Fiction

(In our last episode, Rumsfeld was fatally injured in a car wreck that involved Kissinger, Papa Bush, Laura, and Condoleezza. The fatality was not specified then, but after he lost his job, I decided that just like a night with the newly single Kevin Federline, it proved too good of an opportunity to pass up. K-Fed would make a formidable WMD, you know. Threats of more live performances could bring any country to their knees. From Webster Hall to the White House/ countries fear that rappin’ louse! But he will never appear in this series because he is too busy selling his recording equipment. Hopefully.

When we last left our fearless fuck-ups, George and Tony Blair were doubling on a bike from Camp David to the scene of the accident because George’s new lightning-inspired intelligence has also given him the ability to sense when his loved ones are in danger. Too bad this is just fiction. That could have helped him in this last election. Anywwwaaayyy... George’s eyes widen in horror as he peddles over the hill; Tony buries his head into his into his back, wrapping his arms tightly around George’s waist.)

(Deep in the massive pantry of the Camp David kitchen, where we last saw our poor misbegotten assholes in Episode 5...well, they weren’t really inside of it; more like in front of it. But they had to go back in the pantry to move forward with the plot because Bill remembered that there was a can of Vienna Sausages in there and he wouldn’t start the scene until he ate them.)

Oprah: Has anyone seen Gail? I need her to run down to the gate and meet Steadman; Al Reynolds is driving him over here with Maya Angelou and Jesse Jackson. You know I can’t move forward without a poem and a prayer.

Hillary: We have more pressing problems at hand, Oprah. First, how do I look? Second, we have a Vice-President that wants to have a three way with the two of you. If that doesn’t signal that it’s Halloween, I don’t what does. All of this is getting in the way of the war.

Oprah: I thought you were against the war?

Hillary: Listen: I am not going to start speaking out against it now. I mean, there are things you stand for and things you look like you stand for. Condoleezza, what do you purpose we do? If what you say is true, that President Bush is indeed now a genius, well, I’ll sleep with my husband. (Bill chokes on the Vienna Sausage juice he is guzzling)

(Oprah Winfrey, Hillary and Bill Clinton sip margaritas as they enjoy the sunshine aboard a yacht on Lake Michigan. Oprah’s best friend Gail flips burgers on a George Foreman grill. They all wear white linen.)

Oprah: So what you are saying is that George W. Bush is now a sympathetic genius? This is unbelievable. (Turns to the grill) Gail! Bring the burgers, bitch.

(Gail sighs heavily, loading the burgers onto a platter that she slams down on a table in front of them. She sneaks below deck to call Steadman)

Bill: Papa Bush told me that Bush wants to have a meeting to revise his Middle East policy. But it is not his usual meeting. It is some kind of camping and communing with nature retreat held on the grounds of Camp David. Senator Clinton here already got an invite. I mean, can you see Hillary pitchin’ a tent? (Laughs as Hillary sips her margarita, then turns and slaps him. Burger flies out of his mouth.)

Hillary: I am concerned that if we don’t get him to agree to some of our policies while he is in this state, they’ll figure out how to revert him to his normal state before we have a chance to get what we want. Everyone knows they have a serum. It’s just a matter of time until they come up with a solution to his new found intelligence.

(Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney are having drinks in a top secret strip club located in the very bowels of---you guessed it!---the Pentagon. The ghost of Aaron Burr is sitting next to Cheney. Rumsfeld is on his third whiskey and Dick is sipping a Diet Sprite. Nine Inch Nail's Closer is playing, just as it has played in every strip club across this great nation since its release.)

GAB: (to himself) These wenches are fascinating! (Snaps his finger like a debonair...well, ghost.)

Dick: Don, I don't know what to tell you. Last night he was working algorithms and then he finished a whole week's worth of New York Times crosswords. He no longer does that sound it out thing when he reads. He even understood the Daily Show. He’ll want to start calling the shots soon, Don.

Don: Yeah, I know that you fucking moron. (Finishes drink, slamming down glass. He smacks a waitress's ass) I need another drink, honey. (He watches her ass as she walks away, then addresses Dick.) Listen here, you fat louse: You fucked this up like you fucked up your first job interview with me.

(So read Episode 1 before you read this one. Duh! Do I have to tell you everything?!?)

(Mid-afternoon under a gloomy DC sky. Dick Cheney sits on a swing on the grounds of Number One Observatory, sipping a can of Diet Sprite. )
Dick (sings): "You say you found a piece of land/ Gonna change from city boy to country man/Try to build your life with your hands/You got to keep on smilin’, keep on smilin’/Keep on smilin’ through the rain, laughin’ at the pain/Rollin with the changes/ til the sun comes out again… (Dick sips soda) I like Wet Willie. (sips) What do you have, Stan?

Stan: Sir, Rice a Roni is no San Francisco treat. She rejected the advances of the First Lady, whom--- may I add--- is a slut with bad taste in lingerie.

(Dick reaches down and pulls a globe shaped pillow from underneath his butt.) Wouldn't think so, but sitting on top of the world irritates my hemorrhoids. (He spins the globe on his right index finger while continuing to sip his Diet Sprite. Yes, I know it's a fucking pillow, but it is round. Play along.)