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January 23, 2007

The 2007 State of the Union Address: Transcript of President's Warm Fuzzy Speech to Congress and the Nation

THE PRESIDENT: Yeesh. Not nearly as cozy up here as last year, is it Dick? Hey, Denny! Denny! Whatcha doin' slumming it in the nosebleed seats? (Winks.) That's former Coach of the House Denny Hastert way back there, ladies and germs. Great guy, old Denny. The sort of fella who'll throw a raging kegger and be all cool when the hottie you slipped a roofie to pukes Coors all over his bed. Just sort of stands there like a bug-eyed ox and shrugs. Good times. Miss you up here, Denster! (Sighs.)

Alright. Let's get this over with. Tonight, I have a highly unusual obligation – as the first President to begin the State of the Union message with this word: "Madame" – which is Frenchish for "Skanky Boss-Lady of a Whore House".

Madame Mister Speaker: Congratulations. Good for you! First hippie to be third in line for my job. Whoop, whoop! We got us a nasty, Grateful Dead singing Grandma with a mummified coochie holding a wooden hammer! Let's all pat ourselves on the back! Go on, girl! Thass right, sister-child! Oprah's one happy snatch-chomping billionaire tonight! I'm so excited by this example of predictable Democratic tokenism, I'm gonna lift my leg and squeeze out one of them yawn-farts old men rip when they're too weak to get off the La-Z-Boy.

Two members of the House and Senate are not with us tonight, and we pray for the recovery and speedy return of Congressman Charlie Norwood. (Applause.) As for Senator Tim Johnson: If you're watching out there, Daschle Jr., just know that it's OK to suddenly and inexplicably die – especially when the Senate majority is hanging by a single seat. So do me a deep personal favor and let Jesus show you around Heaven's food court, dig?

Madam Mister Speaker, Vice President Liability, members of Congress, distinguished guests, and fellow citizens:

The rite of custom, and by custom I mean something that fucking Constitution thing orders me to do – namely explain to you fat, corrupt diva queens what it is I have been divinely ordained to do just so you can slap on make-up and bitch and moan on cable teevee... but I digress. It is this pain in the ass custom that brings us together at a defining hour, when decisions are hard, courage is needed and a lamp helps. Because it's durn hard to read these teleprompters in the dimming light of this, the twilight of our republic.

We enter the year 2007 with large endeavors underway, heartbreakingly epic clusterfucks to stare at impotently, political mistakes to sweep under the rug, and criminally unjust policies to re-name, re-spin, and re-sell. In all of this, much is asked of us. And I mean ALL of us – you smug pinko Democrats included. So let's be real for a sec, yo? Y'all didn't win both houses because you lactate ice cold chocolate milk. Y'all won by ducking and covering. I know it, and you know it, so welcome to the party: mi fuck ups es tu fuck ups. Let's play nice. We must have the will to face difficult challenges and determined enemies – and the wisdom to face them together. One more time: t-o-g-e-t-h-e-r. All aboard the Titanic; our hearts will go on. At least until that damn CIA-built dirty bomb goes off.

Some in this chamber are new to the House and the Senate – and I congratulate the Democrat majority. See? I'm a nice guy. I even sent the new Majority Leader Harry Reid a fruit basket. He's a Mormon, by the way. Didja know Mormons are like the Shia insurgents of the Southwest? I watched that HBO documentary Big Love with Laura last year, found out all sorts of things about Harry. Like, did you know Harry Reid rapes his pre-teen wives? Moving on…

Congress has changed, but not our responsibilities. Even though a new party is in the driver's seat, I predict that Congress will continue to dither, preen, equivocate, and fiddle with their gold and pearl cufflinks halfway through the upcoming sequel, NineEleven II: Obama Bugaloo. Y'all think you voted out influence in these here houses? A-heh-heh-heh. So it's out with the McJesus Industries, Wall Street, and war pornographers, in with ambulance chasing trial lawyers, Hollywood faggoteers, and co-ed banging commie university professors. Same shit, different consistency.

Each of us is guided by our own convictions – and to these we must stay faithful. Even if we're wrong. Especially if we're wrong. Self-reflection is a sign of weakness after all. As the wise man says: two plus two equals five, bitch.

Yet we're all held to the same standards, and called to serve the same good purposes: to get re-elected, make a little money for those who gave us the loot to get re-elected, and to get a bunch of streets and buildings named after us in our home states. I suppose we're also here to extend the prosperity of the nation's aristocracy; to spend the middle class' money wisely on tax cuts for their bosses, to mortgage the future of multiple still-unborn generations; to guard America against all evil (with the noted exception of all the Nixon cronies who are, unbelievably, still running the show thirty-odd years later); and to keep faith with those we have sent forth to defend us, because it's the least we can do for a generation of newly minted cripples, burn victims, and head cases returning from the Arab Alamo.

