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For Immediate Release - Office of the Press Secretary - April 18, 2004 - 2:47 P.M. (EST)

Campaign Rally Appearance by the President

Scott Paterno & President Bush THE PRESIDENT: Thank you, thank you. Please be seated. I appreciate the warm welcome. There is nothing more touching for a politician than to stand before a crowd carefully vetted for its wide-eyed, screaming enthusiasm. It's great to be back wherever it is I am – and to be looking out on all these smiley hillbillies who somehow managed to scrape up enough to cover the $2,000 admission to this gig. What you all do? Knock over a liquor store? Get a no-bid contract over in Iraq?


I'm serious. But anyway, it's a real honor to be here today on behalf of my good friend, a great American, Mr. ... uhhhh... What's his name again?

SCOTT PATERNO: "Scott Paterno."

THE PRESIDENT: Do I know you? Who is this sweaty fat piece of shit?

KARL ROVE: That's Scott Paterno, sir.

THE PRESIDENT: Oh. Well it's a real honor to here today on behalf of my good friend, a great American, Mr. Scott Paterno! I want everyone to know that my daddy and I support Scott one hundred percent in his quest to unseat whatever Democrat he's running against. Well, maybe I should say "campaigning" instead of "running." I mean, just look at the size of that butt! Someone's been eating some high-carb Weapons of Ass Destruction!


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Now I'm told that despite sounding like someone who works for Tony Soprano, that the name "Paterno" is nevertheless a respected name in these Dago-loving parts, on account of Joe Paterno – Penn State's legendary football coach. Well wouldn't you know it, Scott Paterno just happens to be one of Joe's non-illegitimate children. And though Scott is but a tender 31 years old and blessedly free from any accomplishments of his own, I am proud to say he is doing his best to emulate me by, among other things, attempting to leverage a famous name and a professed hatred of government into a sweet Federal gig with a lifetime pension. Besides, he may be only 31, but looking like a sofa upholstered by Men's Wearhouse, it's not like he's going to have the luxury of Strom Thurmond's Negress-porking lifespan to get around to slurping at the only trough that matters – the Federal Treasury gravy train!


I knew the word "gravy" would get that sucker's attention!


But let me stress that far from being a mere daddy's boy, Scott has a will and mind of his own. Indeed, just like I recently gave my ally-fellating "Mr. Perfect" father a super-sized FUCK YOU with my approach to unilaterally creating anarchy in Iraq, I see by his waist that Scott has made it his life's work to give a chubby finger to his athletics-obsessed daddy. I admire that.

Now I'm told that some folks are suggesting that Scott might be too green, and some others are saying he's flat-out dumb as a rocks of box. For them I point to Scott's impressive undergraduate acceptance to Penn State – that gleaming temple of Safety School excellence for the relatively unconnected. No doubt he had to demonstrate incredible grades and smartitude to be admitted into the hallowed halls of his daddy's employer. And if that's not enough, it says right here that after a lightning-quick six years spent earning his bachelor's degree, Scott went on to attend the intensely impressive-sounding Dickinson School of Law!

Wait – Dick in son? Can't you get arrested for that shit? Even in this part of Appalachia? (Snickers.) Really though, I've never heard of that one. I know it's not in the Top 100 law schools. Where's this Dickinson at, El Gordo?

SCOTT PATERNO: It's part of Penn State, sir.

THE PRESIDENT: (Laughter.) Bummer! Too bad your old man didn't coach for Yale and Harvard. If you're gonna get degrees handed to you by virtue of the accomplishments of smarter relatives, they might as well be from schools that don't suck, Porky. Trust me, I know!

Anyway, let's forget about Scott's and my schooling. We certainly have.


I've always said that if you really want to understand a man, you should read his writings. In my case, that means my poetry. In Scott's, it means both his letters and his epiphany-packed Op-Ed columns. So I'd like to take a minute here and read aloud to you from a few of the latter.

"In my first three weeks of college I didn't attend one class, mainly because I scheduled them all in the morning, and most mornings those first few weeks started after noon. The big draw? Beer. Beer became my best friend, and I drank a lot of it. Oh, and tequila. And vodka."
Amen, brother Scott! Same goes for me, except it was the first three years, and there was tons of pussy too, on account of I wasn't such a disgusting fat pigbeast like you.

"In my opinion, President Clinton, at the very least, conspired to commit murder at least 56 times... Anyone who has information that is damaging to Clinton's presidency has conveniently, and mysteriously, died. The list of Clinton dead makes Charlie Manson look like a petty criminal."
Couldn't have said it better myself, Scotto! Although next time, don't forget to work in a few references to him spraying man-snot all over that homely Jewess (who, last I looked, has eaten her way into your dating pool, bucko.) These references are essential if you expect to get anywhere in the GOP!

"Let's take charge of the town built with our money, our loans and our parking fines. Let's fight back. Contest every parking fine and clog the system. Live with six people in one house. Drink a beer on a street corner, and when they arrest you ask them why it is legal to do it at the stadium"
Damn straight, Jabba! As entitled sons of the fabulously wealthy, you and me know that laws are for losers and coloreds. If you actually obey them, who knows what will happen? You might end up getting sucked into the military and having to fight in a war! Besides, those arrest-thingies are just pieces of paper my daddy's friends at the CIA can graciously make-gone later. Trust me.

But on to my personal favorite:

"It's a typical Saturday night in America. College students all over the country are celebrating surviving yet another week of pure mental hell (please note my sarcasm) by inundating their systems with chemical bliss.

In Apartment A, two guys are pounding semi-cold Keystone Lights. They will consume nearly a case of 'America's least bitter beer' before going to Tappa Kegga Brew Fraternity for some serious drinking.

After several hours and way too many trips to the bathroom, one of the two guys starts a fight while the other slobbers all over some poor 18-year-old girl. On the way home, they pee on someone's flower bed and key a couple of cars, mainly because they are so drunk that it all seems okay."

Fuck yeah, Tubby! That sounds like my kind of party. Of course, in my version, the 18-year-old girl was sixteen, Mexican, duck-taped to an altar in the Skull & Bones crypt, and screaming bloody murder all night long while we huffed lines of crank off her tits. (Pause to become teary-eyed.) Ah, the memories. But otherwise, your version sounds about right.

And with that, I don't think there's much more to say. I have the utmost confidence that the people of Pennsyltucky know honest-to-goodness, bedrock conservative Republican quality when they see it. After all, this is the land of Rick Santorum. I trust that you will all vote for Scott Paterno in the April 27th primary, and come November, show the world that the people of Pennsyltucky are much more than just scrapple-munching losers who voted Democrat in 2000. Because in 2004, they're unemployed scrapple-munching losers who will vote party-line Republican – no matter what the candidate looks like or says! Because Jesus, I mean, I command it!


Thank you, and God Bless America!


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