on the wall. “We need to get out of Iraq! It’s dangerous. We need to get our troops elsewhere.”
“But where?” Bush asked.
Murtha looked over the map. “Well… uh… I don’t see it on here on the map… but we should redeploy to the moon!”
“Can I strangle him now?”
“No, Rummy!” Bush shouted.
“The moon is perfect,” Murtha continued. “We can just as easily fight terrorism from there. It’s up high, so we can see everything. When we need to strike somewhere, we can just jump and we’ll fall right towards it.”
“Brilliant!” Bush exclaimed. He then thought for a moment and his enthusiasm faded. “Hey, but what if someone nukes the moon?”
“We’ll cover the moon with a Plexiglas shield,” Murtha said. “Plexiglas is strong.”
“Brilliant!”
Rumsfeld sat down. “Just tell me when it’s okay for me to strangle him.”
“The only problem with the moon,” Murtha explained, “is that it may contain a race of angry mole-people.”
Bush shivered. “Oh no! Not mole-people!”
“If that’s true, then we’ll have to redeploy elsewhere.”
“But where?”
Murtha looked over the map and then pointed to one area. “What’s this place called?”
“The Pacific Ocean,” Rumsfeld answered as he tensed his hands for a strangling.
“Are we going under the sea?” Bush asked.
“No, there are giant squids down there,” Murtha said. “We’ll make a base that floats. Now, what floats?”
“Dead bodies,” Rumsfeld answered.
“Very small rocks?” Bush said.
“Styrofoam peanuts,” Murtha stated. “I have a lot at my house and we can make a base out of them. Now I just need to sit down for a second.” Murtha took a seat and immediately fell asleep.
Rumsfeld stood up. “I guess it’s time to strangle him.”
“You can’t strangle him while he’s sleeping; he’s a veteran.”
Rumsfeld thought for a moment. “How about I just throw him in the Potomac?”
“Okay.”

“Prime Minister Nuri al-Maliki!”
Nuri jumped from his desk. “What? Who is it?” He saw the smiling face of President Bush. “What are you doing here in Baghdad?”
“I came to support your burgeoning democracy!”
“Oh. Well, I guess you can…”
Bush picked up a knife. “What’s this?”
“That’s my letter opener! Be care…”
Bush swung it around and cut a hole in the wall. “Whoops. I’ll put it down.”
“Good because…”
Bush picked up something else. “What’s this?”
“That’s an expensive vase! Be very…”
The vase fell and shattered on the floor. “Uh-oh; I done broke it.”
Nuri tried to keep his fists from clenching. “That’s okay. Just don’t…”
“What’s this?”
“That’s my ‘World’s Best Prime Minister Mug.’ Hand it over!” Nuri reach to grab it, but Bush accidentally tilted it over, pouring scalding hot coffee onto Nuri’s groin. “Aieee! You idiot! Stop touching things!”
Bush hung is head. “I just came to support your democracy and you yelled at me.”
“I’m sorry. Why don’t you go sit over by the window and quietly support democracy while I get a towel.”
“Okay.” Bush sat down. He looked out the window. “Oh no! I see someone… and I think he’s an Arab. He might even be a Muslim! He could be here to attack us!” He paused for a moment as he watched. “There’s a whole army of them out on the Baghdad streets!”
“Idiot!” Nuri shouted, “Most of the population is…” Nuri paused and thought for a moment. “Hey, they might be suicide bombers. You better go stand out front of the building and check on them.”
“I’ll check on them good!” Bush ran out of the office.
Nuri found a towel in a cabinet. “Idiot. Ah, but I dream of the day our democracy will be so strong that we can elect someone as dumb as him.”

As Bush got out onto the street, he spotted a Marine. “Is that you, Buck?”
“Yes, Mr. President sir. It is I, Buck – Buck the Marine, that is. I have some time off, so I thought I’d spend it in Baghdad where I get shot at less than my usual locations.”
“Well, I’m looking for Muslim terrorists, so you can help me.”
“Yes, sir. I must warn you, though, the commanders have gotten really pissy about us killing civilians, so we have to be careful.”
“I’ll be careful.” Bush watched the crowd of people in front of them. “We need to check out these people to see if they are terrorists. A lot of there people look Arab… but I sometime get them confused with Latinos. If they’re Latino, don’t question them too much because I don’t want to hurt the Latino vote by exposing illegal aliens. But, whatever you do, don’t call it ‘amnesty.'”
Buck furrowed his brow. “Uh… I don’t think there are many Latinos here… outside of U.S. forces, that is.”
“Don’t ask don’t tell.” Bush spotted one man walking by. “Grab him!”
Buck grabbed the Iraqi and put him in a headlock.
“Who are you?” Bush demanded.
“I am but a simple apple vendor.”
“Buck! Check him for bombs to see if he’s a terrorist. If he is, beat him up!”
Buck patted down the Iraqi. “He’s clean.”
“Then check his voter registration card to see if he’s a Democrat. If he is, beat him up!”
Buck let the man go. “I don’t think there are Democrats in Iraq.”
“Really? Then we’re making more progress than I thought.” Bush’s cell phone rang, and he pulled it out of his pocket. “You’re speaking to the most powerful man in the world… Hey, Snowman… Good economic news? Oh no! Make sure the press doesn’t find out about it… Because they always spin it to make it sound bad, stupid. By the way, did you hear how I’m in Baghdad? …Really? It made the papers? I can’t believe I made the newspapers again. Make sure to cut out any article in any paper that mentions me so I can see… I don’t care if it takes all day. Do it!” Bush hung up and looked to Buck. “That was Tony Snow. His job is to make sure the press knows I’m smart and in charge. He was on FOX News.”
“I like FOX News.”
“Me too!”
A man ran up to Bush and Buck. He pulled open his coat revealing a bomb strapped to him. In his right hand he held a detonator. “When I heard you were here, I rushed over to kill you! I will be the greatest martyr ever!”
“Oh no! A human bomb!” Bush shouted. “I don’t know how to defuse those.”
“I do.” Buck pulled out a .45 and shot the terrorist in the head. The terrorist fell dead to the dusty street.
“Yay!” Bush exclaimed. “We defeated terrorism thanks to my leadership!”
Some American press rushed to the scene. “Due to Bush’s low approval rating, people are now trying to blow him up.” The reporter looked to Bush. “I notice your lack body armor. Is this because you aren’t properly funding our civilian-murdering troops?”
“The armor was bulky and I didn’t want to wear it. You can’t tell me what to wear!” Bush punched the reporter, knocking him to ground and started kicking him. “I only wear what I want, so you shut up!” After a minute, he stopped and turned to Buck. “I can only kick a reporter for so long before I get bored. Want to go find Zarqawi’s body and wander the streets with him pretending he’s alive like on Weekend at Bernie’s?”
Buck shrugged his shoulders. “I’m on leave; why not.”

