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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE – OFFICE OF THE PRESS SECRETARY – EXECUTIVE BRANCH

April 17, 2007
 

Virginia Tech Tragedy: President Bush Expresses Shocked Outrage Over Brutal Massacre He Did Not Authorize

THE PRESIDENT: Thank you. Charlie and me have come to Blacksburg, Virginia today with hearts full of sorrow and alarm. This is a day of mourning for the Virginia Tech community, and a day of outrage and disbelief for the entire nation. But most of all, it's an awful sad day for America's poor, innocent guns – who done got their good reputations dragged through the mud by that psychotronic little Oriental kid. It's a darn shame that young Ninja fellow didn't use nunchucks or one of them cool steel stars those folks always throw, instead of causing Americans to mistakenly think that riddling folks with three or four bullets is inherently dangerous!

After all, it doesn't take much to get the anti-gun crazies all hysterical these days. 32 college kids are murdered with guns in one otherwise delightful morning and you just know the "guns are dangerous" folks are going to twist the facts to their advantage so much, you'd think they were trying to hoodwink the public into supporting an invasion of Iraq!

I mean, who would have EVER thought a sweet little semi-automatic handgun would be used to kill a bunch of people. To me, it's always a TOTAL shocker when a thing is actually used for the purpose for which it was manufactured – like when an electric cattle prod is used to make a bloated heifer shriek in agony, or when a plank of wood and buckets of water are used to reduce an Afghan farmer to a limp, top-secret corpse.

Because remember: guns don't kill people, mentally unhinged young adults who are able to purchase guns from unblinking redneck death profiteers kill people. Sigh. It's just a goddamn shame that campus Army recruiters never got a chance to scoop that talented little superstar up and give him an outlet for his sociopathic rage.

With that in mind, it is with carefully studied sobriety that I put on my sad face and speak to all of you about a senseless bloodbath that I am a bit shocked to find out wasn't put in motion by one of my half-assed policies. It sure is a good thing the entire country is suffering from a case of mass PTSD, and is pathologically unable to process basic human emotions or to properly grieve – which normally comes in handy when I'm trying to shuck and jive around the killing Lotto going on in a faraway, and largely imaginary land.

Without this inability to comprehend the changing world and the horrors it begets, I would be unable to shamelessly use this national tragedy as a backdrop to score some "gravitas" points. What do I got to lose? Thing is, in a couple of days, y'all will have forgotten these 30 or so dead kids, the way you forgot about the 3,000 and change that I've shipped UPS to Deathtown, Mesopotamia. Frankly, looking at the outpouring of emotion here in Virginia, I'm mighty relieved that you all don't freak out and turn into a nation of touchy-feely, crying sissies every time a few dozen college-aged Americans are killed in Iraq, too – or you might start regarding this Charlie Chan Cho fellow as an amateur next to yours truly when it comes to needlessly killing folks.

Anyway, I want to thank you for inviting me to your God-drenched convocation today. At times like these, it gives us strength to pray to a loving God. The loving God who works in mysterious ways, which includes sitting back and twiddling His enormous holy thumbs while He watches dozens of innocent people who are screaming His name get blasted to pieces in a hail of painful gunfire. Our loving, but often distracted, God created us in his image, which is just one reason why the Orientals like Cho Seung-Hui feel so left out. And God works through us at all times, whether it's egging us on to empty rounds into innocent civilians face to face, or as in my case, ordering bombs dropped on them from half a world away. Perhaps this was Him punishing godless liberal universities for teaching students about evolution, multiculturalism, and the best places to score killer weed.

I know what's on many of your minds and in your hearts: why couldn't this have been terrorism, the same kind of death-dealing terrorism I promised long ago would descend upon this country like giant, flesh-hungry locusts. I was kind of hoping that it was terrorism, and I'm appalled that no one has been able to connect it to terrorism, or to the rotting cadaver of Saddam Hussein. Too bad the immigrant kid wasn't Mexican, because then, gosh durn it, we'd have an excuse to preemptively dig a trench thousands of miles long against the Mexican border and fill it with taco-sniffing grizzly bears that projectile vomit rattle snakes. And too bad the kid was Korean, a race whose worse stereotype is an affinity for math, and a predilection for setting off apocalyptic nukular farts in their own back yard.

It's hard to believe that such a bad seed could have been raised here in America – even if he was a Koreastani. Not in this generation. No sir. Not in the most spoiled, narcissistic, socially awkward crop of children in history! Not among the kids whose parents dote on them like lap dogs instead of soon-to-be-adults, filling their heads with cheap, unearned self-esteem, and vicariously cannibalizing their youth like keg-standing vampires. Oh well. Such is our lust for validation, we've sired a whole crop of youngins who think of us as their best friends, instead of parents. And that's why they smile, and bounce, and rock out on their music pods and Spacebooks while the world we've created subjects them to horror after horror. Poor us! We gots to watch our own kids die! BOOO-BLUBBERPOOP-HOOOOOOO!!!

In closing, I want to thank the news media, who have swooped into this campus like the tragedy buzzards they are. Nothing like a bunch of highly-paid cupie dolls seducing the egos of hundreds of shell-shocked puberteens into whoring their raw emotions in order to sell advertising. It's like that fag soup artist said: in the future, everyone will get fifteen minutes of privacy. But not this breaking news minute. So smile kids; yer famous! Perhaps that will momentarily spackle over all the weeping, tearing fissures in your young, piss-ignorant hearts.

Now if you'll excuse me, Mr. Heston and me need to book an auditorium at the nearest convention center.

We now return to our regularly scheduled blame game, American Idol updates, and partisan political white noise.



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