A future of hope and opportunity begins with a growing economy – and that is what we have. We're now in the 41st month of uninterrupted job growth, in a recovery that has created 7.2 million new jobs – so far. Unemployment is low, inflation is low, and wages are rising. If we keep this going, we might start enjoying the prosperity that evaporated shortly after my economic policies were first instituted back in 2001. Can I talk about the stock market? The Dow Jones continues to break records, scaling new heights, and is proof of what can be achieved by a small cabal of back-slapping buddies sitting on a majority of the world's wealth.

Next week, I'll deliver a full report on the state of our economy. Tonight, I want to discuss three economic reforms that deserve to be priorities for this Congress.

First, we must balance the federal budget. Within five years. Without raising taxes. With help from a magical race of marshmallow-pooping unicorns. HAR! Better late than never, right? One of the great things about only having two years left in office is now I can say that all my genius ideas will take longer to accomplish than I'll be around for. That way, when they don't happen, it's because someone ELSE dropped the ball, and not because they were moronic pipe dreams to begin with.

What we need is to impose spending discipline in Washington, D.C. Yes, I know, that's like Ted Kennedy calling for the return of Prohibition. Some of you in the press might even call this a "flip-flop" and to those scribblers out there, I want to say: "Suck it long, suck it hard, swallow it all." See, this was all part of my plan, right? All the way back in 2000, I was all "Here's the deal: we're going to cut taxes on the wealthy, raise spending, and fatten the wallets of all our pals with magical fun tickets we'll borrow from countries like China! We'll bankrupt the country while spending like a bunch of Girls Gone Wild mega-sluts trolling Daytona with daddy's platinum card!" And then I was all "But in 2007, we're going to do a massive, wheel-squealing Roscoe P. Coltrane U-turn and return to the groundbreaking conservative theory that peeps shouldn't fuck away cash that peeps don't got, especially on money pits like hopeless Vanity Wars." So, clearly, it's all part of my master plan.

Next, there is the matter of earmarks. These special interest items are often slipped into bills at the last hour – when not even C-SPAN is watching. (Peals of Laughter.) Formerly known as the Bread and Butter of Politics, earmarks are when politicians buy influence and future votes with their constituents back home by sneaking last minute spending into larger bills, the way a leech attaches itself to the taints of rednecks bobbing in stagnant swimming holes. Take the Democratic Senator Pro Tempore and former Nigra-lynching Klansman Robert Byrd. Smooth motherfucker stole billions of dollars to upgrade highways in West Virginia, to better serve the thunderous traffic that pours between all of West Virginia's teeming metropolises. Anypoopers, that shit is OUT. Anyone wants to buy influence, power, or votes has to do it the old fashioned way – in a dark, smoky back room. Actually having the meat bells to do it in the pit of the people's House of Representatives is off limits. For now.

And, finally, to keep this economy strong we must take on the challenge of entitlements. Social Security and Medicare and Medicaid are commitments of conscience, and so it is our duty to keep them permanently sound, or until all the old fogey's who still remember this sacrosanct compact between citizen and government start grave-surfing en masse. After that, we can introduce Capital One Security and VisaCare.

Spreading opportunity and hope in America also requires public schools that pistol whip children into violently vomiting numbers with robot-like precision. Five years ago, we rose above partisan differences to pass the No Child Left Behind Act, preserving local control, raising standards, and holding those schools accountable for results, which is why the needs of government bean counters pouring over spreadsheets of results trumps the needs of individual children too broke to get their ass to prep school. That bill still gives me a warm fuzzy.

And so tonight, I propose two new initiatives to help more Americans afford their own insurance. Here it is in a nutshell: tax cuts. Yeah! Yer god damn right! Since millions upon millions of Americans can't even shovel themselves out from under their piles of credit card, hospital, and second mortgage bills, I want them to buy into their own health insurance. Sweet! Surely, they can manage their own insurance the same way the majority of Americans handle the fact that they don't save money anymore! Because they're too busy paying off student loans! I'm merely being practical here, there's a reason loan sharks do so well on the streets. If you're rich, and don't really depend on employment-based insurance, then I'll let you deduct shit, like plastic surgery. I mean, let's be honest: most people who depend on their employers for insurance get a pretty sweet deal. Providing you don't have any pre-existing medical conditions like cancer, asthma, bunions, dandruff, or hangnails, you just traipse into your doctor's office and voila! Exactly forty man hours of phone calls, paperwork, and approvals later, there's the slight chance you might get seen and prescribed drugs that don't totally bankrupt your ass. Ooh-la-la, America. Fancy and gold plated. Take responsibility for once, would you? Like our forefathers? You know what happened when George Washington had a tooth ache? He had an Injun whack him in the mouth with a tomahawk. Then he cried, bled, and passed out and LIKED IT. So man up!

