“Republicans are crooks and liars,” John Kerry announced in a haughty tone at a press conference.
“You’re the liar!” Bush shouted at the T.V.
“And foreign leaders all think I should be president,” Kerry continued.
“That’s a damn dirty lie,” Bush yelled, shaking his fist, “Everyone hates you!”
“And his biker gang the Warmongerers are too chicken to take on my biker gang, The Hell’s Democrats.”
“That’s the biggest lie of all!” Bush screamed, jumping out of his chair.
“And one more thing,” Kerry said, “it’s worth mentioning that I served in Vietnam.”
“That part might be true,” Bush admitted, “but the rest is lies, and you know what that means we need to do…”
“We should have a press conference to repudiate him?” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan suggested.
“Someone hit him,” Bush said. Rumsfeld obliged. “What we need to do is get our biker gang back together and then trash Boston to draw out John Kerry. Then, I bash in his lying face!”
“That sounds pretty illegal,” Scott said.
“That’s what pardons are for, dweeb,” Bush answered, “You’re such a whiner, Skippy; the only reason we keep you in this biker gang is we need a fourth person to draw off gunfire from the police.” Bush looked to Cheney. “You ready, Chainman Charlie?”
“Big time!” Cheney answered as he swung a chain in the air.
“How about you Mad Dog?”
“If it involves destruction, I’m always ready,” Rumsfeld announced.
“And are you through whining, Skippy,” Bush asked Scott.
“Am I going to have to have a green mohawk again?” Scott inquired.
“Absolutely.”
Laura Bush then entered the room and saw everyone readying weaponry and leather jackets. “You aren’t all planning on participating in some biker gang violence, are you?” she asked suspiciously.
“No dear,” Bush answered, hiding his tire iron behind his back, “We’re just uh… what do politicians do… we’re making a bill.”
“Isn’t that the job of the Legislative Branch?” she asked skeptically.
“The what branch now?” Bush said with confusion. He then pulled out his wallet and handed Laura some money. “Here honey; go buy yourself some shoes.”
“Well I would like some new shoes.” Laura then gave a stern look to everyone. “But I’m going to keep my eye on you.” She then walked out of the room.
“Whew… that was close,” Bush sighed.
“You need to learn to keep your woman in line,” Rumsfeld growled.
“Whatever,” Bush answered. “To the bike depository!”

Now in leather jackets and jeans, the four members of the Warmongerers prepped their bikes. “Skippy,” Rumsfeld called out to Scott, “I need to take my dog on this trip. He’s going to ride with you. He doesn’t like it if you go too fast or too slow; it makes him angry. If you’re going to wrong speed, he’ll bite you painfully. If you’re going to right speed, he’ll bite you less painfully.”
Chomps jumped up on the bike behind Scott and growled in his ear. “Eep.”
Condoleezza Rice and Colin Powell then walked into the garage. “What are you guys doing?” Condi asked.
“We’re going to go trash Boston to get back at Kerry for all his lies,” Bush explained, “You two can be in charge of America and thus the world while we’re gone.”
“Fine,” Condi answered, “Have fun.”
The four rode off on their bikes, Scott screaming all the way as Chomps bit into his shoulder. “So what should we do?” Condi mused.
“We could work on plans for the reconstruction of Iraq,” Powell suggested.
“That’s boring.”
“We could check on intelligence about al Qaeda.”
“I already did that this morning.”
“We could use our temporary power to make the white man pay for his injustice against the black race.”
Condi shrugged her shoulders. “Eh… I guess so.”

