A Friendly Interrogation

Buckhead the Blogger was invited to Crawford for a fireside chat with President Bush about important information Buckhead had acquired in the Global War on Terrorism.

"So tell me," said the President, "what is it, Buckie?"

"I have solid knowledge of an informant, Mr President, and I think you should torture him to save the country."

"We want to do everything we can to help the country, Buck. What does he know?"

"There will be a terrorist attack on the US mainland."

"Where?"

"Los Angeles, California."

"When?"

"Next Friday evening at 8:05pm."

"By what means?"

"He said they will use mustard gas, sir."

The President then drew a red-hot poker out of the fire and jabbed it squarely into Buckhead's anus. After the sometime lawyer was finished screaming, he asked, "Why did you do that, sir? I'm not the terrorist, that's the other guy!" "Ah, yes," said the wily Commander in Chief, "but you are the one telling us what we want to hear."

Two Refuseniks

Two refuseniks from the Reserves are waiting their turn for disciplinary hearings before the Commander in Chief of the United States Armed Forces, President George W. Bush. One is looking despondent, the other, wearing the insignia of the 372nd, has a smug grin on his face.

"Why are you smiling?" asked the despondent one.

"I have an iron-clad defense. I know that I'm going to walk away from this scot-free," said the happy one.

"Do you have a disease?"

"No -- do I look like I have a disease?"

"Do you have a relative with inside connections?"

"No, not a one."

"Did you pay somebody off?"

"No -- and would you please stop insulting the integrity of our government like that."

"What is it, then? How can you be so confident?"

"The Army stopped using my model of dildo."

Victory At Last

Rumsfeld reported at a confidential meeting of the Cabinet. "Mr President, the entire country is against us. The generals tell me that unless we install mortar-proof canopies on our bases there, our forces will be overrun before the election. We are desperate for new ideas."

"Well," said the President, "let's show them how strong we are. Blow up some of their favorite buildings. Mosques and stuff. Just leave the Oil Ministry alone, we need that one."

"We've already done that, sir."

"Oh. Well, then, remind them who makes the rules. Break down their doors if they have the wrong friends. Mow them down for driving too fast. And if they have a party, strafe it. They may not speak English, but they'll catch on soon enough."

"We've tried all of those, sir, and the problem has only gotten worse."

"Why didn't you tell me about that, Condi? I'm the President, I'm supposed to know these things. But here's an idea. Round up a bunch of them and make them crawl around naked. Beat them, rape their sons and daughters in front of them. Take the gloves off! I want results, dammit!"

"We've done that too, Mr President. You ordered it, and last week you apologized to Prince Abdullah for letting the troops take pictures, remember?"

"Oh, yes, I forgot about that one. Well then, for Christ's sake, I'll have to get you all out of this jam you've got us into and fix this myself. Fire up Air Force One, Colin. Get me my God damned bottle of Jack Daniels, Laura. Take me to Baghdad so I can drink these sons of bitches under the table, man to man."

Colin Powell interceded, "Um, I'm sorry that it was buried in the briefing papers, Mr President, but most of the population of Iraq are teetotalers. They don't drink alcohol."

"Now there you go," said the President, brightening, "They're coming around to our Christian values already!"

A Peace Proposal

So Rumsfeld comes to Bush and says, "I've got some good news, Mr President, and some bad news."

And Bush says, "Give me the good news first."

"Well, Mr President, the entire Iraqi nation has signed a unanimous petition asking to be governed by a leader of your choice, agreeing to support Israel against the Palestinians, and offering to provide the United States with a free supply of oil until the War on Terrorism is finally won."

"That's some mighty good news, Rummy. Looks we've finally turned the corner on this thing. What's the bad news?"

"They want you to sign the treaty in Baghdad."

A Test of Character

Okay, things don't turn out so well, and the Republicans amend the Constitution to make George W. Bush President for life, with a succession clause in favor of brother Jeb in case of failed immortality. In 2015, the President is sitting in the Oval Office taking hits off an oxygen cylinder when the head of the CIA walks in. "We've finally managed to penetrate Baghdad, sir. We put a microphone into a teabag, and yesterday it reached a small shop in Fallujah. We can make out some of what they're saying."

Bush looks up, shrugs in irritation, and the recording begins to play. After a sound of rushing water and a spoon tinkling on the cup, the rasping, angry voice of a middle-aged man fills the room:

"... you mind me, you little bastard, or so help me God I'll tan your hide. Either I'm right or I'll kill your sorry ass. You hear me? ..."

The stream of obscenities continued for a time, after which the sound went dead. "That's the best intelligence we have, sir," adds the department chief as he backs deferentially out of the room.

Bush squints after the man as the door softly shuts, then opens his journal and pens the comment: "At long last, Iraqi people are ready for American statehood".