“So some Muslims wanted to behead me, and I was like, ‘What’s this all aboot, eh?'”
“Did they succeed?”
“No, I still have my head, eh. Anyway, the reason I called…”
President Bush saw some movement outside the window. “Hey, I got some business to attend to. Later, Mr. Canadian.” Bush then hung up on the Prime Minister and shouted out his window. “Get off my lawn!”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Laura Bush asked.
“Politics just hasn’t been working out for me lately,” Bush whined, “and now illegal immigrants are getting gay married on the White House lawn.”
“Well, I think you brought this on yourself. At least your poll numbers are doing better; now a third of the country likes you.”
“Wow! That’s a lot of people!” Bush exclaimed. He then paused for a moment. “Does my mom like me again yet?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll win her back one of these days,” Bush vowed. “Anyway, I got bigger worries with that Haditha incident. Right now, I have Marines going through sensitivity training to make sure we don’t have more incidents.”

“So, it’s important not to shoot children,” the Marine officer said, “unless they got it coming. Any questions?”
“Can we still shoot midgets?” Buck the Marine asked.
“Sure. The important thing is we don’t want any wanton slaughter of civilians, because them Democrats love that and will use that to pull us out. Then, you won’t get to kill anyone, and you don’t want that, do you?”
“No, sir!” the Marines shouted.
“Can’t we just shoot the Democrats?” Gomez asked.
“No, they ain’t foreign, stupid,” Buck told him.
“Hey, I was just trying to think outside the box.”

“Rummy is holding a press conference to assure reporters that incidents like Haditha will be fully investigated,” Bush told Laura. He turned on the TV.
“A whole press room of reporters was found strangled,” the anchorman said. “A note was found at the scene reading, ‘I, Donald Rumsfeld, strangled all these people because their questions were impudent.’ D.C. police are once again baffled and slightly tipsy. We sent a reporter to get a statement from Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld who was supposed to give that press conference, but that reporter was found strangled as well. Whether that murder is related to the others is unknown.”
Bush turned off the TV. “Not that mysterious ‘Rumsfeld Strangler’ again; the police are never going catch him. Well, less reporters means less bad news.” He saw Rumsfeld walk by his office. “You okay, Rummy?”
“My hands are sore.”
“Arthritis?” Laura asked.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Rumsfeld grumbled as he stormed off.
“That’s our Rummy!” Bush chuckled.
“Hey, I meant to ask,” Laura said, “Why is Harry Reid pinned under your desk?”
Bush looked at the twitching legs sticking out from beneath his overturned desk. “I don’t remember. I think there is a reason.”
“Well, I’m going to go back to dusting. Tell me if you figure it out.” Laura left the office.
Bush kicked one of Harry Reid’s legs. “Oh! Now I remember. I pinned Harry Reid under my desk to remind myself on getting more of the good economic news out there.”
Bush ran out into the hallway and found Tony Snow. “Snowman, we need to get more emphasis on the good economy to fight all the bad publicity. Thus, we’re going to rob a liquor store.”
“I don’t really follow that logic.”
“I’m the President!” Bush shouted. “That’s all you need to know!” Bush spotted Cheney. “Hey, Dick, we’re robbing a liquor store. You in?”
“Big time!”
“Just watch that itchy trigger finger of yours; I don’t want you shooting someone in the face with a shotgun again.”
“Then I’m out.” Cheney walked off.
“Can’t we just mention economic news in my press conference?” Tony asked.
Bush put on a ski mask and pulled out a handgun. “No one watches those. We just use them to distract the press from other things. But, if we rob a liquor store and people hear about how much money is stolen, they’ll know the economy must be good!”
Laura came walking by with her feather-duster and noticed Bush in his ski mask. “What are you doing?”
“I’m… about to go skiing.”
“Then why have the gun?”
“Uh… biathlon training.”
“But you said the Winter Olympics are gay.”
“Uh… maybe I’m gay.” Bush nudged Tony and whispered, “Back me up on this.”
“I’m going to go hold that press conference.” Tony quickly headed away.
“You better not be up to something,” Laura warned Bush.
Bush placed his gun over his heart. “I swear on my father’s grave I’m not.”

“You got a newspaper in here?”
“Yeah. So?” said Bush’s cellmate.
Bush reached over to grab a section. “Can I see if there is any information about my poll numbers?”
“You touch my paper, I’ll cut you.”
Bush folded his arms. “Fine. Don’t share.”

“So, is this story about Karl Rove being indicted true?” Jason Leopold asked. “If not, I could be completely discredited.”
“It is quite true,” said the hooded figure hiding in the shadows. “Publish it immediately.”
“Okay, then!” Leopold typed away at his computer. “By the way, who are you?”
“My name is…” The hooded figure was silent for a moment. “…Rarl Kove.”

“So Jesse MacBeth was a fraud made to discredit us all!” exclaimed an angry anti-war activist. “I was so sure he was for real when I saw he had a beret and everything! I bet the Bush Administration was behind this… probably Karl Rove himself!”
The other anti-war activist nodded in agreement. Suddenly, though, they were pelted with rocks.
“Who is throwing rocks at us? It must be Karl Rove!”
They turned to see a hooded figure disappear into the darkness as a blood-curdling laugh filled the air.