My second proposal is to help the states that are coming up with innovative ways to cover the uninsured. Such as: selling organs for money, sweeping up body parts in Baghdad, and serving as human scarecrows on our Southwestern border. Why, there are dozens of ways for these pathetic unfortunates to purchase the bare essentials a modern, Western nation should be providing to her lesser citizens.

It's also in our vital interest to diversify America's energy supply – the way forward is through technology. Wind power, ethanol, bio-diesel, coal… all of these energy sources need to be employed in order to limit our dependency on foreign oil. Many of you are probably rolling your eyes, seeing as I've spent the last six years sucking off the greasy tit of Big Oil. But here's a newsflash: who do you think owns a sizeable portion of alternative energy patents? That's right. Once we've weaned ourself off foreign oil or the entire Middle East is irradiated or whichever comes first, the Bush Dynasty will still be there at the forefront of USA Energy, Inc. – absorbing bumpin' fresh profits. Just wait until mid-century when we declare war on clouds, or gypsy moth caterpillars!

Alright, enough of that boring domestic stuff, right? If I keep on with this, folks will expect me to talk about New Orleans, and well, just thinking about all those whiny negroes gives me a headache. So let's get to the cool bombing-and-killing-Arabiac-trash stuff, shall we?

OK, now shhhhhhhhhh....



(Pause for dramatic effect.)

When you hear the word "9/11TM", it means it's time for me to talk about terror, paranoia, my total perfection, etc, etc. Though to be honest (whatever that means), after over five years of giving my Nineleventerror Spiel, even I'm starting to get a little tired of trying to think up new ways to say the same ten sentences over and over again. For next year's State of the Union – assuming I haven't been impeached – I think I'll call up the folks at K-Tel Records, and just have them cut together a "Super SOTU Smash Terror Hits" collection, then we can just crank up that CD and dance a little Congressional Ho-Down during this part. I'm told I haven't lived until Liddy Dole does her famous lambada crotch-grind on my thigh!

With the distance of time, we find the Democratic party pointing with barely disguised glee to the hopeless clusterfuck I singlehandedly created in Iraq – and the public mistaking pompous liberal indignation for the hairy, wrinkly folds of an emerging nutsack. Fortunately, since we're all craven and spineless politicians, both parties can continue to agree that in this War on Terror, "we must take the fight to the enemy."


We are Americans first, and Republicans or Democrats second. And as Americans, we accept without question that we own the planet, and that we are automatically entitled to violently impose our will on any country that dares to question that we deserve whatever we want – so long as we wrap our greed and arrogance in lots of syrupy, condescending rhetoric about FREEDOM and Liberty.

My success in my make-pretend war against the invisible spectral boogeyman that is "Terror" is often measured by things that did not happen. The average American cannot know for certain, for instance, that by meekly submitting to my every whim, they personally were spared being drawn and quartered on their own kitchen floor by cackling Arabiac madmen with big bushy beards filled with dried lumps of baba ganoush – and ants. But they can be pretty sure. And we do know for sure that every several months, the Justice Department releases a new breathless statement, claiming victory over a new penne ante terror scheme hatched by a "cell" of disgruntled Muslamiac teenagers, whose impotent rage likely never would have bloomed in the first place were it not for my blood-drenched campaign to exterminate their relatives.

Our enemies are quite explicit about their intentions. They want America to leave the Middle East. As if that's gonna happen! If they were really serious about getting rid of us, they will pray to that silly Moohammed Allah guy of theirs to take all the oil that's under their lands, and put it under North Korea instead. Then we really won't care whether Iran or anyone else has nukes to defend themselves, because those sand monkeys won't have anything that we want. And then finally, it would become an urgent priority for America to bring FREEDOM and Liberty to the poor oppressed people of North Korea. Because at long last, there will be more to extract from their rocky soil than mere stinky bulbs of garlic.

In the 6th year since our nation was attacked, I wish I could report to you that my idea to randomly invade a huge, unstable country on the cheap had not failed catastrophically and accomplished exactly the opposite of what I had hoped for: sweet petro-pickins for ExxonMobil & Halliburton. And so it remains the policy of my administration to... uhhhh... keep at it. Now some folks say that "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." Well I don't know what dictionary those flip-floppers are using, but in my book, that's the definition of "VICTORY" – or at the very least, "pig-headedly riding out the rest of my lame duck term."

