The Snake of the Union Address

A preview of the Jan. 29 speech

And as for the other things we're lettin' slip as we pursue evildoers, we're lookin' to our faith-based organizations to pick up the slack. Organizations like the Trinity Broadcasting Network: if Jan and Paul Crouch can spend more than $5 million on a home for themselves, just think what they can do for others! And come to think of it, al-Qaida is a faith-based organization! See what a little faith can do?

As you know, I have made it the task of my administration to root out evil. I'd like to give a shout out to one of my own Secret Service agents, Hubert Sumlin, who every day is putting his life on the line for me. That's right, he chews my pretzels for me now!

Man, that one's got me chortlin' so hard you'd think I'd gotten hot chocolate up my nose! Hey, I'd like to get my crew—Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld and John Ashcroft—up here to help me finish with a little song I hope you'll like.

To the tune of Fat Boy Slim's "Weapon of Choice." BUSH:

I had this economy a-goin' wrong,

An' I needed somone'a blame it on,

Then wudn'tcha know, outta the blue,

I got me an all-purpose bugaboo.

ALL:

An' now we'd blame Osamathis,

An' we blame Osamathat,

Then blame Osamathis,

An' we blame Osamathat.

RUMSFELD:

Now I tell ya a missile shield's the weapon of choice,

Though it wouldn't stop no al-Qaida cutlery boys.

ASHCROFT:

You know tramplin' on freedoms is my favorite hobby,

Except if it comes to displeasing the gun lobby.

CHENEY:

When we wanna pour the cream to some favored fat cats,

When we wanna rank on some ranking Democrats,

ASHCROFT:

Hey, watch me pull an Arab outta my hat!

ALL:

We just blame Osamathis,

An' we blame Osamathat.

We blame Osamathis,

An' we blame Osamathat.

The music stops, and Bush continues with his speech.

I don't care if we have to turn Afghanistan into a big Whack-a-Mole game! We're gonna getcha, Osama! An' when we getcha, you're gonna know we gotcha! Dead or alive, Mr. Headhive! Evildoer! Stinkhead! I got your number, an' it's 1 (800) FUK-YUUP, buddy. I'll buy you underwear with all the days of the week on 'em, so you'll know when it is you're getting your ass kicked! I'll get my hottie daughters to bitch-slap you into the great beyond! I'll bury you with Jesse Helms! C'mon down—you are job No. 1 at the American Whoop-Ass factory!

Yeah, I can do this for another three years, easy. See ya on the sunny side, everyone. Goodnight!

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