A very upset and angry President George W. Bush stomped into the small White House room where his senior advisor Karl Rove was getting one of his twice daily body massages. Bush flopped down on the couch with the presidential spokesdog Barney. He was so upset he was visibly trembling.
“Dammit, Turd-blossum!” said Mr. Bush. “Things are just gettin’ out of hand and you gotta fix it!”
“All right Junior,” said Mr. Rove as he daintily and carefully wiped oil from his wrists with kleenex. “What do you want me to do for you?”
“Well, dammit Karl, you’re just gonna have to do something! There’s ‘way too much truth-telling goin' on around here these days. It’s bad enough the Republican Party is in the biggest freaking meltdown in political history. But now, you have all these bozos coming out of the woodwork a-tellin’ the truth an’ all, and there’s no tellin’ where that’s gonna take us or how it's gonna reflect on me either! You’ve just gotta put a stop to it and I mean right damned now!”
“Well, OK Junior. Just which bozos are you referring to?”
“Hell, I’m a-talkin’ about damned near all a them!” screamed Bush. “I mean the last one was that there army general what’s his name. General Major, I mean Major General Caldwell who’s supposed to be our military expert and spokesman on the ground there in Eye-Rack. He just hauled off and said we are being counterproductive, whatever in the hell that means! The press is all over it for Christ’s sake! We cain’t stand no damned more truth-tellin’!”
“Hell, the SOB even said our last crackdown in Eye-Rack is a freaking failure! And Karl, you know how I hate that word ‘failure’ doncha? Ever since folks found out what turned up when they did an internet search for that word what turned up. Dammit, cain’t I depend on any damned body any more?”
“OK Junior,” said Rove diplomatically. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Do hell!” Screamed Bush. “I want you to put a damned stop to it! This has gone ‘way too far. What the hell do you think this is going to do to my legacy as President?”
“Well Junior,” commented Rove. “I think your presidential legacy is pretty much already set in stone and there’s no way anyone can damage it any more. I wouldn’t worry myself anymore about that.”
Bush’s eyes spun in his head as he shouted, “Dammit Turd-Blossum! All this damned truth-tellin’ is the freaking reason! I mean just look at all the damage! First, way back when you had that damned White House Budget Advisor Lawrence Lindsey claiming the Iraq war could cost over $200 billion all at the same time Rumsfeld was saying it was lot’s less than $50 billion. We fired that sumbitch Lindsey the same day for that damned bit of truth-tellin’ and that put the fear o’ God in the rest of ‘em. That’s what I mean!”
“And at least some folks like Colin Powell got the hell out of the administration without gettin’ into the truth-tellin’ game. Where’s that kinda loyalty today?”
“Well, I already said I’d see what I can do Junior.” said Rove calmly. “I’ll go to work on it as soon as I get back from lunch between my massages.”
“Lunch, smunch you four-eyed fat-assed pervert!” screamed Bush. “Either you get started on this right-damned-now or I’m gonna fire your big fat ass!”
Now showing some temper himself, Rove said quite nastily, “I’m sorry Junior, but I don’t think so. You better take that up with Dick Cheney before you get hold of something you can’t handle. You just damned sure don’t want to go there.”
At that, Rove grabbed an orange from the nearby fruit bowl and hurled it at Bush’s head before heading back to the massage table shaking his head from side to side. "Tsk, tsk, tsk" he clucked.
“Nennh, nennh, nennh to you too you big fatty cakes!” sneered Bush as he grabbed the presidential spokesdog Barney and beat a hasty retreat back to the oval office.
Even Barney seemed a considerably nonplussed.