THE PRESIDENT: Good morning, my Senatorial brethren. Let me begin by saying how majorly stoked I am to be standing before you today, addressing a matter that is close to my heart: baby slaughter. Not the slaughter of Iraqi babies with American bombs (though that's plenty important too) - but the bloodthirsty killing of American womb boogers by mustachioed liberal mommies who seem to think that morality can't be narrowly legislated. HA! Well think again, you hoity-toity carpet munchers – cuz that's what me and you GOP Congressboys are already doing!

(Applause.)

You know, I'll bet a whole stack of Confederate dollars that those bitches wish they hadn't all voted for Nader!

(Laughter.) (Hoots.)

But I'm hitching my wagon ahead of my horses here. This past week, you boys in this noble order, led by my obedient partner Dr. Senator Bill Frist, passed a ban on the Ginsu-slicing of fully grown toddlers - or in fancy talk: Partial Birth Abortions.

This ban is a huge victory in our tireless incremental plot to completely outlaw abortion. In fact, the moment the ban passed in the Senate, the angels in heaven momentarily stopped their puking. Of course, this here bill still has to pass through the Hizzouse of Representatives, where they will debate it on C-SPAN for like, ten seconds before cracking up and voting it into cold hard law. And that's the kind of law I respect - the kind that me and my shadow constituency of cash-flush doctor-murdering fanatics agree with - to hell with what any moldy old "Constitution" says.

And this is only the beginning! For I have a mandate from the moral folk of this great country to eradicate the scourge of womb booger picking and smearing. The History Channel shows that women have never been able to take care of themselves - and that's why the good Lord put us menfolk here - to make sure ladies don't go messing around with their insides - which, I might add, since they was growed from OUR ribs in the first place, aren't really theirs anyways! Yes, we'll return womenfolk to a happier time, a time when their husbands, bosses, and elected officials protected them and made sure they stayed blissfully ensconced in affordable kitchenware, gleefully gestating and disgorging legions of future Marine Corps love critters.

Now sure - the Democrats will pull their hair and screech and cry and there will probably be throngs of incense-waving protestors prancing up and down the promiscuous, semen-caked streets of San Francisco and New York City. But I really don't care: those cities are marked for oblivion anyhow. So when their cancerous liberals start moaning about how we're taking away their personal rights, and how the government shouldn't be legislating transient moralities or flushing the public's medical freedoms down the toilet, I have just three words to say:

Suck me.

(Hoots.) (Hollers.)

The rights of GOP-supporting Middle Americans are safe. I promise. Their rights are guaranteed by Jesus, Jesus' lawyer Schlomo, and by me - President George W. Bush. So I don't want nobody sweating squat. I will make sure that our nation's CEO wives and naughty daughers retain their rights to plentiful nose jobs, cellulite slurps, and chartered private jets from private country club airstrips to Club Med-style abortion spas in Caribbean tax havens.

You see, Democrats want to murder babies. They want to run wild like a pack of rabid dogs through hospitals, impaling little tykes on spears, then barbecuing them over giant bonfires of stolen wooden crucifixes in a sickening ritual to their true God, Karl Marx. We must not allow that to happen. No, for if we allow the Democrats to permit the lower 95% to actually succeed in realizing the American Dream, that would make them less productive. And either we're exploiting the labor of those trashy monkey people, or we're forcing them to breed the next generation of backs for us to crawl on top of and dance a little capitalist jig.

(Applause.)

And that's why I say, if you're broke and horny and get all knocked up - especially by some relative or stranger in the park because you were just asking for it in that little hooker outfit - well tough tittie: keep contributing to my wealth, you cheap slut. And while you're at it, don't forget to teach your Oreo Cookie kid how to steam my wife's Mocha Cappuccino.

Well, that's all she wrote folks. Except to say: RAISE THE ROOF, GOP! WOOF! WOOF!

(Applause.) (Chants of "JESUS! JESUS! JESUS!")

I got to go back with Karl to figure out how many dead American grunts is too much for y'all to deal with during dinner time.

Pep rally over. Get back to packing them Federal benches.

(Applause.)

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