Markos ZË™niga was curled up in a fetal position on the floor and muttering to himself. “Maybe I am too far to the left. Maybe I do hurt the Democrats. Maybe since every candidate I support loses, I should give up. And, maybe, I should take my medication.”
“No, my child,” echoed a voice in the room. “You are the only one who knows the true path… you and the readers of DailyKos. The problem with the Democrats is they are not far enough to the left. They need to be more liberal! More!”
Markos got to his feet and wiped his face on his Ned Lamont t-shirt. “That’s what I keep saying! They all say I’m wrong… but they must be wrong! Screw ’em! Screw ’em all! Tee hee hee hee hee!” Markos then stared at the hooded figure before him who lurked in the darkness. “Who are you?”
“I am your conscience.”
Markos scratched his head. “I have a conscience?”

Patrick Fitzgerald sat down for dinner with his family, but then the doorbell rang. When he answered the door, no one was there. He looked down to see a dead cat and a note saying, “Courtesy the man who ruined Fitzmas.”
“Mittens!” Fitzgerald exclaimed. He then shook his fist at the darkness outside his house. “I’ll get you for killing our cat, Karl Rove! I’ll get you yet!”
An evil laugh answered.

Karl Rove stood before The Pit of Unimaginable Terror and Punditry. Its evil light lit his face. “Dark spirits! Give me the power to manipulate the wills of others! Help me lead my enemies to their own demise! Bring forth the demon…”
“Hey, Rover!” President Bush called out.
“How did you get into my secret lair?” Rove demanded.
“As usual, I fell down a hole today.” Bush looked around. “So what are you up ta? This place looks neat.” Bush stared down the pit. “If I throw a penny down there, will my wish come true?”
“Don’t disturb anything!” Rove commanded. “There are powers here of which you could never hope to understand.”
“I saw a lot of Mexicans working in your underground mines here,” Bush said. “Is that why you keep telling me not to be a hardliner on illegal immigration?”
“It’s all part of the plan.”
“And what’s this plan lead to?”
“As predicted by the ancient Book of Punditry, when the planets and the stars and the polls align, I can summon forth a power unlike this world has ever known! With it, all will bow to me, and, if I so desire, I can even rend apart the universe itself!”
“Destroy the universe…” Bush thought about that. “Might be unpopular with the base, but well, at least we have an agenda; that’s how we keep beating the Democrats.”
“Now leave this place before I eat your soul.”
“Okey-dokey.”

“Good job with your first press conference,” President Bush told Tony Snow.
“Thanks. I found the best way to handle Helen Thomas was to spray her in the face with a water bottle every time she tried to speak. I figure if I keep it up, she’ll learn not to talk at all.”
“Maybe, but Ari Fleischer tried the same thing, but instead of spraying her with a water bottle, he clunked her on the head with a tire iron– and that still never took. There was one thing about your press conference I didn’t like, though, and I think that was violating our first rule.” Bush pointed to a sign on the wall.
Tony read the sign aloud. “‘No matter what, never admit it’s amnesty.'”
Bush looked at the sign. “Oh, I guess we changed the first rule. Anyway, it used to be ‘There is no crying in this administration.’ I don’t care if you barely survived cancer, Snowman; I barely survived a pretzel, and I didn’t cry… even though I really really wanted to. Anyway, it’s time to appease the base.” Bush walked over to a map of the world and whapped Mexico with a pointer. “I think the only way now is to invade Mexico.”
“Invade Mexico? Well, I guess that will be easy with troops at the border.”
“No, they’ll expect that.” Bush pointed to Guatemala. “We’ll invade from here and they’ll never see it coming.” He thought for a moment. “So now I need a plan to invade Guatemala.”
Condi stormed into the room and yanked away Bush’s pointer. “Wars are for popular Presidents. You finish the ones you have and just work on border security.”
“Ahh… border security is boring,” Bush moaned. “Well, I guess I’ll head to the border and work on the problem.” He turned to Tony. “You tell everyone I’m doing a lot about illegal immigration and not to say bad things about me because the NSA will know… but don’t admit we have an NSA spying program. Actually, deny we have an NSA.”
“Uh… I’ll come up with something to say.”
“Yes, you say–” Bush marched off. “–I do.”

Attorney General Alberto Gonzales stood by the border wearing his Sombrero of Authority and matching poncho. Next to him was some high-tech gadgetry. Bush walked over to him. “What do we have here?”
“A virtual fence,” Alberto said and handed goggles to Bush while taking a pair for himself. They both put them on, and Bush then saw in front of him a giant wall of pure concrete.
“Wow! When you wear these, it appears that we actually care about border security!” Bush exclaimed.
“All we have to do is get everyone to wear these and it’s like we really have a fence,” Alberto said. “We would also need to get Mexicans to wear these if we don’t want them all running over here while we’re admiring our virtual fence. But, if they do come in…” In the virtual world, Alberto pointed up at some butterflies flying over the fence. “–it won’t look so bad. See, those butterflies are virtual representation of illegal immigrants crossing our borders.”
“Wow! They’re almost blocking out the sky!” Bush looked down and saw a newspaper on the ground. He picked it up and read it. “Cool! In this world, my approval rating is almost 40%!”
The good news disappeared as Alberto pulled off Bush’s goggles. “I have something else to show you. If the virtual fence doesn’t work, I hired a consultant for another option.”
Standing near them was a tall, old, bearded man wearing a robe and holding a staff. “I am Gandalf the Gray,” he said, “and I shall make you a magical fence.”
“Yay!” Bush squealed. “I love magic.”
Gandalf faced some Mexicans nearing the border. Gandalf then yelled, “You cannot pass! I am a servant of the Secret Fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor! The Dark Flame will not avail you, Flame of Udun. Go back to the shadow!” Gandalf struck the ground with his staff. “You– shall– not– pass!”
A rock struck Gandalf in the head, knocking him to the ground. The Mexicans then all ran over him.
“That could have gone better,” Bush said. “Well, I guess this problem cannot be solved. Anyhoo, I’m hungry for some Mexican food. How about you, Speedy?”
“If you’re paying,” Alberto answered.
As they walked off, a thought struck Bush. “What if we made a real fence?”
Alberto slapped Bush across the back of his head. “That would lower property values, you stupid gringo!”