Anyway, yeah, Iraq. To boil it all down, folks should really believe me this time that everything's gonna turn out hunky-dory over there. Because now, unlike in the past, that Nuri Al-Malarky guy is in charge of Iraq. You know, that shady dude who hangs out with the Iranians, while blowing me off and dissing me every chance he gets? Yeah, that guy. I'm betting the farm – and 20,000 more soldiers' lives – on him kissing my war boo-boo and making it allllll better. If that's not a super-smart policy, I don't know what is!

But American foreign policy is more than a matter of just bombing the shit out of funny-looking weak people who get in our way. Our work in the world is also based on a timeless truth: To whom much is given, much more is always craved. America hears the call to take on the challenges of hunger, poverty, and disease – and responds with a condescending smile of pained empathy. We hear you, world. We're America, after all. Surely you've heard of our boundless altruism, and reputation as a tireless champion for human rights, dignity, and the sovereignty of peoples – the last six years notwithstanding.

When America prattles on in a self-congratulatory orgy of empty rhetoric, we show our country's ability to bask in a comfortable nostalgia that is totally divorced from reality. We bask in the intellectual laziness of our people, and a nationalistic arrogance so powerful, it is blind to the imperial hubris and greed that has made us more globally despised than at any point in our history.

And so we segue into the patrio-pornography portion of tonight's program. Please direct your attention to the gallery, and the carefully curated group of folks who starred in some this year's most saccharine nightly news fluff pieces.

That big colored fella sitting next to Pickles grew up in Africa, amid great poverty and disease. He came to Georgetown University to study medicine – but on account of he's freakishly tall, was lured onto the basketball team. He became a star in the NBA, and sent money back to his hometown in Africa. And the moral of the story is: negroes are real good at team sports with balls, so if they focus all their energy on that, they can be famous, and even get to sit next to the First Lady!

After her daughter was born, Julie Aigner-Clark lamented a lack of gratuitously pretentious products for infants. So she started a company called Baby Einstein, preying on Americans' near-pathological desire to micro-manage their childrens' lives, and infusing our country's hopelessly anemic baby accessory industry with such essential items as Creationist Zoology for Toddlers and $6.00 paper hats. Julie represents the power of marketing to sell snake oil to sheep, and I look forward to enlisting her help next year, when it's time to convince America of the need to start bombing Iran.

Three weeks ago, Wesley Autry was waiting at a Harlem subway station with his two little girls, when he saw a man fall into the path of train. With seconds to act, Wesley jumped onto the tracks, pulled the man into a space between the rails, and held him as the train passed right above their heads. And for his act of incredible heroism, he has been handsomely repaid: first with a media feeding frenzy, and now tonight, by being trotted out for cheap political points by yours truly. Unfortunately, there's not enough to Wesley's story for him to sell the rights or leverage it into something bigger. So take a good look at him now, grinning and waving and basking in his 15 minutes of fame. That's how he'll want to be remembered, once he returns to his blighted neighborhood to endure a lifetime of institutionalized discrimination – and the occasional blizzard of bullets from the heroic heroes of the herotastic NYPD.

Tommy Rieman was a teenager pumping gas in Independence, Kentucky, when he enlisted in the United States Army. In December 2003, he was on a mission in Iraq when his team cam under heavy enemy fire. He was injured, and displayed exceptional courage, for which he was awarded the Silver Star. And unlike so many other Americans who have volunteered to defend us, he is telegenic, and doesn't have any of those creepy amputation stumps that make you feel queasy when you look at them, so we hand-picked him to come here tonight to represent the embodiment of patriotism: a real gung-ho GI Joe, who'll never pull a John Kerry and make smarty-pants speeches against the war, on account of he never understood or cared what it was about in the first place.

In all these cynically exploited human props, ladies and gentlemen, we see the spirit and character that I'm so desperately trying to convince people to see in me. So look at them long and hard – like one of them pinwheel optical illusion thingies – then look back at me real quick, and maybe some will stick.

In closing, this is a KICK-ASS country – and awesome, too. We have been through lots together. We have deluded ourselves about lots of things, and though now that you've finally gotten to know the real me, my approval ratings are as bad as Richard Nixon's, I have FAITH that the American people still have plenty more delusion to be tapped. And so I will go forward with confidence – because the state of my union with ultimate power remains strong... my ability to do whatever the fuck I want is intact... and tonight I keep living large.

Thank you, and thank Christ I only have to give this speech one more time before I am OUTY!!!


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