THE PRESIDENT: Good morning. Today is a very special day for many of America's important people, who like me, came of age playing in the greasy and pungent dust which gathers in the majestic shadows cast by million-gallon oil refinery reservoirs. You see, I am pleased to report that the rugged and handsome Mr. Shell has accepted the demure Miss Pennzoil's modest dowery of $1.8 billion in cash, and that these two dear friends of the energy elite intend to wed - to be joined together in the holy bounds of petrochemical corporate merger. For this, we are both elated and proud.

As you all know, Miss Pennzoil is in fact my half-sister, lustily conceived by my father during his first professional marriage in the mid-1950's. Of course, at that time, Miss Pennzoil was known as Miss Zapata. Only later, when she grew older, did she wisely chose to change her name to something far less Mexican-sounding. In the years that have passed, we in the Bush family have looked on profitably as she has matured into a formidable powerhouse of automobile lubricants, producing not only the popular Pennzoil and Quaker State motor oils, but also Fix-a-Flat tire patch compound and the fabulously successful (and provacatively named) Jiffy Lube franchise, which so successfully enables unimaginative cretins everywhere to inject crude masturbation references into their otherwise pointless conversational ramblings.

Mr. Shell, a dashing and unctuous Limey, has been a highly eligible bachelor within the Houston energy set for some time now, even aggressively courting the fabulously naughty Miss Enron for many months back in 2000. Fortunately for him, she spurned his advances - which is just as well, inasmuch as everyone now knows she was nothing more than a detestable shyster with tits who lavished untold millions on the Democratic party and had absolutely nothing to do with my administration, my family, or myself.

I am proud to say that Mr. Shell and Miss Pennzoil made one another's acquaintance while attending a Fourth of July picnic at my very own ranch in Crawford. Miss Pennzoil had recently returned from holiday in Kuwait, and was rumored to be wildly consumed with the "urge to merge." Mr. Shell, dressed smartly in a Stetson, ascot, and patriotically-stitched eagle leather boots, caught Miss Pennzoil's eye while stoking the pig roast pit with strategic splashes from his hip flask of 99 octane. My wife Laura, ever the industrious Cupid, took note of Miss Pennzoil's interest, and quickly arranged a romantic introduction near the south forty veal pens. Well, before the evening was out, those plucky youngsters had disappeared into the pool cabana together, and it wasn't much later that the whole party fell into a happily reverent hush as the rhythmic sound of well drilling filled the sweet Texas air.

And so today, I want to offer my most sincere congratulations to the Shell-Pennzoil family. I wish only that your marriage is a long and happy one, thereby significantly augmenting the size of my already monstrous impending inheritance.

Thank you, and God Bless America.

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