“Well, place looks just like I remember her,” Bush Sr. said, taking a look around while he entered the White House.
“I remember it being tidier,” Barbara Bush said and then looked to Laura, “You need to keep it clean in here to give a good impression to the tourists.”
“It’s is clean,” Laura asserted angrily, “and they haven’t had tours of the Whitehouse because of 9-11.”
“Maybe they just told you it was because of 9-11,” Barbara said, “but I bet it really was because people were getting embarrassed of the appearance of the White House.”
Laura looked to her husband to do something. “Mom and Dad, it’s great to see you two!” Dubya exclaimed, “I gotta show you the new HDTV; they didn’t have that during your term.”
“Very nice. We can watch a football game,” Bush Sr. said.
“And that will give me time to show you how to properly decorate,” Barbara told Laura.
Laura just steamed silently.
“We need to talk,” Scott McClellan said, approaching Dubya.
“Who’s this dork?” Bush Sr. asked.
“That’s my new White House Press Secretary,” Dubya told him, “I sure miss Ari, because he’s such a dweeb.”
“I’m standing right here,” Scott said angrily.
“I know,” Dubya answered, rolling his eyes, “What do you want?”
“There are allegations that you’ve been funneling money away from lunches for underprivileged school children to help fund baby seal clubbing.”
“Man, I was hoping that story wouldn’t break for a couple more months,” Dubya said, “Just give the press the standard line.”
“Standard line?” Scott repeated, confused.
“Yeah, the standard line.”
“What’s that?”
Bush groaned. He then fetched a handgun from a nearby drawer. “If the press keep on asking questions, threatening to murder them all.”
“Threaten to murder them all?” Scott said with surprise as he took the gun.
“There you got it,” Dubya declared, and then handed Scott another clip, “Here, you’ll need more ammo to back up your threat.”
“I’m not actually supposed to kill them, am I?”
“Do I have to explain everything to you?” Dubya asked angrily, “Now shoo! I’m talking to my parents.”
“I don’t think that throw rug goes with the room,” Barbara told Laura.
“Thanks for your opinion,” Laura said, holding back her anger. She then looked to Dubya. “Can we talk for a moment, honey?”
“Sure, dear,” Dubya answered, the two of them moving out of earshot of his parents.
“You’re mother won’t stop criticizing me,” Laura said sternly.
“Well, maybe she has a point about you not being a very good wife,” Dubya offered.
Laura thought about that for a moment and then responded.
“Ahh! My groin! I need that from time to time!” Dubya yelled as he collapsed to the ground. He then recovered and stood back up. “Come on, Laura; I know you’re smart enough to know not to ask me for advice.”
“I don’t want your advice; I want you to try and do something about it.”
“Okay,” Dubya said, and walked back toward his parents.
“So where are my grandkids?” Barbara asked.
“Hell if I know,” Dubya answered, shrugging his shoulders.
“They’re at college right now,” Laura said.
Condoleezza Rice now approached. “Something important has come up.”
“Is this your maid,” Bush Sr. asked.
“No, she’s my National Security Advisor,” Dubya told him, “She’s really smart.”
“Having a black woman on your staff – that’s very forward thinking of you son,” Bush Sr. praised Dubya.
“You never told me you were black,” Dubya said to Condi with surprise.
“Don’t worry; I know how to talk to her, son,” Bush Sr. remarked. He then turned to Condi. “So what’s the dealio, sistah-girl?”
Condi took a deep breath and unclenched her fist. “Crazed General Wesley Clark is causing trouble on the West Coast,” she said, “As part of his campaign, he’s attacking everyone with his army of cybernetic, ninja monkeys.”
They turned on a T.V. There stood Clark, riding atop a tank. “Muh ha ha ha!” he laughed as destruction reigned about him. “Soon I will have the nomination. Then the White House will be mine! And then the world! Muh ha ha ha!”
“I don’t think that cape is standard military issue,” Dubya remarked.
“Should we do something?” Condi asked.
“Bah; the West Coast is like hundreds of miles away,” Dubya said.