[UPDATE: Now with spooky ending!]
A horn honked outside the White House. “Hey! Bush!”
President Bush stuck his head out the window. “What?”
“I hate you!” The man sped off down the street.
Bush collapsed in his office chair. “Aww… everyone hates me.”
“Why are you talking to me?” Condoleezza Rice asked. “I don’t like you!” She left the Oval Office.
The hooded figure of Karl Rove emerged from the shadows. “I have good news.”
“It better not be about how you saved money on car insurance because mine just went up since my insurer hate me.”
“No. The news I bring is about the popularity of Congress. It is at an all time low.” Rove handed a sheet of polling data to Bush.
“Wow! Despite polling the low thirties, I’m the most popular politician in Washington!” Bush turned to Rove. “I guess the American people just hate all politicians now. Maybe it’s time for some bi-partisan action.”
“Muh ha ha ha!” Rove disappeared back into the shadows.
Bush chuckled. “Rover sure is a jovial fella. Anyway, it’s time to make America love politicians.”

“Nothing says love like a carnival!” Bush exclaimed. “And, with a carnival run by politicians, people will love us again.”
Cheney just grumbled.
“You have to have a better spirit than that,” Bush said. “And I thought I told you to not bring a shotgun; people are going to be afraid that you’re gonna shoot ’em in the face.”
Cheney rubbed his shotgun. “Maybe they should be afraid.”
Bush turned to check on the Democrats. Nancy Pelosi’s skin was stretched back so that her teeth were bared. The site made Bush recoil in horror, and nearby children screamed and ran away. “What are you doing?” Bush demanded.
“I’m smiling,” Pelosi answered.
“Then don’t ever smile again. We’re trying to make people like us, not give them nightmares. Don’t make me regret including you Democrats.” Bush looked to Harry Reid. “So how are things going with you, Dingy Harry?”
“I keep trying to make the kids balloon animals, but they kick me in the groin.”
“Yeah, kids will do that… to you.”
“There are those stupid politicians!” a man shouted. A crowd then headed over to Bush, Cheney, Pelosi, and Reid.
“What are you going to do about illegal immigration?” one woman demanded.
“I’ll tell you what I won’t do,” Bush said, “Amnesty. I may do something that seems like amnesty and goes along with any standard definition of amnesty and everyone will call it amnesty… but it’s not amnesty because we have a different name for it.”
“The most important thing about Mexican immigrants,” Reid stated, “is getting them registered to vote.”
“And we have to make sure ballots are in Spanish,” Pelosi added.
Cheney waved his shotgun around. “I shoot Mexicans in the face!”
“This man has a plan,” the woman said, pointing to Cheney. “I like him better but hate you three goobers.”
“So what are you politicians going to do about trial lawyers bankrupting everyone?” one man asked.
“You shouldn’t be angry at trial lawyers,” Reid said. “They sue everyone to make a better America. And, no one is more charitable than them.”
“That’s true,” Bush stated. “They sure give the Democrats a lot of money, and you couldn’t find a bigger group of pathetic losers in need of charity than the Democrats.”
“I shot a trial lawyer in the face with my shotgun,” Cheney said, “and he was a friend of mine. Think of what I’ll do to the rest of them!”
“You’re the only one here who seems to know what he’s doing,” the man said to Cheney.
“I hate quails,” another person said. “Are any of you going to do something about them?”
“I kill quails with my shotgun,” Cheney answered.
Bush hit Cheney in the shoulder. “Dick! You and your shotgun better stop hogging all the popularity.”
“People, don’t just follow the gun-wielding maniac,” Pelosi told the crowd. “We Democrats care about you.” The skin on her face stretched back again.
“Why is she baring her teeth like that?” one guy asked. “Is she going to eat us?”
“That’s her smiling,” Bush said. He then thought for a moment. “For five bucks, you can hit her in the face with a pie.”
“I did not agree to any–” Pelosi was shut up when a pie struck her in the face.

“The new polls are in!” Bush exclaimed with glee. “The carnival worked! I’m up one point!”
“That could just be a statistically insignificant fluctuation in the polls,” Laura Bush said.
“Well, this is for real.” Bush held up a wad of cash. “I made this money letting people hit Nancy Pelosi in the face with a pie. Plus, I think I learned something: popularity doesn’t matter when you have money and power.”
“Well, I’m quite popular,” Laura said. “The only people who don’t like me are the craziest moonbats. Maybe I can bake them cookies.”
“You can’t ever get them to like you; they even hate themselves.”
A horn honked outside the White House. “Hey! Bush!”
President Bush stuck his head out the window. “What?”
“I’m ambivalent about you!” The man sped off down the street.
“Yes!”

Continue reading ‘In My World: The Least Hated’ »

President Bush read the jokes off the teleprompter and enjoyed the laughter from the audience at the White House Correspondence Dinner, but the strange echo he kept hearing was starting to disturb him. The echo wasn’t even correctly repeating what he was saying. Bush then turned to see another man was there who looked and sounded just like him.
“Aieeee! A pod person!” Bush shouted as he pulled out a shotgun.
Laura ran over and grabbed Bush. “That’s Steve Bridges and he’s part of the act.” Laura looked to the audience. “That’s my wacky husband!”
Everyone laughed, and Laura led Bush back to his seat while Stephen Colbert walked to the podium.
“This guy is funny!” Bush told Laura, “I saw him on TV, and I laughed really hard at all the jokes I understood.”
Stephen Colbert cleared his throat and started his routine. “President Bush is an evil man. He supports torture. No one likes him. He has broken many laws.” Colbert was quiet for a few seconds. “That was the punch line.”
Someone coughed.
“This isn’t funny!” Bush whispered to Laura. “Something is wrong with him! Maybe he’ll be funnier if I throw a shoe at him.”
“He has gotten us into a war where many have died,” Colbert continued. “He is not smart, and–” A shoe hit Colbert in the head. “Ow!”
“Ha! That was funny!” Bush shouted. He then thought for a moment. “Can someone hand me back my shoe?”

