“So some Muslims wanted to behead me, and I was like, ‘What’s this all aboot, eh?'”
“Did they succeed?”
“No, I still have my head, eh. Anyway, the reason I called…”
President Bush saw some movement outside the window. “Hey, I got some business to attend to. Later, Mr. Canadian.” Bush then hung up on the Prime Minister and shouted out his window. “Get off my lawn!”
“What’s the matter, dear?” Laura Bush asked.
“Politics just hasn’t been working out for me lately,” Bush whined, “and now illegal immigrants are getting gay married on the White House lawn.”
“Well, I think you brought this on yourself. At least your poll numbers are doing better; now a third of the country likes you.”
“Wow! That’s a lot of people!” Bush exclaimed. He then paused for a moment. “Does my mom like me again yet?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“I’ll win her back one of these days,” Bush vowed. “Anyway, I got bigger worries with that Haditha incident. Right now, I have Marines going through sensitivity training to make sure we don’t have more incidents.”

“So, it’s important not to shoot children,” the Marine officer said, “unless they got it coming. Any questions?”
“Can we still shoot midgets?” Buck the Marine asked.
“Sure. The important thing is we don’t want any wanton slaughter of civilians, because them Democrats love that and will use that to pull us out. Then, you won’t get to kill anyone, and you don’t want that, do you?”
“No, sir!” the Marines shouted.
“Can’t we just shoot the Democrats?” Gomez asked.
“No, they ain’t foreign, stupid,” Buck told him.
“Hey, I was just trying to think outside the box.”

“Rummy is holding a press conference to assure reporters that incidents like Haditha will be fully investigated,” Bush told Laura. He turned on the TV.
“A whole press room of reporters was found strangled,” the anchorman said. “A note was found at the scene reading, ‘I, Donald Rumsfeld, strangled all these people because their questions were impudent.’ D.C. police are once again baffled and slightly tipsy. We sent a reporter to get a statement from Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld who was supposed to give that press conference, but that reporter was found strangled as well. Whether that murder is related to the others is unknown.”
Bush turned off the TV. “Not that mysterious ‘Rumsfeld Strangler’ again; the police are never going catch him. Well, less reporters means less bad news.” He saw Rumsfeld walk by his office. “You okay, Rummy?”
“My hands are sore.”
“Arthritis?” Laura asked.
“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Rumsfeld grumbled as he stormed off.
“That’s our Rummy!” Bush chuckled.
“Hey, I meant to ask,” Laura said, “Why is Harry Reid pinned under your desk?”
Bush looked at the twitching legs sticking out from beneath his overturned desk. “I don’t remember. I think there is a reason.”
“Well, I’m going to go back to dusting. Tell me if you figure it out.” Laura left the office.
Bush kicked one of Harry Reid’s legs. “Oh! Now I remember. I pinned Harry Reid under my desk to remind myself on getting more of the good economic news out there.”
Bush ran out into the hallway and found Tony Snow. “Snowman, we need to get more emphasis on the good economy to fight all the bad publicity. Thus, we’re going to rob a liquor store.”
“I don’t really follow that logic.”
“I’m the President!” Bush shouted. “That’s all you need to know!” Bush spotted Cheney. “Hey, Dick, we’re robbing a liquor store. You in?”
“Big time!”
“Just watch that itchy trigger finger of yours; I don’t want you shooting someone in the face with a shotgun again.”
“Then I’m out.” Cheney walked off.
“Can’t we just mention economic news in my press conference?” Tony asked.
Bush put on a ski mask and pulled out a handgun. “No one watches those. We just use them to distract the press from other things. But, if we rob a liquor store and people hear about how much money is stolen, they’ll know the economy must be good!”
Laura came walking by with her feather-duster and noticed Bush in his ski mask. “What are you doing?”
“I’m… about to go skiing.”
“Then why have the gun?”
“Uh… biathlon training.”
“But you said the Winter Olympics are gay.”
“Uh… maybe I’m gay.” Bush nudged Tony and whispered, “Back me up on this.”
“I’m going to go hold that press conference.” Tony quickly headed away.
“You better not be up to something,” Laura warned Bush.
Bush placed his gun over his heart. “I swear on my father’s grave I’m not.”

“You got a newspaper in here?”
“Yeah. So?” said Bush’s cellmate.
Bush reached over to grab a section. “Can I see if there is any information about my poll numbers?”
“You touch my paper, I’ll cut you.”
Bush folded his arms. “Fine. Don’t share.”