“It’s just standard Democrat primary antics,” Bush Sr. commented, “It’ll all stop when it’s sure who’s got the nomination.” He then looked to son. “Could we talk privately for a moment?”
Dubya led his father to the Oval Office. “I’m glad you followed in your father’s footsteps, boy,” Bush Sr. said, “but I hoped things would have been easier for you. Instead, you got all this terrorism to deal with.”
“I’m handling it,” Dubya assured, “I have a good staff.”
“Great. You know, a father always wants things to be better for his son. What I’m saying is that I want you to be a two-termer and not make the same mistakes as your old man. So, are you going to get Saddam?”
“He’s out of power, and we’re hunting him down.”
“And are you also taking care of the economy?”
“We’ve cut taxes and things are improving.”
“That’s a good boy,” Bush Sr. said, patting Dubya on the head.
“Thanks for explaining to me how everything I do is wrong,” Laura said with a forced smile as she entered the room along with Barbara.
Suddenly Condi came running in the room followed by Zatoichi. “The White House is under attack by terrorists!” she exclaimed.
“Awww!” Bush moaned, “and when my parents are visiting.”
“Who’s that guy?” Bush Sr. asked, looking at Ichi.
“He’s a blind samurai we hired as a Secret Service agent because of the People with Disabilities Act.”
“Back when I was president, we had enough money to hire better protection than a blind Chinaman,” Bush Sr. remarked.
“I’m Japanese,” Ichi shot back harshly.
“He’s really good,” Dubya assured his father, “but I think we’ll need more help for this.” Dubya picked up the phone. “Agent Smith, we’re under attack. Get the Secret Service to handle it.”
“I’m afraid right now it’s are union mandated fifteen minute break,” Agent Smith answered, “If we do work while it’s supposed to be break time, we’ll get in big trouble with the union.”
“Why did the Secret Service have to unionize?” Dubya grumbled as he slammed down the phone. “Ichi-san, will you help us?”
“Five ryo,” he answered.
“But you took all my ryo yesterday in that dice game!” Dubya exclaimed.
“I have some Spanish doubloons in my purse if that helps,” Barbara said.
“Offer accepted,” Ichi remarked, drawing the sword from his cane.
“Instead of just relying on a blind swordsman, I also stored some automatic rifles in here for just such an incident,” Laura said, opening a closet that was full of weaponry.
“Wow! You even have a spare cowboy hat,” Dubya said, taking the hat and putting it on.
Barbara took a rifle. “You really should have coated these in oil a bit more before you stored them.”
“That’s important for gun care,” Condi remarked.
“Don’t you get on my case too!” Laura shouted angrily as she chambered a round in her M-16.
Zatoichi listened carefully. “The terrorists are almost on us.”
Father and son stood next to each other holding rifles. “Bring it on.”

“What an eventful past couple hours,” Bush Sr. remarked.
“Quite a battle it was,” Dubya said, “One for the record books.”
“I’ll need to get my sword sharpened,” Ichi commented.
“And it sure was a surprise to find out who was behind the terrorist attack all along,” Barbara said.
“That was surprising,” Condi remarked.
“And it’s interesting how events came together to bring a better understanding between Barbara and me so now that we’re best friends,” Laura said.
“That was quite interesting,” Dubya commented.
“And I didn’t know you could disco dance like that, son,” Bush Sr. said to Dubya.
“When the honor of Outer-Mongolia is at stake, there is little I can’t do,” Dubya stated firmly.
“I’m also glad how all this taught me the true meaning of International Talk Like a Pirate Day,” Condi said, “To think I had been so obsessed with just the commercialism of that holiday.”
“I think we all learned many important things from those highly eventfully past couple hours,” Bush declared, “More than we can just casually remark about right now.”
Scott came running up towards them, covered in blood. “Well, I killed all the press.”
“What!” Dubya exclaimed in horror, “You were just supposed to threaten them!”
Scott started laughing. “I’m just covered in paint. I’d thought I’d play a joke on you like you do on me so we’d be like friends and all.”
“I’LL MURDER YOU FOR TRICKING ME!” Dubya screamed, grabbing Scott by the throat and shaking him, “I’M THE @%*& PRESIDENT! YOU DON’T DO THIS TO ME!”
