“Now that the war has lasted more than a week, will you admit that it’s hopeless and apologize to the American people?”
The sound of a luger firing was the immediate response. “I can’t stand any more of these questions!” Rumsfeld shouted, frantically checking his pockets. “Where’s that extra clip!”
“Now that resistance is stronger than we reporters expected, is America starting to draw up plans to surrender to Iraq?”
“Rarrr!” Rumsfeld shouted as he tossed his gun at the reporter’s head, knocking him unconscious. “I can’t believe we involved you idiots in something as serious as a war. If they did it my way, we would never have told the press about the war. Would have just framed another celebrity for murder to distract you all while we invaded Iraq in secret.”
“You wouldn’t be able to keep something like that from the press!” declared a reporter proudly, “We’re too smart and investigative for that!”
“Ha! Then how come none of the embedded reporters have figured out they’re just be driven around in circles in a desert in Nevada? As even one of them noticed that the ‘Iraqis’ they see surrendering are just Mexicans we hired?” Rumsfeld then slapped his head. “Damn, didn’t mean to say that; I need more sleep.” He turned to Condoleezza Rice. “Dr. Rice, give me that new memory eraser you were working on.”
“It’s not done yet. You’ll have to use the old one.” She handed him a baseball bat.
Rumsfeld held it over his head, ready to strike. “Now everyone stand still or this won’t work right.”
“We didn’t hear anything! We didn’t hear anything!” pleaded the reporters.
“Fine,” Rumsfeld said, dropping the bat and taking some pills out of jacket pocket, “Dr. Rice, you take over. I’m going take some of my rage medication.”
Rice then took the floor. “I want to assure you that, despite your own idiotic opinions, this war is going to plan. So, anymore questions?”
“Why are two press seats used up by a chimpanzee and a robot?”
“We’re doing some preliminary testing of whether we can replace reporters with either monkeys or robots,” Rice explained. “Please just ignore them.”
“I don’t like the robot idea,” Rumsfeld commented, “It’s bulletproof.”
The chimpanzee then raised his hand. “Bobo, what’s your question?” Rice asked.
Bobo then bit the reporter next to him.
“Bobo, that’s not a question! Bad monkey!” Rice scolded as Rumsfeld laughed.
The robot then lifted one of its metal claws into the air. “Go ahead and ask your question, Killbot 4000,” Rice urged.
“When will the weak humans be destroyed?” it asked in a synthesized voice.
“I keep telling you reporters that we’re not putting a time table on this war!” Rice answered angrily.
“I definitely like the monkey better,” Rumsfeld commented.
“He’s still attacking me!” yelled a reporter, fleeing from Bobo who was now trying to beat the man with a folding chair.
“Monkey funny!” Rumsfeld laughed.
“The pills must have kicked in,” Rice remarked.
“All humans must die!” the robot interjected.
“Hey!” protested another reporter, “It’s no longer your turn to ask ques…” He was cut short as the robot’s claw clamped around his neck.
“Killbot destroy puny humans!” the robot declared as it lifted the reporter into the air.
“On second thought, I do like that robot’s moxy,” Rumsfeld commented. “Hey, Condi, let’s go hit some bars while planning more military operations.”
“Alright,” Rice said, watching the chaos on the press floor, “but we better give the cleaning staff a heads up first.”