Bush Seeks Additional 4,000 Troops to Overtake Congress

The White House responded with a brief memo stating: “We’ll let the militarily-supported Congress establish what’s constitutional and what’s not.”

Some have been quick to characterize the measure as an attempt, however ill-conceived, by the White House to demonstrate the Democratic Congress is unwilling to work with them. Okay, it was just one guy who said that—political and pizza pundit Jefferson Shavers III.

“It’s really a no-lose situation for the president,” said Shavers, revealing his dazzling smile in the quaint atmosphere of his wood-paneled office in mom’s garage. “If the Democrats turn down even more requests for troops, even those which would be serving on domestic soil, the president can point to it as further proof Congress just won’t cooperate. And if he gives them the troops, they’re all going to die. He absolutely can’t lose, unless a ridiculously low approval rating demonstrated Americans really aren’t supporting the White House military demands anymore.”

While most in Congress, where the danger lies, continued to remain silent on the request after its announcement, the administration took the offensive by attempting to paint a picture of an anti-troops sentiment in the Democratic party.

“I come from a different world than my Democratic colleagues, I suppose,” said Vice-President Dick Cheney, the gaping orifice of the White House whenever it has to tell America something truly odious. “Where I come from, we support the troops, we don’t try to make political ammunition out of the war they’re fighting. We supported them when they’re in Vietnam. We should support them when they’re fighting in Afghanistan, in Iraq, or standing behind you with a rifle and demanding you vote ‘yea’ on a flag-burning amendment. That’s just the way I was raised.”

The administration called for an immediate vote on its inappropriately named “Kill Congress” legislation, citing an expected Taliban offensive in the spring that the U.S. would be better prepared for when it could “bypass congressional authority and get as many troops as it needs” to stabilize the region. The bill goes to the House on Monday for a vote, where its chore of passing the house should be comparably to last year’s “Snowball in Hell” amendment sponsored by insane Senator Zell Miller (D, GA).

The White House refused comment to the commune, as per usual. Republican governor of California Arnold Schwarzenegger was contacted just for an amusing quote in his thick accent, but he turned out to be even more unintelligible over the phone than in person, so we scrapped that plan.

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To be perfectly honest, I was so wrapped up in working on the development of my latest invention, a pneumatic fly-stunning air cannon, that I didn't even realize the song was on repeat for the first six hours or so. And by then my body rhythms had so completely melded with the song that I couldn't very well shut it off without risking serious epilepsy, so I rode it out until I fell asleep on the floor in a pile of freshly unwashed laundry. When I woke up, the song was still playing, but I don't count those hours in my total even though it thoroughly infiltrated my usual Driving Miss Daisy-themed dreams.

Before you start asking why in the hell I put that song on in the first place, let me explain that it's the only halfway decent track on the disc. The rest is all Bulgarian folk music and European techno, which is every bit as shitty as it sounds. The CD itself came in a Discman I bought for seven dollars at the Salvation Army, I didn't realize there was a disc inside until I got home. Even before this all came up the Discman purchase was revealed as a mistake, since I'd envisioned Foghat using it to listen to his shitty musical tastes in a way that didn't crawl up my own ass like a hungry banana slug. But if you've figured out a way to get a dog to wear headphones, you're handier with a roll of duct tape than Omar Bricks, that's all I can say about that.

Anyway, the song repeated for another hour straight after I woke up, by which time I couldn't even hear it any more, it had so completely rewired my internal landscape. But then the CD started skipping, probably the disc glues coming apart after so many hours of constant spinning, and the skipping music was causing Foghat to freak out, running around and pissing on everything at a slightly higher rate than he normally does. I had to get the disc out of the player with the toilet plunger, though from the way Foghat looked at me there was probably an easier way, maybe a button on the CD player or something. I don't pretend to have a PHD in consumer electronics.