“Rarr!” Rumsfeld yelled as he smashed the window of a car with his baseball bat. Chomps then ripped a tire off the car with his teeth.
“Time to give this town a heart attack!” Cheney shouted as he drove his bike over some parked cars.
“Yee-haw!” Bush screamed as he waved his cowboy hat in one hand while chasing down some Bostonians with his bike.
“It’s a violent bikah gang!” exclaimed one Bostonian, “We shouldn’t have pahked our cah here!”
“Come on!” Bush yelled to Scott who stood idly by, “Create some havoc.”
Scott carefully got off his bike and picked up a beer bottle. He then tossed it, but it hit the ground without shattering.
“Dingus,” Bush sighed.
They then heard the sound of other bikes. Driving up towards the Warmongerers were The Hell’s Democrats – Governor Howard Dean, a.ka. The Dean, Representative Richard Gephardt, a.k.a Dick the Knife, Senator Ted Kennedy a.k.a. Big Fat Teddy K, and Senator John Kerry, a.k.a. By the Way I Served in Vietnam. “This ain’t your town, Tex!” Kerry called out, “Just like towns in Vietnam weren’t mine.”
They all stopped their bikes and dismounted. “Thought you’d guys would be too scared to show up,” Bush answered.
“There’s a lot of action going on here,” Big Fat Teddy K said, “so shouldn’t you be in Alabama?” He then swallowed a whole roasted chicken.
“No one insults me like that!” Bush screamed. He then turned to Scott. “Teach him a lesson.”
Scott was bewildered. “Teach him a…”
“Grerawerr!” Big Fat Teddy K snarled as he charged Scott.
“Eep.”
Gephardt pulled out his switchblade. “I’m finally going to get to cut me some ‘publicans!”
“Bring it on, Dicky!” Cheney yelled, pulling his chain between his two hands.
“I’m going punch you guys in the stomachs!” Dean yelled, “And then the kidneys!
And then the neck! And then the face! AND THEN I’M GOING TO STOMP ON YOU WHILE YOU’RE DOWN! YEAGH!!!”
“You’re all talk and large veins protruding through your neck!” Rumsfeld answered.
“What this is really between is me and that lying Kerry,” Bush asserted, “Having Scott pummeled by Big Fat Teddy K isn’t proving anything. It’s me and the haughty, aloof French-looking man that need to rumble!”
“You make think I’m haughty and aloof,” Kerry answered, “but I’m with the common man enough to know how to be a violent biker.” He then turned to his butler. “Jeeves, my biker boots are dirty.”
“I’ll fix them for you sir,” the butler said as he dusted Kerry’s boots.
“And, I served in Vietnam!” Kerry said threateningly to Bush.
“You and all your wife’s ketchup money don’t frighten me!” Bush answered, “Time to prove you a liar and knock the French-lookingness and possibly some Botulism right out of you!”
“Enough talk!” Rumsfeld yelled, “Back in my day, presidential candidates settled disputes with a nice death race.”
“I’m game!’ Kerry exclaimed.
“So am I,” Bush stated as Scott flew overhead.

“This is Melinda Hawkish of Fox News, bringing you live the first of three scheduled presidential death races. Each candidate will get an opening statement. They will then race towards the edge of a cliff on their motorcycles while trying to kill each other. Only the winner will get a closing statement.”

“I’m severely injured,” Scott told Bush weakly.
Bush rolled his eyes as he got on his bike. “It’s always something with you, Scott. Hey, when Big Fat Teddy K threw you, Chomps caught you.”
“Yeah, and then shook me around like a play toy.”
“That’s just his way of saying he likes you,” Rumsfeld said.
“Likes you in pain!” Cheney laughed.
“Good one!” Rumsfeld rejoined.
“That’s not…” Scott started to say, but then Chomps bit his leg. “Ahhh!”
Kerry rode up beside Bush. “Ready to die… just like people died when I was in Vietnam?”
“Let’s see what you got!” Bush answered, shaking his tire iron in the air.
“Jeeves, hand me my death race polo club.”
“Certainly, sir.” Kerry’s butler answered as he handed over the club.
“Senator Kerry, you get the first opening statement,” Melinda Hawkish said as she held her mike out to Kerry.
“Bush will not survive today,” Kerry stated, “He will perish, and many foreign leaders are rooting for me to kill him. After he is dead, I will make a necklace from his ears, just like I did in Vietnam.”
“And your statement, President Bush?”
“I’ll murder you dead, Kerry! And if there really are any foreign leaders who support you, I’ll hunt them down and assassinate them!”
“That concludes the opening statements,” Melinda said, “Now the race begins.”
Both Bush and Kerry drove their motorcycles towards the cliff at full speed. Kerry swung his polo club at Bush while he defended with his tire iron. They fought viciously for a little bit, but then Bush took a confused glance towards the cliff. “Wait a sec,” he said, “The idea is not to die right? We’re not racing to off the cliff, are we?”
“Only the loser is supposed to go off the cliff,” Kerry answered, “One of us is supposed to brake before then… I think.”
“But our brakes were disabled as part of the death race.”
“Hey, I thought you were supposed to know how this worked.”
“I was just going to follow your lead,” Bush answered.
The cliff quickly approached.
“Swerve out of the way!” Kerry yelled. Bush turned his bike, smacking into Kerry. “Not into me!”
“Bail!” Bush shouted as he jumped off the motorcycle. Kerry was stuck, and he and the two bikes went off the cliff.
“Tell my wife I served in Vietnaaaaaaam!” he yelled as he fell.
Bush got off the ground and shot his arms into the air as the flames of an explosion shot up behind him. “I think I won!”

“Even worse than Kerry being horribly burned,” Bush said, “he now knows he was wrong about whatever it was he said that started this in the first place.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Cheney answered.
“I’m out of whiskey!” Rumsfeld stated angrily as he looked in his whiskey flask.
“Why won’t Chomps stop biting me!” Scott cried as Chomps dragged him across the ground.
“1596, 1598,” Bush said as he walked down the street, “1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. I’m home!” He stared through the gates for a moment. “Why is the Whitehouse painted black?”