My Neck Itches (No, Wait: That’s Just Ann Coulter, Trying to Bite My Head Off)

For the last three weeks, my head has been itching incessantly. At first, I wasn’t sure what the cause was: a skin rash? Eczema? Allergic reaction? Then I remembered my date with Ann Coulter, who had tried to gnaw my head off.

It was our second time out together. I had just picked her up from her weekly Daughters of the American Revolution Garden and Racquetclub Meeting. As far as I could tell, she spent most of the time in the backyard.

“The cricket eggs are delicious,” she said, laughing. It was a long, sultry laugh and her breath smelled like a fine mulch. She draped a long, slim green leg over my thigh. “Not as good as the heads, though.”

My conservative upbringing had prepared me for everything–prayer in public schools, bathroom breaks in airports–but nothing at all like this. She asked me to pull over. What could I say?

Five minutes later, she was rubbing tree bark up against my neck. She called it a “garnish,” which, at the time at least, I thought was kind of sexy. There was a tickling feeling underneath my collar, which I mistook for her tongue (or proboscis?) but realized later that it was only the larvae (which had burrowed inside the tree bark).

She demanded that I act like Al Franken or Keith Olbermann. I asked why and that’s when she started nibbling on my neck and called me Michael Moore.

That pretty much wiped out my arousal right there. I hit the accelerator, opened the passenger side window, and waited for her light, fluttery, deadly, malodorous body to be sucked back into the teeming void from whence she sprung.

But, damn, my neck still hurts.

Final Score = Bush, 0; Irony, Infinity

Bush Appoints National Insecurity Advisor

WASHINGTON: Stephen J. Hadley, a mild-mannered, former insurance salesman from Kalamazoo, Michigan, has gained renown in certain circles (State Farm’s Mile High Club, the Heritage Foundation, subterranean Masonic brotherhoods, etc.), comfortably aware that he was fifth-man-in-waiting in an administrative line of succession that could never turn over that many times…or so he thought. When Condoleeza Rice retired as National Insecurity Advisor in 2005, Hadley was offered the position, but recoiled at first, then paced around in circles, muttering “definitely, O’Reilly Factor, 4 o’clock, definitely” over and over again until aides forcibly relaxed him with sedatives.

This past Monday, in response to overwhelming concerns about nuclear armament in Iran, Hadley faced his first public press-conference (the last four had been held in a sanitized vault on his Montana ranch).
“Now I’m sure that the many of you that are here today—yes, the many, many of you–would like me to explain why Iran has halted its nuclear enrichment program four years after we thought they failed to do so…but now they have succeeded in meeting expectations that we have yet to hold up to the rest of the world ourselves.”

Reporters were stunned, speechless, by Hadley’s candor, an emotion they had not witnessed in at least seven years of federally-embedded press coverage.

” As the President stated today, you’re going to see a lot of repositioning of forces in the next several weeks, and I’m not sure what that means either, but it sounds gravely serious (clears throat): I see they’re giving me the ‘throat-slice’ gesture back there, heh heh (coughs). Boy, next thing you know, they’ll ask me to leave with the same lucrative investment options they lured me into this spot with. Talk about repositioning!”

(A cane materializes, yanks Hadley clean off the platform).

O’Reilly Samples Food in “Colored Restaurant”

HARLEM:

Priding itself on modest decorum and understated charm, Sylvia’s is situated as a premier restaurant in Harlem…until yesterday…when Bill O’Reilly, host of the Fox News Channel, dropped by to “sample food among the colored peoples.”

“It was like going into a wop restaurant in an all-white suburb in the sense of people were sitting there, and they were ordering, having fun, and not shooting one another,” Mr. O’Reilly raved on his nationally syndicated radio talk show, “Not once did I have to smoke dope, dance, or talk jive. These colored people,” he sighed, “they sure know how to cook, don’t they?”

The Rev. Al Sharpton, who accompanied O’Reilly to lunch last Wednesday, admits that O’Reilly kept pointing his finger at him during the appetizer and addressing him as “you people” during desert. “Had there’ve been a news crew in sight,” Sharpton claims, “I would’ve knocked him upside his splotchy-a*s head.”

Rove Recalls the Halcyon Days of Watergate…

Today, President Bush bid farewell to his closest, most loyal advisor: Karl Rove. And a-rovin’ he will go, home to his crone, his kiddies, and kidney stone.

It was an emotional ceremony. Karl offered a moving speech, holding back the tears. He made many pleas to the grand future, to “God, the Almighty,” patting that soft fuzzy spot in his chest called patriotic zeal. The President hugged him, on national television: a first. Karl held on for dear life until secret servicemen restrained him, escorting him away to a helicopter.

Watching him go was a little like watching Elvis in the mid 1970′s. Speaking of bloated, delusional supporters of Nixon, Karl Rove must remember those days very well. In the back of his mind, there might have been a glimmer of recognition, a faint memory of the extraordinary role that he played in helping to reshape political campaigns for the Republican party. No longer would electoral politics be based on the stump speech but on the canvas-mail campaign! Who needs to build a base at the bottom when you can start at the top?