Bush Sr. chuckled. “That’s my boy!”

“Why are you filming the G.I.’s helping school children?” CNN’s Lefty Stevens asked Fox News’s Melinda Hawkish, “There’s no story there.”
“I think people would be interested in how war and destruction has improved the lives of the Iraqis,” Melinda answered.
“Bah! Only stories of failure are news worthy,” Stevens answered. Nearby he saw a troop fall to the ground, and he and his cameraman quickly rushed over to film him. “Yet another troop has fallen in this burgeoning quagmire,” Stevens narrated.
“I’m alright,” said Private Gomer, standing up, “I just done tripped on a rock.”
“Dammit!” Stevens exclaimed, “Well scream for us if you are more seriously wounded.”
“Alrighty.”
“What’s wrong with those people?” Buck the Marine asked Melinda.
“They’re just CNN; don’t mind them,” Melinda answered, “So are you ready to show us what you’ve done here?”
“Well… uh… I don’t know if you’re dressed properly,” Buck said, “You might offend the Muslims.”
“But I wore a veil,” Melinda protested.
“Yeah… uh… but not much else.”
“Well, it’s so damn hot here,” Melinda answered.
Some Iraqi men walking buy shouted some thing in Arabic while smiling and whistling at Melinda.
“The Iraqis are so nice,” Melinda smiled, “Anyway, Buck, tell our viewers what you have done for the Iraqi children.”
“Well, since we got a break ‘tween kill’n, we helped them little Iraqi kids by fixing up their school and building them a playground with swings and a teeter-totter and one of them twirly things to make them kids dizzy.”
“We love big American!” shouted one of the kids.
“We love candy, too!” said another.
Buck laughed and tossed the kids some Jolly Ranchers. “We got tons of these candies here,” Buck explained to Melinda, “These Jolly Ranchers are like the only things that won’t melt in the 120 degree weather. Frankly, I’m sick of the damn things, but the kids can’t seem to get enough of them.”
“More candy!” demanded another kid.
Buck laughed. “Don’t worry, little for’ners, we have plenty more… Ow! One of them kids bit me!”
“Quagmire!” Stevens yelled as his cameraman filmed.
“Calm down kids,” Buck told everyone, “There is plenty of candy for everyone.”
“Can I be a big Marine like you, American?” one of the children asked.
“Aww,” Buck answered, “America will make sure you can be anything you want. Now you kids go play in your playground, but be careful; life is not all candy and biting Buck. There are still evil for’ners afoot. And what do you do to evil for’ners?”
“Kill them!” all the Iraqi kids shouted in union.
A tear almost came to Buck’s eye. “That’s some good kids.”

“Since the big American says I can be anything I want,” said an Iraqi boy as he sat on one end of the teeter-totter, “I’m going to own a big corporation. I’m then going to downsize everyone to drive up the value of my stock.”
“I’m going to become an actress,” said the Iraqi girl on the other end of the teeter-totter, “and I’m going to use my fame to speak out about politics even though I’m an idiot.”
Suddenly Baathist thugs came up and knocked them off the teeter-totter. Then they blew it up. “That is what happens to everything made by the American invaders!” yelled one of the Baath party members.
The children started crying. “We’ll tell the big American and he’ll stab you with his knife!” one yelled.
“Muh ha ha ha! No one can stop us!” the thugs laughed as they ran away.

“They blew up the teeter-totter!” Buck exclaimed, barely containing his anger.
“There’s three others,” one soldier said.
“But that was the best one!”
The kids nodded in agreement.
Private Gomer came by rubbing his head. “Someone done hit me on the head.”
“But you were supposed to guard the supply of Jolly Ranchers!” Buck said. He ran to the Jolly Rancher silo. It was empty.
“What was your one job, Private Gomer?” Buck asked angrily.
“To guard the Jolly Ranchers,” Private Gomer answered, looking at his feet.
“And what happened to the Jolly Ranchers?”
“They got stolen,” Priavte Gomer answered, “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize to them little for’ner kids,” Buck told him.
The kids started crying. “No more candy?” asked one tearful youth.
