“War could be any day now.” Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld exclaimed, “I’ve told my troops to start killing a few Iraqis each day to warm up.”
“Shouldn’t you be solemn and reserved about the horrible prospective of war?” asked a reporter.
When the pistol-whipping was over, another reporter asked a question. “You seem to say you’re willing to go to war without the help of the British. Is this true?”
“Iraqis continue to breathe air each day, and this is an insult to us all. I can’t be expected to wait for anyone before I begin to end this atrocity. The way we kill them will probably be too bloody for those crumpet eaters to stand, anyway.”
“Are you concerned about the U.N. Security Council vetoing the new resolution?”
“Let me be clear: the U.N. is dead to me, and, if I have my way, it will soon be dead to everyone. That said, anyone who vetoes something the U.S. supports vetoes their own life. The children of tomorrow will sing many sad songs about those who oppose us today.”
“Did you see that 60 Minutes segment with President Clinton and Senator Dole on Sunday?”
“No, but I shot the first reporter who asked me about it,” Rumsfeld said as he drew his luger and shot the reporter. “For the last time, keep your questions about war!”
“Aren’t you afraid that our new belligerent attitude might have a bad affect on kids these days?”
“Poppycock. Kids these days need to be tougher. I keep hearing about how kids can’t even bring a knife into school anymore. Back in my day, we had a rifle club at our elementary school, well stocked with ammo. Good thing too, because it was the only way we survived that onslaught on ten thousand Zulu warriors who attacked us one year. We kept firing on them, and they kept coming as if there was no end to them. Eventually, we ran out of ammo and had to resort to pegging the Zulus with dodge balls. Lost my best friend that day when he chucked one and a Zulu caught it. It was a horrible day, but the teacher sill didn’t delay the math test I hadn’t studied for.”
“Anyway, I think it’s time for my presentation now,” National Security Advisor Condoleezza Rice said, stepping forward. “I guess you have all now heard of our 21,000 pound MOAB.” A picture appeared on screen of one of the bombs. “This is one that is about to dropped on a real target in a new attempt to intimidate the Iraqis.”
“Where is it being dropped?”
“That’s classified.”
“Why’s it say ‘Veto this, you frogs.’ on the front of it?”
“That’s also classified.” A dummy was brought out that looked like Saddam Hussein. “Here is our new assassination device,” Rice explained, placing a spider like robot on the ground. “It zooms in on the target’s voice pattern.”
Inside the dummy, a tape player was started. “I am Saddam. I like hiding weapons of mass destruction. The French are my friends.” With a loud screech, the robot jumped on to the face of the dummy and exploded.
“I was the one who decided to make it screech,” Rice said proudly. “So you can get a better look at these, we have now filled the press room floor with them.” The reporters looked down, and indeed the floor was swarming with little spider robots.
“Is there any chance they could attack the wrong person?” asked a very frightened reporter.
Rice thought about that for a moment. “That’s a good question. I’ll look into it.”
Another reporter started to speak, but a loud screech followed by an explosion was heard.
“Uh oh,” Rice uttered, “Everyone better just keep real quiet right now.”
Rumsfeld watched all the reporters standing completely still and silent. “This is the best press conference ever. Well, I’m going to go grab a scotch and see if my war’s started yet. Condi, you try and clean this up without killing too many reporters.”
“Cleaning is the janitor’s job. Why don’t I just lock the doors and call it a test case?”
“Have fun!” Rumsfeld said to the reporters as he and Rice went through the back exit of the room, “If you have any more questions about whether this war is unjust, ask them to the spiders.”