THE PRESIDENT: Attention Spainitos!

I am talking at you today to coldly acknowledge your little display of uppity self-determination the other day. You know it was just amazing to watch a once-great Western nation's cajones shrivel up like so much chorizo on a hot skillet after those hell-bound ragheads went all NINE-ELEVEN^TM LITE on y'all.

Over here, when our leader lets terrorism happen on his watch, lies about it and then tries to cover stuff up, Americans from Harlem to Honolulu fall to their knees in unquestioning, glassy-eyed supplication. You hotheads, on the other hand, snap out of your grief and craftily take advantage of the fact that your backwards country still quaintly counts the votes. In the face of a disaster, you distract yourselves with issues of responsibility, rather than just putting on a fabulous celebrity telethon and calling everyone who was unlucky enough to be killed "heroes."

Get the GODLY New Book!

I'm told that you Hispanozoids mistakenly believe that democracy is about the will of your own people, and not that of the American petro-chemical aristocracy. So I understand – sorta – how a whole big nation that once straddled the world and pissed frothy, smallpox-rich streams of sangria all over it, could get so spooked by a massive act of terrorism, that they'd go and vote in some lizard-lookin' pinko who can't wait to fall on his knees and suck Chirac cheesy-cock.

But I forget: Euro-peons are the ones who basically invented fascism. And don't get me wrong, I thank you for it – because the only thing about fascism that I'm not crazy about is the name. You Franco-lovers use hippy-drippy "feel good" socialism to oppress your people, and I use vague threats of "feel bad" terroristic evildoers to keep mine in line. You grind bullshit into the streets of Pamplona, and I grind it into every sentence of my speeches. Tomato, el tomate. In short, we got a lot more in common than you spicks will ever admit.

Unfortunately, you Spanishese people just don't seem to understand that you can't let a little bit of mass senseless death get in the way of doing what makes you feel good. Look at me! Just because Iraq didn't have anything to do with NINE-ELEVEN^TM CLASSIC, that didn't stop me from killing 10,000 of their people – and 500 of my own soldiers in the process. You gotta stay the course, even if it leads straight over a cliff and smack dab into a giant conjoined nest of hornets, scorpions, and black widow spiders that needle their way into every hole of your body and start stinging like the dickens from the inside.

And that's why I have to say I'm a little bit hurt to hear that you Spaniaroonis are leaving Iraq faster than a U.S. sailor pulls out of a yeasty Okinawa cooter. Because aside from that island of pasty chimps with bad teeth who used to whoop your asses all the time, Spain was pretty much the only other real country I could say was on board without folks back home snickering. But whatever, jump ship if you want to. It's not like we were letting those 1,600 token paella-munching, siesta-taking Euro-lumps of yours do much more than scrub America's Port-o-Pottys, anyways.

You heard me, go ahead and sit out the War on Countries that Didn't Do Anything But Still Rub Me The Wrong Way! Huddle with your Old European buddies in your walled high-culture enclaves of sissy melting clock art, bribing the teeming masses with plentiful jobs, great free healthcare, and almost as much paid vacation time as I take in Crawford every year. Won't it be a hoot when you ballerinas come knock-knockin' on America's door again, begging us to haul your asses out of another appeasement-inspired fire, just because you spent all your old money paying for guaranteed pensions instead of next-generation tactical nukes. Don't make me say I'm going to say I told you so, but... FUCK YOU.

So to Prime Minister-Elect Zapatero, I offer my most insincere congratulations – and don't be whispering words of encouragement in Kerry's Botoxed ear if you don't want Basque Separatists to suddenly find themselves with a new aircraft carrier. And to soon-to-be former Prime Minister Jose Maria Aznar I say, next election day don't take any chances – call my brother Jeb.

Thank you, and God Bless America – a country that doesn't let what actually happens get in the way of how it sees stuff.

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