THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. It's a pleasure to address real, hard-working Texas folks for a change, so grab yourself a Coors and a pimento loaf and EZ-Cheez sandwich – Laura’s own special recipe – and hunker down for a good old fashioned talkin’ to.

Now this morning, my colored office girl Condi whipped together a little thing called "The National Security Strategy." It's like a long, boring laundry list of fancy talk about how I plan to line my pockets with gold by sending your sons to die in a 21st century crusade on Iraqistan.

Thing is, I specifically told Condi to write this thing so that you boys in Lubbock could understand it. But you know what she did? She went ahead and filled that sucker up with a bunch up of uppity words and syllables. Hell, I asked her for Louis L'Amour, and she gives me something that reads like that fat-assed traitor Al “Qaeda” Gore scribbled it in his Palm Pilot while squeezing out a loaf of gold-plated liberal shit.

(Laughter.)

Don't I know it! Well, I'm among friends here, so I'm just going to translate all this Ivy League gobbledy-gook into regular American.

(Applause.)

You see, I don't need to understand a problem to kill it. If there's Comanches on the horizon, you take action and scalp the red-skinned bastards before they get a chance to rape your cattle and ride your womenfolk.

(Applause.)

I'm glad you kind folk agree. So let me explain to you why I'm gonna break Saddam like he was ornery, three-legged buck, brand him with my Daddy’s initials, and ship him off to the goddamned glue factory: Saddam is as yellow as mustard, but without the bite. Trouble is, he's still got weapons of mass destruction, and he's as happy as a hog in slop. He thinks because Kofi Annan wears a skirt and snaps beans on his porch, that he's riding a gravy train with biscuit wheels.

And believe you me, Saddam's itching to get his sand negra paws on nukular and chemical weapons, as sure as a buzzard's got a hunger for guts. Hell, if his hard-on for chemical weapons was a pile of dirt, you could bulldoze that sucker out four inches thick over the whole damned Texas panhandle.

As you know, Saddam really galls my butt. He's so low he'd steal the nickels off a dead man's eyes. He gets me as mad as a billy goat in a pepper patch. I swear to Jesus Christ, the one and only true Lord and Savior, that rag head has got me hotter than a bubbling pot of neck bones. And make no mistake, those chickenshit Nazis and Frogs over there in Europe may think Saddam's a stand-up guy, but the truth is he makes a hornet look cuddly. If backbone was leather, them ladies in Europe couldn't saddle a fly.

(Boos.)

Our so-called "allies" are making Saddam think the sun comes up just to hear him crow. Just because those folks in the UN want to suck ribs at his little Kurd barbeque, he thinks he's a smart feller, but he's not. Hell - he couldn't pour rain out of a boot with a hole in the toe and directions on the heel. He's as sharp as mashed potatoes and as full of wind as a corn-eating horse. But mostly, he's all broth and no beans. And it's a damn shame the Democrats wouldn't let my daddy sop up that sumbitch with a chunk of cornbread, chew him up, and be done with him once and for all.

(Shouts of "Amen!")

But you boys done elected me, and that's why I'm putting together a posse that'd make the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse blush like a greenhorn whore. I'm meaner than a skillet full of rattlesnakes. I'm tougher than a strip of year-old jerky. I'm gonna spread Saddam out like a cold supper and my bloodthirsty vengeance is gonna blow through Iraq like hot pecker through a debutante's soggy panties.

And when I'm done, the world will know once and for all that America's got the biggest balls, the baddest six-shooters, and that we floss with barb wire, wipe our asses with cactus, eat peppers by the shovel, and we take our oil from under any damned Allah-lovin' desert we choose! You readin' my smoke signals, cowpokes?

(Applause. Hoots & Hollers.)

Yee-ha!

Now y’all ride off into the sunset, and let the sheriff (that's me) do his work.

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