Bush poured himself a cup of coffee. “That stupid dinner had me up past my bedtime. Why can’t I delay running the country until later?” He then saw Tony Snow in the hallway. “Wow! I know you from FOX News! What are you doing here?”
“Um… you hired me as your new press secretary, remember?”
“Yeah, we needed to replace tubby. No why we needed to replace him?”
“Because he was…” Tony shrugged his shoulders. “…tubby?”
“That’s right! You’re a quick one, Snowman.”
Tony took out a newspaper. “Anyway, I thought you might want to see this. In reaction to Stephen Colbert’s performance, a number of left-wing nuts have erected shrines in his honor and formed religions around him.”
Bush furrowed his brow. “They thought he was funny?”
“They don’t go as far to say that, but they think he was daring to speak the truth or some crap.”
“But he wasn’t funny!” Bush exclaimed. “Don’t these moonbats understand funny?”
“Studies show they are quite humorless.”
“The only funny part was when I hit him with my shoe,” Bush said. He then laughed. “Man, that was funny. He was all like, ‘Ow! Where did that shoe come from?’ Did you see that, Snowman?”
Tony chuckled. “Yes, that was funny. It was also funny when he picked up your shoe and ran off and then you started cursing at him.”
Bush looked down to see one of his feet was shoeless. “He still has my shoe! That unfunny shoe-stealer!” Bush grabbed a shotgun that was leaning against a table. “I’m getting my shoe back!”
“You sure keep a lot of shotguns around.”
“That’s because I’m a smart president! Now, come on; time to get your hands dirty, Snowman!” Bush began to awkwardly march off, but Condoleezza Rice stopped him.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to go get my shoe back from that unfunny Stephen Colbert!” Bush shouted. “We’ll see who is funny when I murder him dead!”
“But Iran has threatened that, if anyone attacks Stephen Colbert, they will retaliate against Israel!” Condi exclaimed.
“So?” Bush answered. “It’s not like I have a summer home there.”
“Yes, but if Israel is attacked, they vow to retaliate against Saudi Arabia. And, if Saudi Arabia is attacked, the vow to retaliate against…” Condi took out a long sheet of paper. “Well, to cut to the chase, eventually someone will retaliate against Namibia, who vows to attack us.”
“Oh no! We’ll all die!” Bush exclaimed. “I can’t believe that Iran is directly indirectly threatening us like that, but I can’t just walk around with one shoe! The international community will never respect me!”
“We could just go buy some new shoes,” Tony suggested.
“Maybe you come from a world where you can just go to some magical store and get shoes,” Bush said, “but, here in the world of politics, if a comedian steals your shoe, you have to get it back using a shotgun or you shall remain shoeless forever!”
“Haven’t you ever wondered why, to this day, Jimmy Carter walks around shoeless?” Condi asked Tony.
“I guess there’s a lot to politics I still have to learn.”
“There’s a lot about everything I have to learn,” Bush said. He looked to Condi. “Put out the announcement that, if America is attacked, we will retaliate against Iran!”

The crazy Iranian president ran to the crazy Iranian mullahs. “America threatens to destroy us if attacked!”
The crazy Iranian mullahs looked over a long sheet of paper. “That means if we attack Israel in retaliation for an attack on Stephen Colbert, we will surely die… eventually. Tell Colbert we will no longer defend him.”
The crazy Iranian president picked up the phone and dialed Stephen Colbert. “We will no longer retaliate against Israel if you are attacked.”
“You will no longer what? –And who is this?”

Bush stood outside the Comedy Central studios and chambered a round into his shotgun. “It’s time to get my shoe back, Snowman!”
A number of hooded figures approached Bush and Tony. “We are of the Church of Colbert, the one who brings truth to power, and we will die in defense of him.”
“Okay.” Bush fired his shotgun and killed all the liberals.
“Do you feel any remorse for that?” Tony asked.
Bush chambered another round. “It should be pretty obvious at this point in my presidency that I don’t feel any remorse for anything.”

The doorbell rang at the White House. Laura put down her duster to answer it.
“Hi,” said a man standing at the doorstep holding a box. “We had a number of items left in Lost & Found after the White House Correspondence Dinner. One’s a shoe that we think might belong to President Bush.”
Laura picked up the shoe. “Yes, he was looking for this.”
“We also have four shotguns.”
Laura rolled her eyes. “Yeah, he really needs those.”