“We’ll see about that,” Buck answered.
“A teeter-totter destroyed and their candy gone, this war has quickly descended into and unending quagmire,” Left Stevens narrated in front of a camera.
“I’ll avenge that teeter-totter and get back that candy or I’m not Buck the Marine,” Buck swore, “There are more things I distribute than candy.” He then chambered a round into his rifle, ejecting the round that was already chambered. “Oh yeah.”

“Now I can film a Marine in action and show how well things are going here,” Melinda said, following Buck with a camera.
“Bah!” Stevens answered, “We’re going to film him being yet another casualty proving how horribly this occupation is going.”
“Quiet you too,” Buck said, slowly moving across the landscape, “I sense foreignness in the air.”
There was a sudden ambush, and, just as suddenly, Buck ended it with fire from his M-16. “Ooh-rah!”
“Yay America!” Melinda yelled.
“Boo!” Lefty Stevens called out.
“The scent of watermelon flavored Jolly Ranchers is unmistakable,” Buck said, “They went into that cave over yonder.”
Buck entered the cave followed by the two reporters. Buck was soon attacked, but the resistance was nothing for an experienced Marine. He killed the enemy so quickly he didn’t even feel the need to shout, “Ooh-rah!” in triumph.
“When is he going to get killed?” Stevens exclaimed with exasperation.
Soon they came to large room. Buck crept in carefully, but suddenly light went on and he was surrounded by evil Baathists. “Time to film his death,” a voice called out. At the front of the room stood Christiane Amanpour.
“It’s the war slut!” Melinda yelled.
“Funny words coming from a reporter wearing a bikini,” Amanpour answered.
“And a veil,” Melinda said defensively.
“What are you doing here?” Buck demanded.
A new figure came to stand by Amanpour – one with a bushy mustache. It was Saddam Hussein! “She has agreed to help me get back in power to show what a failure the Bush administration is,” Saddam said, “Then she gets the exclusive. First, though, we kill one more American do-gooder!”
“Wow! So this is how objective journalist do things!” Stevens exclaimed as he backed away to film the action.
“We’re surrounded!” Melinda said, “Do you know what to do?”
“According to the Marine kill’n manual,” Buck answered, “when surrounded you kill everyone… in a circle.”
Buck dropped to the ground as he tossed grenades to each side. Confused by the explosions, Buck then began picking off the enemy with his M-16 as they fired uselessly at him. Buck then set his sights on Saddam.
“You’re going to be know as Saddam Who-dead!” Buck yelled as he charged the former dictator.
“Uh oh!” Saddam yelled as he ducked into a secret passage way. Once Buck got there, all he could see was the flame of an advanced propulsion system.
“Damn Baathists and their rocket cars,” Buck grumbled. He then turned to Amanpour. “You got some answering to do, little lady. Conspiring with the enemy, trying to get a Marine killed – why that has to be one of the least ethical things the left-wing media has done in… well… two or three days.”
“More like eight hours,” Melinda stated, “You need watch more news.”
“Don’t have time with all my kill’n duties,” Buck answered.
“I was just trying to tell the truth,” Amanpour said, “without being intimidated by the Bush administration.” She then looked to Melinda Hawkish. “Or Fox News.”
“I never tried to intimidate you!” Melinda yelled angrily, “I’ll strangle you for saying that!”
Amanpour shrieked and ran away.
Buck now located the stockpile of stolen Jolly Ranchers. “That will make the kids happy.” He then turned to Lefty Stevens. “I hope you learned something about being a more ethical journalist.”
“I haven’t learned anything,” Stevens asserted, “That’s why I work for CNN.”

“Yay big American!” the Iraqi children shouted, “Yay candy!”
“Big American kill all bad people!” said one child proudly.
“Time to get to rebuilding that teeter-totter,” Buck said, picking up some tools.
“So how does it make you feel to see all these happy children,” Melinda asked, holding out her microphone towards Buck.
“Seeing their joyous smiles makes me a happy Marine,” Buck said, “So happy… well… so happy I want to kill evil people.” He thought for a moment. “Oh wait, I always want to kill evil people. Ooh-rah!”