PRELUDE

PRELUDE 2

EPISODE 1

EPISODE 2

EPISODE 3

EPISODE 4

EPISODE 5

EPISODE 6

EPISODE 7

EPISODE 8

EPISODE 9

"The Dream Fades"

The GOP is deeply worried. It is the third month of Little Dubya Moron's administration. Most of their new "Contract on America" has been implemented.

Trent Lott has ordered 100 new Aircraft Carriers and 1000 B2 Bombers for them, at a billion bucks a pop, ignoring the fact that B2s can't fly off carriers. He ordered the Joint Chiefs of Staff to write letters to him telling him how badly they needed the new stuff, threatening demotion to private if they disobeyed.

The Vice President, a nice yellow Garden Gnome with a familiar smirk on its face is safely planted in the Rose Garden where he has caused no trouble at all.

Taxes on incomes below $50K have been doubled, and those on incomes above $500K removed completely. Insurance companies are now immune to all claims, and all hospitals except those serving politicians in Washington have shut down.

Yosemite Park is now a strip mine. Strom Thurmond now has groping rights on 20 female pages a day and a Special Prosecutor has been appointed for every Democrat in Congress and the Senate at a cost of $2 Billion with instructions to find something on each of them.

To cover the deficit which has appeared to their total bewilderment, they have borrowed three trillion dollars from Colombia, some of which Lott and Armey have taken as cocaine for a small medical problem they and the President have, and are selling some of it privately to fund a small concentration camp in Alaska for libruls.

They have hired Obergrupenfuehrer Heinrich von Schnitzelgruber, a cousin of Pat Buchanan, to run the camp.

All is as it was supposed to be, but something still worries the GOP.

The Gaggle of Gormless Goons who lead the party have met in the Oval Office. The Greased Cat that used to live on Lott's head has now moved off, as the head has rotted away completely, and it has taken up residence, with its grown kittens on Dick Armey's head.

Trent Lott hands out the morning's banana ration and flea powder, then calls the meeting to order.

Lott (speaking through his lower orifice which he finds to be a quite natural experience): "Okay guys… Mr. Delay, will you come down off the chandelier… what are we gonna do?"

Armey: "Give Richard Rainwater another $40 Billion contract."

Lott: "What for? - Tom, stop that! It's disgusting."

Armey: "Dunno. He just asked for it."

Delay: "We gave him one last week for $60 Billion. Dunno what that one was for, either."

Armey: "Well, he wants another one. It says it right here on this envelope with $20 Million in it on Dubya's desk."

Dubya: (sobs in his throat) "I'm not happy."

Deeply shocked, they all turn to little Dubya Moron. Little tears are running down his little face.

Dubya: "I miss my Mommy! And my dog! And my little cot and my farm in Austin! I miss my little Bushie Whackoes!

This job is so tiring! I hate working past 4 o'clock!"

A stunned silence reigns in the Oval Office.

Dubya: "And that nasty, evil, librul press! The Washington Post yesterday said I was a disaster!

Lott: "You were able to read the Post? All on your own? - Tom, please, stop that! Someone else may have to sit on that seat."

Dubya: No, my nanny read it to me."

Delay: "Well, not to worry. We'll tell Rainwater to buy the paper and shut it down. We're going to do that with everything except the Washington Times and the American Spectator, anyway."

Dubya: "I just want to go back home and breed Bushie Whackoes and not breed Hairless Whackoes or the noxious Adulterous Whacko. I didn't make much money, but I could learn to live on $30 Million a year again. I was happy, then."

Lott: (pulling away the last bits of his rotting head and dropping them in the waste basket) "Well, I suppose Vice President Garden Gnome could take over at a pinch. At least he wouldn't keep all the money in those envelopes from Richard Rainwater."

Delay: (brightening) "And I could get to fly in Air Force One if I offer to carry the Veep aboard."

Lott: "Only if you sit in the back and wash regularly. I get to ride in the front."

Armey: "Okay. Can I order a war in some place?

Lott: "Sure, Dick. How are the kittens?

Armey: "You were right. Garlic and onions did the trick. Only three left now."

Leaving Dubya crouching under the desk sucking his thumb and weeping bitterly, the Gormless Gaggle
leaves.

I'm sorry, elves, I really wanna stop, but I'm hooked, and it's so much fun, though I know there are some republicans out there with a sense of humor -

Mike Okassian e, April 2000