“It’s time for you to get to work, Snowman. By the way, that’s your new nickname,” President Bush told Tony Snow. “Nobody likes me anymore, but you have to spin things so everybody thinks I’m the super-coolest person ever. And you have to convince all the press to only write nice things about me. So you do a good job or you’ll end up like Scott McClellan – fat!”
“I’ll do what I can,” Tony answered, “but you try and stay out of trouble. I don’t want this job to be any harder than it already is.”
“Hey, trouble is my middle name!” Bush answered and then thought for a moment. “Wait, my middle name starts with a ‘w’. What is it? Wilhelm?”
“Just focus on not screwing anything up and I’ll handle the press,” Tony assured him. He then headed out to the press room where all the reporters were waiting.
“So, are you the new White House Press Secretary?” a reporter asked.
“First off,” Tony stated, “I’m already a hundred times the journalist of all you hacks added together, so, instead of answering your moronic queries, I’m just going to state everything you need to know and you’ll jot it all down and report that. Are we clear?”
“Mr. Snow, we need–” a reporter started to say, but then screamed in pain as he fell to the ground.
“Now, one thing you need to know,” Tony said, “is that I can now shock you through your press passes. This wasn’t my idea; it was done by Homeland Security. Now, on to politics. While there are many troubles in Iraq, it’s going much better than you shills report. Progress is being made daily. With Iran, many options are being looked at, but nothing has been decided on. Finally, the Democrats are all morons and you waste time reporting on anything they do or say. I think that covers everything.”
“What about how Karl Rove will be–” A horde of screaming demons crashed through the ceiling, grabbed the reporter, and flew off.
“It should be mentioned,” Tony said, “that questions about Karl Rove will cause screeching demons to come after you. That’s out of my hands.”
“And there are also reports that secret police are taking away anyone who questions the White House,” a reporter stated. “What is your reaction?”
Some men in black ran into the room, grabbed the reporter, and dragged her away.
“Next question,” Tony said in a bored voice.
“War murder and oil because Bush bad!” Helen Thomas cackled.
Tony Snow made a motion to some men in white in the back of the room. They came forward and gently walked Helen Thomas out of the press room.
“Are they taking her to a nursing home?” a reporter asked.
“That or they’re going to tie her up and leave her in an abandoned warehouse,” Tony answered. “Either way, I don’t care.”
A truck crashed through the side of the room. “Trouble, Tony!” Bush yelled as he got out of the driver seat. “I may have just been involved in an armed robbery and this truck may or may nor be stolen. Anyway, spin it all to make it sound good.”
“I thought we agreed you’d avoid misadventures until your polls are up!” Tony said.
Bush opened the back of the truck. “I tried; really, I did.” A bunch of Mexicans came out the back.
“Are you smuggling Mexicans across the border?” Tony asked.
“The less you know, the better.” Bush started dousing the truck in gasoline. “I’m going to take care of the evidence; you continue with your press conference.”
“I want you all to ignore the scene over there and focus on me,” Tony commanded the press. “I’m going to use this blackboard behind me to give you all a lecture on good journalism… since you guys really need it. Let’s get started.”
“I don’t need to be lectured about journalism from someone from FOX News!” Daivd Gregory shouted. “I’m David Gregory! I–” David Gregory burst into flames.
“By the way,” Tony said, “the electrified press passes have a few kinks in them and sometimes explode. Then again, maybe that’s more of a feature than a bug.”
Panicked, Gregory ran into the truck setting it on fire.
“Since this room is starting to burn down,” one reporter said, “can we skip the lecture?”
“That might be smart. Oh, and I should tell you that, as part of the deal of the White House hiring me, FOX is filming this all for a reality show. So, if in the future, you find the press room filled with snakes or you get locked in an underground bunker, I warned you.”
The reporters fled the room.
“Good job for your first day,” Bush said. “So, what now?”
Tony looked at the burning truck. “I think I’m going to a bar.”
“There’s a list of nearest bars in your ‘Welcome to the White House Staff’ basket.” Bush looked around the room which was all quickly catching fire. “This isn’t going to burn itself out, is it?”

“Numerous retired generals have called for your resignation,” a reporter said to Donald Rumsfeld. “How do you respond to this?”
“Why would I respond to the opinions of a couple retired generals?” Rumsfeld demanded angrily. He then said in a mocking voice, “‘Ooh! I’m too old for war so I’m going to retire!’ Back in my day, generals stayed on until they died in battle. I have no use for the words of those who wimped out.”
“So, have you put any thought towards resigning?” asked another reporter.
“Your questions annoy me!” Rumsfeld shouted. “I have decided to kill you all violently! Rarr!”

“Blood does not come out!” President Bush whined. “That’s it. I’m not buying you new suits every time the reporters annoy you.”
“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled and punched a hole in the wall.
“Fine. We’ll pay for a new suit. Calm down.”
“And more cruise missiles!”
“Okay. That too.”
Rumsfeld stormed off just as Scott McClellan came running toward Bush. “What’s the matter, fatty fat fat?” Bush asked.
“The key to my office doesn’t seem to work anymore.” Scott led Bush to a door and was unable to get the key to fit.
“Are you sure that’s your office?” Bush said. “It doesn’t have your name on it.”
Scott looked at the door. “Where did my nameplate go?”
“Let’s not worry on little things like that.” Bush held up a piece of paper and a pen. “Now sign this.”
“What is it?”
“It’s… uh… a bill. It needs a signature.”
“But you’re the one who is supposed to sign bills.”
“Then it’s a… uh… petition.” Bush shoved the pen at Scott. “Now, sign!”
“How could this be a petition? There’s only one line for a signature.” Scott grabbed the document. “Hey! This is a letter of resignation! You’re trying to get rid of me!”
“That’s just crazy,” Bush said. “You’re a crazy person, and there is no reasoning with you. I have to go talk to job applicants.”

“I sure you all have a lot of questions about Rumsfeld and Iran,” Scott told the White House Press Corps, “so let’s get started.”
“Why announce your resignation now?” a reporter asked. “Is it because you finally realized your tubby and no one likes you?”
Scott looked confused. “I’m not announcing my resignation.”
“You say you’re leaving to spend more time with your family,” said another reporter, “but isn’t it true your family doesn’t like you either?”
“No. I need this job to have money to feed my family,” Scott said with worry.
To the side, Bush appeared with Tony Snow. Bush pointed at Scott. “That’s where you’ll stand.” He then pointed to the press. “Those are the morons you’ll have to placate.”
“Are you replacing me?” Scott shouted.
“Do I have to deal with that tubby goober there with this job?” Tony asked.
“No,” Bush answered, “Just shove him out of the way.”
Tony walked over and knocked Scott to the ground.
“Ow!” Scott yelled. “You’re going to get a loyalty problem with stuff like this.”
“So what would I do with these people?” Tony asked Bush as he looked at the press. “They look dumb.”
“Just distract them with shiny things and use big words to confuse them. I don’t know any big words, so you’ll have to get those from other people.”
“Why are you considering someone from FOX News for the position of White House Press Secretary?” a reporter asked.
“You try and answer that for me,” Bush told Tony.
“FOX News is a great pool of talent,” Tony said to the press. “The station was founded when polls revealed that the American people prefer reporters and anchors who aren’t full of crap.”
“Good answer,” Bush said.
“I never got praise,” Scott whined, still lying on the ground.
“If you’re getting someone from FOX News, why wasn’t I considered?” FOX News reporter Melinda Hawkish asked angrily.
“Because you’re mean!” Bush yelled.
“I’m surprised you didn’t consider an illegal immigrant as a cheaper alternative,” she shot back.
“Who says I didn’t!”
“What’s this stack of bricks for?” Tony asked Bush.
“If a question is too dumb, just throw one of those at a reporter’s head. Go ahead and try it.”
Tony chucked a brick at the press. “Ow! My cranium!” one shouted.
“What do I do if I run out of bricks?”
Bush opened a panel on the podium revealing a hidden button. “Just press this and a heavy narcotic is released into the press which will cause them all to be very happy and easy to manipulate.”
“You never showed me that secret button!” Scott said.
“Quiet, tubby; you’ve talked enough.” Bush turned to Tony. “So, if you take the job, I’ll throw in a blank signed pardon. You can use it to get anyone off of anything… no matter how heinous the crime.”
“I can’t believe you’re replacing me,” Scott grumbled. “Will you at least help me get a new job?”
“I will use the full power of my presidency to get you a new occupation,” Bush assured him.

