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THE WHITE HOUSE
Newsroom

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

September 3, 2007
 

President's Remarks to Super-Stoked Troops During Mega-Secret Photo Op in Increasingly Ultra-Safe Iraq

THE PRESIDENT: Howdy doody, fighting men and chickies of the United States of America! Three guesses as to who's jawing at you right now, smack dab here in the middle of the closest thing to hell on Earth there is – not counting the grounds of the US Capitol or the homo district of Massachusetts, which I think is called "Massachusetts". G'wan, GI Joes, El Jefe Supremo says GUESS!

SOLDIER #1: Is it the Angel of Death, sir?

THE PRESIDENT: CLOSE!

SOLDIER #2: Is it my wife and kids who I haven't seen in over eight months, sir?

THE PRESIDENT: NO DICE!

SOLDIER #3: IS IT THAT FUCKING ARMY RECRUITER WHO TOLD ME I'D BE SERVING MY COUNTRY DRINKING RUM AND TANNING IN GUAM, SIR?

THE PRESIDENT: No. It's...

SOLDIER #4: HEY, WHEN'S THE PHOTO OP, MR. PRESIDENT? I'M THINKING A FRAMED PICTURE OF YOU AND ME SMILING WOULD LOOK GREAT ON TOP OF MY FLAG-DRAPED COFFIN!

THE PRESIDENT: That's right! It is me, Mr. President hisself! You done guessed correctly! Now, I command you to whoop up fer yer ol' Commander In Chief! That's an order!

[WHOOPS & CHEERS!]

THE PRESIDENT: STOMP YOUR FEET AND PUMP YOUR FISTS! THASS AN ORDER!

[FEET STOMP & FISTS PUMP]

THE PRESIDENT: NOW CRY AND CLAW YOUR FACES WITH ORGIASTIC ECTASY! AND THAT IS A DOUBLE PLUS DEFCON FOUR ORDER!

[TEARFUL WAILS & AND ORACULAR ORGASMS OF OBEDIENCE]

You love me, you really, really love me.

Now, don't y'all fall to your knees and thank me: cutting my three month summer vacation short and visiting the largest, most bold-faced boondoggle in American history is the least I can do. And don't get me wrong, I was all safe in snug on location in my Hollywood bunker in Crawford. After all, it was me and Dick and all my boys who had the hot boner to prove that capitalism and war were not only compatible, but complementary. Which is how we got it now: the War On Terror is good for business, good for my personal self esteem, and good for Americans, or rather, the 99% of Americans who won't ever have to see or smell a sidewalk smeared with meaty human entrails baked by the desert sun.

See, I hoofed it here to Anbar province to prove that it is as safe as a Sunday night Methodist spaghetti dinner. Hell, once upon a time, this worthless swath of land was just one giant used tampon sodden with the blood of Islamazoid terrorists, sundry innocents, and… well, y'all. But now, I can just traipse in here like I own the place, which is partly true, except that it's the American taxpayer than done owns this awesome future real estate opportunity. While I scan the horizon, I can see the future of Iraq, and that future is: Wal-Mart, Olive Garden, and Jiffy Lube. Why, with the full brunt of the American security machine – which includes the US Military and the corporate mercenary industry I call "Warbucks" – bearing down on this soon-to-be-paradise where I stand, I feel safe enough to tear off my knickers and take a hot piss on a pile of bones out here in the open! I mean, I brought my whole Death Team here! Condi's here, the white guy who's not Condi but does all the things Condi did before she went to the Department of Lame-Ass Talk is here, and that killjoy Gates is here.

Shit, if you took out my entire entourage, the world might be plunged into PEACE. So my point is: ain't this transparent, late-term campaign stop cocky as shit of me?

I'm here to remind you, and more importantly, the fat-assed Baby Boomers whose tastes in truth comes in convenient, impotently stuttering Democrat and absurdly morally blinded Republican flavor, that this here war ain't going nowhere. Clock is ticking, and I'm in it to win it, catch my drift? This war is our deformed Frankenstein baby, and so long as it poops American lives into our national diaper, I'm there to change it, and let it suckle from my oil secreting third nipple.

Maybe after we start carpet bombing the Iranians back to the stone age, albeit a nukular armed stone age, y'all will forget Iraq lickety split. Just the way y'all forgot about that other war… the one over there… where we fought the people who probably flew planes into buildings or something…

I'm here to remind you that the war in Iraq is just like Vietnam, and World War II, with a dash of Panama and just a hint of Grenada. If we lose this war, then the Nazi-Cong win and before you know it, every new American will be some kind of Communist mulatto-fag baby.

I don't make my decisions like they make decisions in Washington. Those spineless fat cats spend their time mindlessly watching the polls, basing their decisions on what the people say and feel and not on their own conscience. Some people see the glass as 70% full of Americans who want to cut and run from a poorly conceived and executed war of opportunity, and some people see the glass as 30% full of people who have money directly invested in the War on Terror. I'm the latter, yo?

Let me also say this: I want to bring y'all home. But the Surge is working – the same way sticking your dick in a boat will keep it from sinking. I'm also here to say that I have thought about maybe sort of talking to folks about the vague, distant possibility that perhaps some of you, not all, can come home and try to rebuild your lives. But don't quote me on that… unless you're on CNN or MSNBC. And even then, don't even think about holding me to it.

Thank you, and may God Bless Bush America.



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