Let’s take a moment and remember Karl in his halcyon days, a mere few months before Watergate. And before watching this clip, notice the investigative reporter? Hint: he was once fired for leaking false information to the press. Ironic, ain’t it?

Rove / Nixon

Schwarzenegger Flees Tiny Predator

He has confronted–and conquered–virtually every threat projected onto action movies known to man: camouflage aliens, heavily armed terrorists, complacent characters from the 1980′s, and Republicans (the last two are interchangeable). But when faced with the threat of killer mosquitoes, the Governor of California has no defense.

Yesterday, during a press conference at the California Department of Public Health, the Guv’nor realized that Harvey Hall, mayor of Bakersfield, had been assaulted by a West Nile terrorist. The minuscule perpetrator, allegedly, inserted its diabolical proboscis into Hall’s pate (translation: shawty bit ‘im, right on his balda** head).

Schwarzenegger, who hasn’t lost a close colleague since Carl Weathers was destroyed by an alien lifeform in 1987, immediately left the premises.

He was last seen hopping aboard a nearby helicopter where his wife, Maria Shriver (allegedly involved in an affair that somehow involves other terrorists) took them to a temporary tax shelter.

Elizabeth Edwards calls Ann Coulter

Elizabeth Edwards calls Ann Coulter

Cheney Insists “I Did Not Order the Code Red”

Vice President Dick Cheney and Sen. Henry Waxman (CA.) have recently become enmeshed in a classified oversight battle so fierce that it can only be executed–then shredded–on paper.

Although no records could be recovered from the Office of ______ _______ National ________, one of our reporters managed to retrieve the following, Oscar-worthy performance:

WAXMAN: I question both the legality and wisdom of your actions.

CHENEY (scoffs): You question?

WAXMAN: Yes, sir-I’m entitled to my q–

CHENEY: I have neither the time nor the inclination to explain myself to a man who rises and sleeps under the blanket of the very freedom I provide, then questions the manner in which I provide it!

WAXMAN: I wasn’t suggesting that you tucked me in, sir.

CHENEY: We use words like terror…freedom…W. We use these words as the backbone to a life spent defending something. That’s right: something. You use ‘em as a punchline.

WAXMAN: Well, with all due respect…your decision to exempt your office from the president’s order is problematic because it could place national security at risk.

CHENEY: Security? The truth is, in some little secure place you don’t like to admit, you want me on that wall. You need me on that wall.

WAXMAN: Wall? Who said anything about a wall?

CHENEY: Exactly.

WAXMAN: Excuse me?

CHENEY: No wall. No code red, either. Never ordered one. Classified by the Office of _ _ N_.

WAXMAN: Did you just censor an acronym?

CHENEY: I did the job you sent me to do.

WAXMAN: Did you order the code red?

CHENEY: You’re g_ _ dam right I did!

 

 

 

 

Condi Shares Rare Moment of Emotion

This past Friday, Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice, who has maintained a consistent game face wavering between baleful condescension and spartan detachment, finally caved in, smiling in front of a camera and a strategically placed American flag.

Prone to neither fits, twitches, nor mood-swings (common among members of her administration), Condi seemed unnervingly natural, even at peace with herself. She made eye contact, smirked, and once offered a pro-Israel joke about Palestine.

Psychiatrists attribute her recent emotional outburst to a belief in America’s rising role in the world of international affairs. When asked to define this role, Secretary Rice laughed hysterically, then disappeared into an armed motorcade.

Wolfowitz Issues Public Apology and T.M.I.

Paul Wolfowitz, current head of the World Bank, fled from America two years ago to escape persecution from the Department of Defense. Perched atop the penthouse rooftop of his tax-free chateau in Dubai, Wolfowitz offered a public apology for the exorbitant promotions that he offered his girlfriend, Shaha Riza (whose name, when pronounced in an obscure foreign accent, sounds suspiciously like laughter).

“I made a mistake,” Wolfowitz said, “for which I am sorry.” Expecting a crowd to rival that of the Beatles’ final rooftop concert, he was disappointed when he noticed that only a half dozen drunken American tourists were listening to him, five floors below.

“I never should have appointed Shaha Riza,” he said, starting to chuckle, “I’m sorry. That damn name–it gets me every time.”

“I assure you that nepotism, cronyism, or favoritism never entered into my decision to provide a 70% raise for Ms. Riza. She is not related to me; she is not an old man; and I don’t even favor her that much. But I do lust after her quite often…sometimes even in public.”

At this point, the small crowd became disgusted and dispersed. “T.M.I., dude!” one man yelled, hawking a loogy in Wolfowitz’s general direction.

“I also admit that I appropriated funds from The World Bank to appoint several more young, supple-legged lasses in key positions. Most of their names escape me at the moment, but I recall that we reimbursed them with funds from the humanitarian orphan initiative.”

“Also,” Wolfowitz continued, now addressing an empty street, “I alloted 1 billion dollars to seize empty lands in Darfur to construct a marijuana plantation. For some reason, workers never managed to finish this project on time…and kept demanding food shipments very early in the morning…”