“Can I get fries with that?”
Scott groaned. “No. This is Taco Bell.”
“What can I get?”
Scott adjusted his paper hat. “Tacos.”

“Yet another grand day of me being in charge of the world,” President Bush said as he looked out the window of the White House. He then saw a new building next to his labeled “El Casa Blanca.”
“What the–” Bush exclaimed as he quickly headed out of the White House to check it out. “That better be a new Mexican eatery!”
Bush went over and knocked on the door. A Mexican answered. “Who are you?”
“I’m the President of the United States, and you better explain yourself!”
“I’m Pedro, and I’m now the President! People voted for Pedro, so now I’m President and this is the new White House!” A number of Mexicans behind him yelled, “Yeah!”
“What?!” Bush exclaimed as he entered the building. “You can’t be President! I’m President! You’re breaking the law!”
“We’re illegal immigrants, and your laws don’t mean nothing to us, gringo!”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“You don’t treat us right,” Pedro continued, “so we’ll take what we want!”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“But I’ve capitulated on this issue!” Bush whined. “If I capitulate anymore, I’ll have to reregister as a Democrat!”
“Too bad! We want more! We want more respect and free money and beer and an XBox!”
“XBox 360!” another Mexican corrected Pedro.
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“An XBox 360!” Bush shouted. “That’s completely unreasonable!”
“Well, you better all do as we say,” Pedro answered, “or who will pick your beans?”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“Well, obviously not you people,” Bush said, “because you’re all just sitting around here watching Telemundo and drinking beer.”
“Shut up!” Pedro yelled. “And get out of our White House!”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“Fine.” Bush turned to leave, but he couldn’t open the door.
“That door keeps getting stuck,” Pedro said. “You really have to give it a good pull.”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
Bush gave the other Mexicans an odd look.
“They don’t speak English,” Pedro explained. “I’m just told them to shout ‘Yeah’ to anything I say when talking to gringos.”
“Yeah!” the other Mexicans yelled.
“Well, I don’t care how much ‘Si’ men you have, there is only room enough for…” Bush started laughing. “Oh man; did you hear what I just said?”
Pedro laughed too. “That was funny, man.”
“Anyway, there’s only room enough for one President of the United States in this town!” Bush then stormed off.
“When we see you again,” Pedro shouted, “you better have an X-Box for us!”

“We have too many Mexicans now, and we have to do something about it,” Bush stated. “Capitulation didn’t work, so we need another solution.”
“More capitulation?” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan suggested.
“You’re only allowed to take notes, tubby!” Bush shouted. “No talking! Anyone else?”
“We have to make it clear to the American people that we hate Latinos,” Vice President Cheney said.
“But we don’t hate Latinos,” Bush answered. “We just don’t like having illegal immigration.”
“But I do hate Latinos!” Cheney turned to Attorney General Alberto Gonzales. “I hate you!”
“Go @#$% yourself!” Alberto replied.
“You stole my catch phrase, you thieving bandito!” Cheney leapt across the table at Alberto.
“Just remember how Texas was founded,” Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld suggested. “It was founded by shooting Mexicans. We need to shoot Mexicans!”
“We’re not shooting Mexicans!” Bush answered. He then turned to Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. “You’re the diplomat; what do you think we should do?”
Condi didn’t hear him, as she was busy listening to a tape and repeating Spanish phrases.
“Fine,” Bush said, “I’m calling the Mexican President.” Bush picked up the phone and dialed a number.
“Hola! El Presidente Vicente Fox speaking.”
“Hey, Vicki, come get your Mexicans!” Bush yelled.
“No! If they want to come to America, who am I to stop them?”
“If you were a better President and fixed the economy, they wouldn’t want to leave Mexico.”
“Yes, but just letting them leave to reduce unemployment is much easier than fixing the stupid economy.”
Bush growled. “You may be better than your predecessor, but you’re still a lousy president.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I make pottery in my spare time. You want to buy some?”
“No!”
“Come on, Dubya; you used to be cool. Buy some pottery.”
“Never!”

Vicente Fox stood out on a balcony to address his people. “I have just talked to the American President, and he said that America hates Mexico and Mexicans… and then he insulted my pottery! You all know what to do!”
“Let’s move to America!” everyone shouted.
“That will teach him to not buy my pottery!” Vicente laughed to himself.

“We used to be called the INS,” an older ICE agent explained to a rookie, “but now we’re called ICE.”
He paused for a moment as they watched thousands of Mexicans run across the border.
He turned back to the rookie. “Anyway, sometimes I still accidentally say INS. Old habits die hard.”

“Stupid gringo president,” Vicente grumbled to himself. “I can send as many Mexicans as I want into America.” He walked onto his balcony. “So who is best president?” he called out.
There was no answer. Vicente looked about and saw nothing but a tumbleweed moving through the city.
“Hola? Any Mexicans left?”
An older woman wearing a sun hat and a camera around her neck walked into view. “My name is Doris, and I came here for the tourism but can’t find any tour guides or any waiters. Can you give me a tour?”
“Hey, you want to be a Mexican citizen?” Vicente asked hopefully.
“No.”
Vicente hung his head. “No one wants to be a Mexican citizen.”

