THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. It's a crisp 110 degrees in the shade here in the manly badlands of Crawford, where my lovely wife and I arrived yesterday to begin our annual month-long vacation. You know, I can't tell you how happy it makes us to get away from all the posturing and phoniness in Washington DC, and come here, to strike photogenic poses on our made-for-campaigning, down-home ultra-luxury ranch mansion – the Western White House.

As you know, one of the very first things I did when I took office was to grant myself a 100% pay raise – kicked that sorry little salary up to $400,000.00 per year. Of course, that's still just $33,000 a month, which is total pocket change compared to my old oil and baseball gigs. The American people know that, and that's why they don't mind paying for me to take off August every year. Same goes for all those long weekends and the three weeks over Jesus' birthday when we're down here. Add it all up, you're looking at two and half, maybe three months of Presidential vacation per year – tops. Hell, that's barely enough time to work through a few Costco skids of Coors Light twelve-racks.

That said, I did briefly consider cutting my Crawford time short this year – because, you know, when those Arabiacs spent my 2001 vacation plotting to fly into the World Trade Center, it sure made me look like a slack-ass Bozo when I finally rolled back into Washington. But, then Laura reminded me that I am not just taking a vacation for myself. I'm also vacationing for all our boys in uniform who have been on duty for the past 365 days straight. So, I may take even longer, and will certainly be adding one additional tribute day for each American National Guardsmen who gets mowed down by some Iraqi who's jubilantly embracing the freedom to exercise our Second Amendment.

That said, I am vaguely aware of the rumor that a handful of Americans don't even get two weeks of paid vacation – let alone twelve – which is why I want the public to know that this is a "working vacation." True, I won't be bothering to go into the office or anything annoying like that, but I will be busy now and then. My key staffers will be close at hand all month long. Even Karl Rove has selflessly volunteered to bunk in Jenna's tapestry-bedecked bedroom while she's away researching her Junior thesis on "Contemporary Speakeasies of the Eastern Long Island Diaspora."

Indeed, all month long, me and Karl will be hopping in the F-250 for one-day road trips anywhere he can find a high-capacity conference center filled to the rafters with folks rich enough to fork out $2,000.00 to listen to me stutter through some cue cards for fifteen minutes. You see, I broke all the records back in 2000 by spending $60 million on my campaign, and I'm aiming to double that this time. That's why at our new fund-raisers, we're not even sitting people down and serving them plates of greasy chicken thigh anymore. We pack them in like cattle, give everyone a thirty-cent hotdog, and make sure I'm in and out of the room before they start queefing Oscar Meyer vapors.

But aside from those grueling outings, I'm committed to doing everything in my power to do as little as is humanly possible this month. The America people deserve a rested and energized President come September or maybe October – November at the latest – and I'm going to do my damnedest to give them one. Whether that means lazy afternoons of dynamite fishing on my personal lake, three-day X-Box marathons of Return to Castle Wolfenstein, or daily recuperative hair-of-the-dog-fueled four hour siestas, the people of this country can rest assured that their Commander in Chief is here resting for them.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's almost high noon. That means it's time to go jog a 5K with whichever liberal journalist I think looks most susceptible to heat stroke today.

So until September, may God Bless America.

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