THE PRESIDENT: Good evening, and... HAPPY PATRIOT DAY!

(Blows horn; confetti falls, limply)

Five years ago, this date – 9/11^TM – was seared into America's memory, then emblazoned, printed, tattooed, sold and packaged in every classy way possible. It has become a noble, Godly, and patriotic brand name that means so many things to so few people, like: "USA WILL FUCK YOUR SHIT UP" and "PAYBACK'S A BITCH, LAUNDRY BRAINS" and "JESUS IS MY SAVIOR, BUT I'M SCARED TO MEET HIM.YOU FIRST, IZZLAMONAZIS!"

All I can say is congrats to the foreward-thinking Americans who bought stock in this country's vast Stars & Stripes industry before those towers fell down, down – and my poll numbers went up, up. Bet you made out like a corner nigga slingin' pure, uncut Colombian pimp snax while everyone else be huffing gas-o-line. Ain't America swell? (Thumbs up.)

Remember that many a hero has died for the flag... literally for a piece of cheap Chinese cloth hung out in front of some gated community McMansion. Sheesh. No wonder I never did my time flying combat sorties in Vietnam. The proletariat concept of dying for sentimental notions of patriotic symbolism is sooooo déclassé.

Get the GODLY New Book!

Hell, before 9/11^TM, I'd already settled on blaming every problem on Saddam Hussein: from recreational abortion hobbyists to teachers who refuse to believe Jesus rode into Jerusalem on the back of a Stegosaurus; so I suppose you could say this terrible day was a gift from providence. God green-lighting the biggest transformation of sincere national unity into hysterical, paranoid tribalism, since, you know, something from history. Thank gosh God is so determined to be mum about why He does stuff. Guess that's what makes him so sexy and mysterious.

Yes, on this date, a monumental human tragedy occurred; a calamitous failure of decades of foreign policy climaxing on my watch in the form of the largest, most devastating attack on the United States in her history. So massive in scope was this plot by a handful of motivated Muslamoid rednecks, that even to this day, when I sit down to contemplate what happened, I react much the way I did on that fateful September morning: I just sort of go all "Durrrrrr..." and drool over a children's book.

Heh-heh. You know how everyone has a funny 9/11^TM story? Like, some people are all, "I stumbled across the Brooklyn Bridge covered in dust, bleeding out my eyes and wondering where my wife was" or more likely "I watched the 9/11^TMshow all day, then ordered two large Domino's Extravaganza Pizzas"? Well, I got a story too. I was sweating urine on Air Force One while we were hauling ass to the most secure military site in the country, and Andy Card is pacing in the aisle talking to folks at Gallup, and while his back is turned, I TOTALLY pinched his droopy little ass. Then when he turned around, I pointed at my Secret Service guy and... and... guess you had to be there.

Let me also say, that at this point, I'd like you to ignore that this speech is a thinly veiled GOP mission statement defending my Administration's short-sighted, blockheaded strategy in fighting the mercurial War On Terror in anticipation of the ass-pounding my once mighty party is going to endure come November. This is the part where I act all "Presidential" and make you sorry turncoats who are tired of the taste of the shit I feed you reconsider how you're going to vote. So it's this speech, and my friends at Diebold that are the only things separating you, my fellow Americans, from a properly functioning democracy. That, by the way, is bad for business.

Now, allow me to make believe I am sincerely appealing to you in an attempt to bring this country together, to heal the wounds whose sutures I kept ripping out over and over and over and over and over and over again. I'd like to make the most exploitive, seemingly apolitical choice I can make right now, and give gushing lip service, lavish praise, and undivided attention to the victims and heroes of 9/11^TM. I will never forget any of you, although on a side note, I am sad they seem to finally be getting around to filling that hole in downtown Manhattan. As holes go, this is a great hole. Anytime I needed a little bumpy-bump in my numbers, all I had to do was rush over to that hole and blammo! The red states love it, especially when I went with that hairy aye-talian Googliani, who smells a little too much like, as the French would say, "Le Coq", to ever be president. (Shrugs.)

Sometimes, when I'm standing all solemn and shit by that hole, like I did earlier today, I like to think to myself "How many Hostess Ho-Hos would it take to fill Ground Zero up? Seventy-billion-trillion? Could you float a boat on a lake of Ho-Hos? Would the boat be made of Ho-Hos? Instead of wood planks, would they be Ho-Hos? Who would build the custom Ho-Ho parts I would need? Like Ho-Ho bolts, Ho-Ho masts, Ho-Ho etc?"

Anyway – I'd like to take this time to honor the victims and heroes of 9/11^TM. There is absolutely NO WAY anyone can criticize my doing that. I have honored the heroes of 9/11^TM over the years too: during photo ops, campaign commercials, and that time I was so eager to get New York cleaned up that I had my EPA chief tell everyone that the thick dust cloud settling over Ground Zero was nice, healthy FREEDOM FOG^® instead of PCBs, asbestos, lead and just death in general. Boy howdy, inside my noggin I am honoring the fuck out of every single one of those nobodies. Lookit! Lookit my brow! I salute New York's Finest, and their slightly gayer little brothers, New York's Bravest. Commie unions being damned for the time being.

And where are we, half a decade later? As a nation, we are heartbreakingly divided and bitter, and many of you might think that's regrettable, but it reminds me of what Mama always says: you know, that you can't make an omelet without the house Negro breaking a few eggs while you read the Wall Street Journal in bed. Ben Franklin was right when he said "A House Divided Means Two Condos You Can Rent."

I believe with all my heart that history will look back and declare that my Administration did whatever it had to do in order to hold onto to power, even if it meant lying, breaking the law, and flouting the spirit of the Constitution and its mandated checks and balances. And I did it for the smallest possible minority of Americans. I believe steadfastly in all I was taught by my father's former friends and current bullet-happy robber barons – stern, condescending paternalism and emotionally manipulative fear-mongering is the only way to keep the muddy classes where they belong, namely, not splattered all over my patent leather shoes.

In closing, we cannot yield. There is no surrender. We cannot yield, because I have no choice but to stay the course. There is no Plan B. If for any reason, because, and this here is a wee little secret, we're all out of any ideas. I mean, Rummy has a Plan B, but if we were to go with Plan B, there'd be plenty of European babies born with skull noses and pinky fingers growing outta their bellybuttons. The War On Terror is the greatest challenge of the Baby Boom generation. We can do it! We've faced worse: like Disco, and sagging jowls, and investment bubbles. The War on Terror is our Saving Private Ryan. Think about THAT!

I wish a happy, healthy Patriot Day to you and yours. Ho, ho, ho! Watch out for commercial air-o-planes piloted by suicidal Puerto Rican-lookin' motherfuckers!

PSYCH!

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