“The White House is full of Mexicans!” Bush exclaimed as he looked at everyone hanging out in White House drinking tequila and throwing burrito wrappers everywhere. The phone then rang. “This better be about the Mexicans!” Bush answered.
“It is!” Vicente replied. “There’s no one left in Mexico for me to be president of! Even the chupacabra is gone!”
“The chupacabra is here!” Bush exclaimed. He then turned to his wife. “Honey, make sure our goats still have blood!”
“Please send me back some of my citizens!” Vicente pleaded.
“I’ll try.” Bush hung up and looked to the interlopers. “Hey, Mexicans, your president says you have to go home now.”
“But we like it here,” Pedro answered as he took something out of Bush’s living room.
“That’s my XBox 360!” Bush yelled.
“Not anymore, gringo,” Pedro said as he and his friends left.
“Aww, this has worked out horrible,” Bush groaned. “Vicki has no citizens to rule, and I have no XBox 360. We’re both miserable.”
“This should be a lesson to you,” Laura Bush said, taking a break from picking up the burrito wrappers. “When you capitulate on an issue, no one is happy.”
“The guys who took my XBox are happy.”
“Well… sometimes lessons are complicated.”
Bush stood up with a look of resolve. “I’m going to go throw a rock through one of their windows!” He marched off.
Laura sighed and went back to picking up burrito wrappers. “Yeah, that’ll solve it.”

“What’s Senator Feingold up to?” President Bush asked Condoleezza Rice.
“He asking the Senate to censure you.”
“Oh no!” Bush exclaimed as he covered his groin.
Condi rolled her eyes. “Do you know what ‘censure’ means?”
Bush was silent for a moment. “Well, do you?”
“What censure means is that the Senate will publicly berate you.” Bush stared at Condi blankly. “Say you are bad, that is,” Condi added.
“What I do bad?” Bush asked. “Did I say ‘nuclear’ wrong again?”
“You always say it wrong, but the censure is because Feingold says your wiretapping of Al Qaeda suspects is illegal.”
Bush snapped a pencil in anger. “He’s illegal! Who elects these whiny losers that are the Democrats anyway? I can’t imagine any self-respecting man voting for these eunuchs who worry so much about the poor terrorists getting wire-tapped. The men who vote for them must be gay… and I mean really really gay.” Bush perked up for a second. “Hey, maybe we could use that as a campaign slogan this year!”
Condi sighed. “Why don’t you run it by Karl Rove.”
“I need to go to the Senate and stop this,” Bush said and started to head out of the White House. He then stopped. “Where does the Senate meet again?”
“The Capitol Building.”
“Is that the tall pointy one?”
“That’s the Washington Monument.”
“Uh… the one with the giant stone man?”
“That’s the Lincoln Memorial.”
“Then is it the flat, watery one?”
“That’s the reflection pool between the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.”
Bush thought for a moment. “It’s not the place with the dinosaur bones is it, because those big zombie lizards scare me?”
“You want the big building with the dome, Mr. President.”
“Thanks, Condi!” Bush said as he began to leave again. “To the big building with the dome!”

“I want you to stop this censuring!” Bush demanded to Senator Frist.
“It doesn’t have a chance of passing,” Frist said. “I’m trying to force a vote on it to embarrass the Democrats, but they’re not letting me.”
Bush slapped Frist. “That doesn’t sound like someone with Presidential ambitions to me. If you want it, make it happen!”
Frist thought for a moment. “There is one thing I can do…”
Frist marched over to Senator Reid. “I demand a vote on the censure.”
“Well, we all need more time to read the language and…”
“You will vote now!” Frist shouted. “I invoke the ancient Senatorial right of Kal-if-tor!”
Reid stood up straight. “You do not dare!”
“I dare!” Frist produced two curved blades and tossed one to Reid. “Whoever’s blood is spilt first, must cede!”
“So be it, fool! Aiaiaiaiai!” Reid shrieked as he charged Frist, swinging his weapon wildly. The blades clashed and sparks flew. They continued clashing for a couple minutes, destroying desks with missed swings as the rest of the Senate chanted, “Kal-if-tor! Kal-if-tor! Kal-if-tor!” Finally, Frist connected with a devastating slice, and Reid fell to the ground, blood spraying everywhere.
“Your power and your vote are mine!” Frist spat down at Reid. He then raised his blade in victory. “The vote on censure will commence!”
“But I need more time to…” Senator Feingold started to say, but was silenced when Frist punched him in the face.
“Quiet! Kal-if-tor says we vote now!”
“If we vote for censure, we could look bad on national security,” the Democrats whispered among themselves.
Soon, the vote was over. “One votes yea; ninety-nine vote nay,” Frist announced, “Censure is defeated!”
“I demand vengeance!” Bush shouted, pointing at Feingold. “He is a dingus, and he must pay for his dingussery!”
“Then I propose that Feingold will be beaten with sticks for the high crime of being a dingus,” Frist told the Senate. He then raised his blade in the air again. “We vote now!”
“If we don’t vote to have Feingold beaten with sticks, we could look bad on national security,” the Democrats whispered among themselves.
Soon, the vote was over. “Ninety-nine vote yea; one votes nay,” Frist announced, “Feingold will be beaten with sticks!”
The Senators all grabbed their beating sticks and descended upon the shrieking and crying Feingold and began to pummel him. Bush found a table leg and tried to join, but Frist stopped him. “Haven’t you read the Constitution?” Frist asked.
“I tried once, but it was boring.”
“Only Senators may join in a Senatorial stick beating. You are allowed to stand back and cheer us on, though.”
“Okay.” Bush started jumping and yelling, “Kill! Kill! Kill!” He then paused for a moment. “I wonder why my poll numbers aren’t higher? I sure like me!”