“Whatcha doing, Rummy?” President Bush asked.
“I’m writing a list of foreign leaders in the order I want them… uh… what’s that word we use? Oh yeah… ‘regime changed.’ What’s wrong about the word ‘assassinate’ anyway?”
“It’s got that ‘ass’ in there and thus just doesn’t appeal to people with family values,” Bush answered. He then noticed the news playing on a T.V. nearby.
“Howard Dean’s recent comments comparing anyone who ever thought of voting Republican to a pedophile have been called divisive by some,” said the anchorman, “but Dean’s supporters – now in the dozens if you don’t include those committed to insane asylums – say he’s just given the Democrats the strong voice they need.”
“It’s like Howard Dean is part of some insidious plot to destroy the Democratic Party,” Bush mused. “Hey, Rover, you’re insidious; is this your plot?”
The hooded figure of Karl Rove emerged from the shadows. “I wish I could take credit for such terrible destruction of the enemy, but I had no involvement with this.”
“Then it must be someone else insidious!” Bush declared, “I know – Hilary Clinton!”
“That would make no sense,” Rove answered, “She needs the Democratic party for her evil, power-grabbing plans.”
“Then who else could be behind this?”
“The internet was responsible for a lot of Howard Dean’s popularity, and…”
“The internet!” Bush shouted, “I knew it! It’s responsible for all the evil in the world. Now I need to get to the bottom of this Dean conspiracy!”
“Actually, the best strategy when your enemy is destroying itself is to stand back,” Rove cautioned.
“But if the Democrats completely destroy themselves,” Bush replied, “then it will be a one-party system… just like with the Communists. Then I’ll be just like Chairman Mao… but I don’t want to be Chairman Bush! I like being President Bush.”
“I don’t believe you’re thinking rationally,” Rove said.
“Not thinking rationally is what I do best!” Bush declared. “It’s time I save the Democrats. You coming along, Rummy?”
“I’m busy, Moron,” Donald Rumsfeld replied as he decided where to fit the French names on his list.
“Fine. I’ll just drag along Scott as usual. He never has anything to do.”

“I always have things to do,” Scott McClellan whined, “I have to explain to the press why the idiotic things you do are not idiotic.”
“And I got a great replacement for you.”

“A magic eight ball?” exclaimed one of the reporters.
“I have the first question,” said another as he picked up the black orb and shook it, “Will Bush agree to closing down Abu Grahib?” He turned the eight ball over and looked at the answer. “No.”
“Now me,” said yet another reporter as he grabbed the ball. “Will Bush still push for private accounts for Social Security?” He looked at the answer. “‘Reply hazy, try again.” The reported chucked the eight ball. “Stupid, slippery politicians!”

“If we’re going to fit in with angry liberals, we should have brought Rumsfeld’s angry dog,” Bush said. “They’d like him.”
“He always bites me,” Scott complained.
Bush laughed. “Yeah, that’s funny.”
“And why do you always get the porn star mustache disguise?”
“Be happy Alberto Gonzales lent you a poncho and sombrero to go with your Mexican mustache,” Bush answered, “Now work on your accent while I work on my porn star attitude. We have to completely infiltrate these crazy lefties.”
They worked their way into the crowed. “I hate working and like smelling bad,” Bush said, introducing himself to one of the crazed liberals.
“Quiet!” he shot back, “Dean is about to speak.”
Howard Dean walked out onto the stage, and there was a hushed awe among the crowd. Dean then started pounding the podium like a madman while screaming, “Rergerraw! Cerblergargh! Dean smash! Ragawerghaergh!”
“He says what we think!” squealed a liberal.
“I just want to say that back in the eighties, I voted for Reagan,” yelled out one man, “but now I’m back with the Democrats and glad we can have someone who can speak with such energy!”
“He voted for a Republican!” Dean screamed, his face growing red with anger, “We don’t want his kind here! Rip him apart! Kill! Kill!”
The other liberals descended on the one man, and blood began to splatter everywhere.
“We better be extra careful at not revealing ourselves, senor,” Scott said with great worry.
“Horsefeathers!” Bush exclaimed, “We need to find who is behind Dean!”
“Can’t you just accept the fact that he’s a loon supported by other loons?” Scott pleaded.
“I never accept facts!” Bush declared. He then pulled off his porn star mustache and faced Dean. “It is I, President Bush, and I demand to know who pulls your strings!”
Dean flailed his hands in the air in rage. “Republican President! Kill! Kill!”
The liberals surrounded Bush and Scott, murder in their eyes. “Looks like we’re going to be killed by crazed liberals, amigo,” Scott said, “Not the obituary I wanted.”
“We’re progressives!” one shouted, becoming even more blood-thirsty.
Suddenly, a number of liberals were thrown out of the way. There in their midst now stood Chomps.
“Rumsfeld’s dog has come to save us!” Scott exclaimed, “He’ll… OW! GET HIM OFF MY LEG!”
“Hah! That’s funny!” Bush laughed.
Howard Dean jumped down into the crowd and roared in anger. Chomps then faced him and growled the growl of The Guinness Book of World Record‘s angriest dog. Then they clashed.
“It’s our time to escape!” Bush said as he ran away.
“Wait for me!” Scott cried, limping.
“Each man for himself!” Bush answered.
“But I have the car keys!”
Bush ran back and put his arm around Scott to help him. He then quickly slipped the keys out of Scott’s pocket and ran off again, causing Scott to fall to the ground. “Each man for himself!”
“No pay is worth this,” Scott grumbled.

Rumsfeld sat in his easy chair and worked on his list of foreign leaders. “So many foreigners who should not breathe our air,” Rumsfeld growled.
Chomps came through the dog door and yawned an angry yawn.
“Tired out from kill’n, huh?” Rumsfeld asked.
Chomps curled up and went into an angry sleep.
“Might as well get some rest,” Rumsfeld said, putting down his list. “Always more to destroy tomorrow.”