State Department: Don't Nuke the State Department

elevangelist and all-around Christian doorknob Pat Robertson was on the defensive again this week, claiming that his recent quote "We should blow up the State Department" was taken out of context by the media to indicate that he thought we should blow up the State Department.

"Maybe we need a very small nuke thrown off on Foggy Bottom to shake things up like Newt Gingrich wants to do," Robertson said during a "700 Club" interview with journalist Joel Mowbray.

"I can't state strongly enough how much I disagree with this idea," said emphatic department spokesperson Richard Boucher. "I think the very idea is despicable. I feel very strongly about this. No. I vote 'No'."

"It's just a terrible idea," added spokesperson Ron Lilly. "I mean, good luck getting your hands on a nuke that small."

"When I suggested previously that we nuke the State Department, many took this to mean I advocate the destruction of the U.S. State Department by way of planting a nuclear device in their Foggy Bottom headquarters," stated Robertson in his public retraction. "Nothing could be further from the tr—No, wait, that's right. What is everybody so upset about again?"

While State Department officials are nearly unanimous in their opposition to the plan, the American public thus far seems largely indifferent.

"The State Department? What do they make, license plates?" questioned hairdresser Roger Darland. "Fuck it, nuke 'em!"

Military experts find Robertson's plan intriguing, but not without its share of flaws.

"It would be exceedingly difficult to nuke the State Department without causing significant collateral damage to other parts of the government, given their geographical proximity," observed military strategist and gaming nut Noam Stewart. "Not that I'd be opposed to just nuking that whole circus, mind you."

Stewart also pointed out that Robertson's suggestion that "maybe we should cut off all of their dicks and put them in a blender," would likely be vetoed by the president and any other empathetic penis-havers in higher government.

The State Department, which oversees U.S. foreign policy, has come under fire from conservatives in recent months for coddling authoritarian governments in the Middle East and proving to be too lax in its visa program with Saudi Arabia.

"Robertson's comments were despicable, and irresponsible," lisped department spokesman Boucher. "Especially considering the highly-impressionable nature of our president. He doesn't always know when you're joking, even if it may seem obvious to us. President Bush is much like a Golden Retriever in that way."

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Boris does not like the out of doors. Boris mother say for to go outside and play with stray dogs, but Boris doesn't not like such things. Outside is big, and with many temperatures. Plus, outside there is always big bee to tease and chase Boris all the times, not to leave Boris alone. Even to follow Boris to America. How does bee do this? Does not know. Maybe to hide in box or in nose of sleeping person. Big bee is sneaking like this.

All times Boris is thinking of way to get rid of big bee. Man tells that bird is what chases and bothers bees, so this is what Boris buy. But when Boris open cage for bird to get and eat bee, bird fly away like big pains in ass. That is when Boris thinking it is good to tie string around neck of bird. But is too late for this good idea now.

Whenever Louis say for Boris should go out of doors, Boris does open door and yell "Oh shit! Is bee!" and close door loud before big bee can invade inside apartment. Louis doesn't not see bee, but is because bee is sneaking. Him likes to hide behind tree or in car when persons is looking, so bee can pop out for scare of Boris. Such is way big bee is mean.

Louis tell of dog Skippy from when Louis is child. Skippy is dog which loves to eat bees. Him runs outside when door is open and sound is like snapping noise as Skippy tries to eat bees out of the air. Sometimes Skippy only bite air, but sometimes Skippy bite bees. Yes! This is sounding good for Boris.

This is part which interest Boris. Bee eating dog is like Christmas presents for Boris, given from God of all Dogs. This is Big Dog thing with wings, like dragon with hairs. Is good thing.

But, oh bummer, Skippy is dead. Him get old and dead like dog does. But good news is Boris is so sad about no Skippy dog who eats bees that Louis go and get Boris dog named "Similar to Skippy." Is long name, but fits dog.

Louis does not get dog for Boris at pet stores, like what the chumps does. No way says Jose, who is friend of Louis. Louis does find dog tied to parking meter in front of restaurants. This is way for persons to say "Hello! Is free dog for you!"

So now Boris has dog for to eat bees. But, is funny because Similar to Skippy is also afraid of big bee also like Boris, so him stay inside all times with Boris. Is funny ending, or as Louis say, "Goddammit!"

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Don't wet your pants, readers, but the news is true: I have returned from my mission: impossible and can safely say it was more precisely mission: not-too-bad. At times with my traveler's discount I could arrange a pretty swank motel and it was mission: quite-enjoyable. However, on the darker side, there were certain areas of the South where it was more like mission: avoid-violation; the less said there the better.

When I left you all mysteriously shortly before the New Year began, I explained how everything was so hush-hush the details could not be revealed. Has anything changed? No, and don't bug me about it. I didn't say anything in that Barbara Walters interview and I'm not about to give it up so easily for you. Suffice to say that the problem was "taken care of" in a mafia/Navy S.E.A.L. sort of way, but—hey! That wasn't Barbara Walters at all! Didn't even look like Barbara Walters, but I just figured she had more cosmetic surgery. It seems so obvious now, with no tape in the camera and a ninja working the soundboard. Oh, well, no since dwelling on that.

I have returned, though, and I am almost nearly improved, or at least 100% as good as I was before. If anything, I have improved for my venture. There comes a time at which every man must go into the woods and go crazy for a stretch of time to really know themselves; that's what the Indians used to do. When you can turn your head, look over your shoulder, and see the other side of your face, then you know yourself sufficiently to return to the cozy life. Any minor neck injuries can be worked out with a chiropractor, or a large man in an alley who has had informal chiropractic training.

If there is a bittersweet part of my journey, it is that America will never know the sacrifices I have made to ensure its future. At least not until 2005, by which time Future Bob should have reported it sometime in the past already. But even if that day never comes and that article is never edited properly, I can live in anonymity. I didn't drag ass across America's outback and brave death and fire (and sometimes splinters) for fame and glory, or flame and gory. I did it for the future. Show's what that rewards. Don't count on me to do it again, everyone—bail yourselves out next time.

I've had enough of living in the past, though. Unless I could live in 1965 for a small period of time and see the Beatles play live, that would be sharp. But for me, I busted my ass for the sake of the future, and that's what I'm concentrating on.

First and foremost is shaping up the commune. Any fool can see leaving Ramrod Hurley in charge while I was gone was the worst mistake I made since suggesting to Rob Schneider he had a viable film career. I apologize whole-heartedly for the devil-embracing way he ran the commune, and mostly for the blasphemous columns he ran in my stead. Ramrod is entitled to his own opinions and beliefs, of course, but he is wrong. If I ever get him out of my old office I'll take my revenge out of his ass with methodical, metric-based accounting procedures.

Yes, the commune will be the commune of the past from now on—challenging authority, walking hand in hand with the outsiders, and giving voice to the voiceless, as long as they can do sign language or something. We shouldn't have to just make up what they're saying. the commune is not a tool or puppet for the rich gluttons who run this country—just this one. When I started the commune, I had a vision that one lone reporter with nothing but a stout heart and true vision could call the president a gaylord and there was nothing he could do about it. I still think that's true. Especially now that the tide seems to be turning against ol' "president" Bush again.

By the way, you may hear allegations of a missing columnist by the name of Sampson L. Hartwig who was last seen in my company. This is just more establishment rhetoric to bring down the threat that is Red Bagel. There was never such a columnist, no matter what the spin doctors or Hartwig family says. This ratty old hat? It's mine. I bought it while on the road.

It's good to be back.

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