At first it was a relief that the music had stopped, but then I started to feel my insides twist around like two snakes at an orgy, and I began to feel an irresistible compulsion to drive my life away. It was sort of like that scene in Naked Gun where Reggie Jackson gets hypnotized and runs around shooting everybody with a machine gun, yelling "Say hello to my little friend!" It was like my brain wasn't my own, I was just holding onto it while a buddy was in the can. Before I knew it I was behind the wheel and out on the open road, with Foghat riding shotgun. Then I put the shotgun in the back seat because I'll be damned if that dog hasn't been freaking me out with his marksmanship as of late.

All was well out on the open road, except for the fact that I didn't have any Eddie Rabbit tapes in the car, and none of the Mexican oompa-oompa tapes that came with my car were scratching that itch. This distracted me so much I didn't even realize I was driving to Nashville. I'd had some vague visions of Vegas in my head, maybe the sunset strip or Baja California... in all honesty it wasn't that well-planned of an excursion, but I think Nashville is too harsh a punishment for such minor indiscretions.

Everything you've heard about this place is true: it's full of rednecks, everybody moves slower than Ed McMahon getting up off the couch, and everyone's got real shit taste in music. Not to mention the high asshole-to-Bricks ratio. When I cruised the Bricksmobile IV through the pedestrian entrance at the CMA Music Festival, you wouldn't believe the number of assholes who were yelling at me to turn down the Mexican polka tunes. Look, Slocum, you think I'd be listening to this shit if I could get it out of the tape deck? I left the toilet plunger at home and I don't trust Foghat with that shotgun after he tried to use it to open a can of Kibbles 'n Bits back in West Virginia. Don't hate a player just because you weren't smart enough to get around the cover charge, Hoss. You'll get yours when I get behind the microphone on the main stage. Bricks out.

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But no, goddammit, he put his faith in the conservative religious base once again, and trusted his purges of minority voters in key states would do what he needed. Well, that left a lot of your guys shit out of luck, Mr. President. We’re all financially fucked now. And don’t expect the healthy sense of fear and respect we’ve been getting from enemy nations, now that the cursed undecideds have lame-duckified both the president and congress. Old Glory (yes, you capitalize it, goddamn you) has become a welcome mat we can roll out to terrorists, dictators, fascists, welfare moms, pervert artists, and other enemies of the great republic.

I still remember watching it on the TV, knowing it was coming ‘cause all the polls pointed to disaster. As usual, I was here in the commune office, conveniently located where I sleep and eat chicken wings. I remember having most of the year off, for whatever reason—I’m only the Office Manager, work stoppages aren’t any of my business. All I know is we hadn’t been publishing since April or something and a lot of the reporters had taken off for long vacations, which meant I could crank up the Creedence. It was better than hearing the news folks actually covering the elections proselytizing about “wake up calls” and “referendums on the war.” It’s not a war, idiots, it’s an occupation—at least get that part right. A war is when both sides agree they’re fighting, and we clearly haven’t gotten on board that wagon yet.

Regardless of semantics, forgetting who voted for what and why, we all have to thank the Undecideds. Yeah, they get the capitalization treatment now, too, ‘cause they’re a group—the same group that keeps fucking things up for everybody. At last the Democrats and the Republicans can find common ground together, a mutual enemy. These la-dee-dahs and their lack of conviction. How could anyone over the age of 10 and under the age of 90 not know what the hell they stand for, and which political group makes the weak promises to give them just that? How could complete morons, who predictably somehow make it out to the polls on election days, not pick one big fat emotional issue and react with gusto on that? Going right into the congressional elections of 2006, just like 2004, 2002, 2000, and every election in-between, before, and to come, these numb-nutted weasels had every reason to believe they knew there was a big military presence in Iraq, there was a major SNAFU with the future of social security, and they either had a good job or no job whatsoever. Did these guys wake up bankrupt, old, concerned with immigration and terrified about the environment on Tuesday morning? You assholes had plenty of time to register with a party or at least warn either party of your voting intentions. But no, you had to leave it to the last minute to make a commitment toward the party you want to let you down for the next 2-6 years.

If we had known, maybe we could have kissed a little more Christian ass before that fatal Tuesday. Promised to make fireproof flags or give an abortion doctor a death penalty or something. Thanks for nothing, losers.

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