THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. Today, I'm real proud to be welcoming Australian Prime Minister John Howard and his frumpazoid wife whatsherface here to the Western White House. This is a special place for me and Laura – a place where we can get away from all that stress and hard work in the other White House – usually for month-long stretches when we feel like a break from our weekly three-day weekends at Camp David. Why, did you know that since I've been President, we've spent almost nine whole months kickin' it vacation-style here on the ranch? Well it's true. And I'm mighty pleased that Prime Minister Howard was amenable to having our little ho-down here instead of Washington DC. As if he really had a choice in the matter.

You see my life is every eight-year-old boy's (and some suspiciously dykey girls') dream. I pretended to be an jet fighter pilot last week and I'm having a blast pretending to be a cowboy this week. Who knows what fun costume I'll show up in next. I'm thinking about addressing them folks in Congress as a lion tamer! Or maybe an astronaut. Well, the kind that make it back, that is. Wouldn't that be cool?

Spending all this time with John, I've learned a great deal about Australasia. For instance, did you know that Austria used to be a penal colony? I didn't. But I'll tell you, after walking in on John stepping out of the shower this morning, I'm pretty sure that "penal" means something different from what I thought it did. I mean – talk about your little pink acorns! For a minute, I thought that swishy fruit-boy must be part kangaroo down there or something. I was all, "Hey - where'd little Joey go?!" Man, there's no way he could play dress-up like me. Because one thing I learned last week is if you don't wear underwear, you need a schlong like a pony to make one of them flight suits look good on the 6 o'clock news.

Anyway, not long ago, I was in a bit of a pickle. I was dead-set on realizing my decade-old fantasy to violently take Saddam Hussein from behind, but wouldn't you know it – people actually thought I needed justification to indiscriminately kill a few thousand so-called "innocent" towelheads. Worse yet, some idiots were demanding proof that Iraq was guilty of just disguising itself as an impoverished, near-helpless Muslamian shithole to hide its true nature as a superpower and clear and present extreme danger to the Mobil card balances of America's V8-driving soccer moms. Why, nearly the entire planet was against me – but not John Howard.

And so, for the record, I want to thank John Howard for joining my cozy crusade to reinvent the Middle East. As the leader of the only country on the planet that is also an entire continent, John was in a unique position to help make my efforts appear legitimate. Why, before he came on board, when we'd light up just the coalition countries on the Situation Room world map, you could barely see your hand in front of your face in there. But once we flipped the switch on Australiastan, I could almost make out those little geo-political crib notes that Condi whips up for me. And for that, I must confess to being ever-so-slightly grateful. It was sort of like all those blue and red maps of America I had everyone print up to remind folks that even if more people wanted Al Gore to be president, more miles of parched, deserted wilderness voted for me!

Indeed, John Howard had the simulated courage to flip the bird to all those funny-talking foreigners who elected him, then valiantly step up to the plate and be my little four-eyed go-to girl. He did what any elected leader of a Democracy has to do – ignore all the dumbass people they rule over. Yes, even when the overwhelming majority of his peacenik countrymen were calling for his pale, clammy bald noggin on a warmonger platter, old Dingo-Berry (that's my little pet name for him) just went right ahead and did exactly what I told him to do. Clearly this is a fella whose interpretations of Democracy and sovereignty couldn't be any more compatible with my long-term vision for the United States of the World.

Now some in my party would point out that Prime Minister Howard only had the balls to supplement America's force of 255,000 soldiers with just 2,000 Australasiacs. But to me, the sheer invertebrate, jaw-quivering obedience of the gesture was touching nevertheless. It's like I told even Americans at one of my 634 campaign events last year: "It's not how you worship me that matters; it's enough that you do." And in the end, I know that our boys in Iraq really appreciated how well those Austra-Rican troops of his accomplished their mission-critical objective of keeping America's desert latrines smelling daisy-fresh and poop smear free. You know, Tony Blair once told me that Britain's biggest mistake ever was exiling all its most talented toilet scrubbers down under. Now I know what he was talking about. And so today, I hope that all the Australiarian people are proud of the superb performance – and I mean superbly unneeded performance – of the Austranian forces. Grade-A U.S. Marine Corps turds were never hauled so expertly, by people so pompously deluded about their own significance.

Fortunately, Iraq imploded even faster than Phil Donahue's talkshow, and I surely do appreciate the bullet-rich English-speaking countries of the world (with the exception of those self-righteous Eskimos in Canada who fail to realize they swear allegiance to Queen Saggy Snatch) for rallying behind moi – because English is the language of Henry V, John Wayne and Rambo. And we don't take shit from no one, be it the French, the comanche, or the Viet-Chingchong.

In closing, I want to say how much I've been enjoying the Howards' visit here at La Casa del Arbusto. They've both been so jet-lagged, they've only risen from their bunks in the ranch hands' bungalow for a few minutes here and there. Almost makes us wish we'd bothered to change the sheets for them. No matter, they're sleeping soundly, and that's left me and Pickles with plenty of free time to go our separate ways and do our fishin' and adult refreshin', respectively.

Today, Prime Minister Howard and I are riding high in the polls, no matter whether or not those now-dead Arabiacs ever had any big bad weapons. And for that, I am more than willing to endure John's excruciatingly weird and nerdy presence here on my modest, salt-of-the-earth 2,000 acre luxury estate. Now let's get those pictures snapped which will accompany all the gushing, pro-us editorials in Rupert Murdoch's Australabian newspaper empire. Say "cheese," Dingo-Berry!

P.M. HOWARD: Cheese!

THE PRESIDENT: Good boy.

That's a wrap. No questions.

	» E-MAIL THIS PAGE TO A FELLOW REPUBLICAN «
Printing Help