“Why does it look like President Bush’s Social Security plans won’t be passed?” asked a reporter, “Is it because you’re so fat?”
“I’m not fat!” White House Press Secretary Scott McClellan exclaimed, “And the Social Security plans will be passed.”
“Is it because you’re in denial of being fat then?”
“Argh!” Scott exclaimed and stormed away. “The press are being mean to me!” he yelled as he entered the White House. He then noticed Bush was spraying the interior with something. “What are you doing?”
“I’m spraying the White House with monkey poison,” he explained, “I’m pretty sure a monkey bit me while I was sleeping, and I don’t want any monkeys in my house.”
“A monkey did not bite you!” Laura Bush exclaimed, “You just imagined it!”
Bush kept spraying. “I can’t take that chance!”
“I need some advice on how to deal with these mean, stupid reporters.”
“I’m busy,” Bush answered, “Ask Rummy.”
“Rumsfeld, I need some advi…”
An empty whiskey bottle broke against his face.
“Ahh! Sorry!” Scott yelled as he clutched his wound. He then saw Condoleezza Rice walking by. “Could you help me with…”
A knee to the groin dropped Scott. “Busy,” Condi said as she kept walking by.
“Hah hah,” came a laugh from nearby, “If you only had more respect, you could be a door mat.”
Scott looked up to see Zatoichi, blind swordsman, standing above him and poking Scott with his cane. “I thought we fired you,” Scott answered.
“I never saw a pink slip,” Ichi answered, “Hah hah.”
“Can you help me, Ichi-san?” Scott answered as he stood back up.
“You are the one who can help you the most,” Ichi answered, “but you are dumb and fat, so I help you anyway. Hah hah.”
“What can I do?”
“You must train to gain respect. I will send you on journey – great mystic quest – and you will emerge from it a true Press Secretary.”
“Why’s everything with you have to involve a mystic quest?” Scott groaned.

“You know, Chomps, you’re not much of a guide when you keep walking behind me and attacking me randomly,” Scott said as he wandered through the desert.
The rottweiler growled at him.
“Not that I’m criticizing you,” Scott added as he sped up his pace. He then spotted a great temple ahead of him. “What a sight!” Scott exclaimed, “It must be as old as… AHH! GET OFF MY LEG!!!”
Chomps stopped biting Scott to look up and see the temple. He then ran towards it to attack it.
As Scott got up, he saw an ancient looking man standing at the temple’s entrance. “Who are you, fat man?”
“I am Scott McClellan, humble press secretary,” Scott answered, bowing ceremoniously, “I come to you for training.”
“So I see,” answered the elder. He looked to Chomps who was chewing at the brick exterior of the temple. “Your dog seems to hate temples.”
“He’s not my dog,” Scott stated, “and he hates everything. Sometimes he goes to church, looks to the heavens, and snaps at God.”
“Such is his way then,” the elder answered, “Let us go inside.”
The main room of the temple was filled with mosaics of kung fu masters wiping out enemies armed with pens and notepads. “Throughout history,” the elder spoke, “there have been many dumb emperors. Then there were those who would demand answers for the emperors’ actions. It was the charge of our order – the Bronze Mongoose – to destroy with great vengeance all who questioned the emperor.”
While awe inspiring, the temple interior also looked old and deserted. “What happened?” Scott asked.
“A student of mine, Shen Po, was drawn in by the dark siren of the liberal media. He became a reporter himself, and defeated all in the order of the Bronze Mongoose until only I remained.”
Scott kneeled before the elder. “There are many who question my master and his stupidity, and I need the power to strike them down. Will you train me?”
The elder brushed his hand through his beard. “Perhaps even a chubby man like you can be taught to defeat your questioners. It will take many years of training before you are ready.”
“I only have four hours before I need to get going to be ready for the next press conference.”
“Well, most of the years of training was just filler, anyway. Let’s get started.”
TO BE CONTINUED…