President Claims He Feels "A Whole Lot Smartier" Lately

he man who claims to be president of the United States, George W. Bush, says that for the last two months he has felt "a whole lot smartier than I used to." He attributes this improvement in intellectual capacity to the resultant stress from the 9/11 attacks on the Pentagon and the World Trade Center.

"Ever since my daddy called and told me to expect a big surprise in the second week of Septremember, not only have I felt more presidentive than ever, but I also think my ICQ has gone up," he told reporters gathered on the south lawn of the White House to collect their official government propaganda handouts recently. "It's got to be the stressure from worrying about all this terristical activity lately that's doing it," he added.

Further expounding his theory that difficult times somehow increase brain activity, Bush went on to say that "I know Mr. Dick (vice-president Cheney), every time he has another heart attack, he yells, 'Ooh, that smarts!' I can hear him in the next office over from mine, he yells that three or four times a week. He's like a dang intellectuable now, a real genie. You know, 'cause of all them smarts."

White House spokesman Ari Fleischer, upon hearing the president's explanation, commented, "Well, there may be something to what he's saying, even though we pretty much keep him in the dark about what's going on in day to day affairs, but personally, I think the reason he feels the way he does is that we have changed the official White House snack in all the candy dishes from Skittles to Smarties. He gobbles those things by the handful, I swear, you should see him. He's like a damn little kid."

Fleischer also said that he and Karl Rove had taken to calling the president "Mr. Smarty-Pants" in informal settings, and that perhaps the nickname had gone to his head.

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Anyone who knows me can tell you I get around. I'm out with a different girl every other night of the week, and I show them all a good time, if you know what I mean without me mentioning sex in the car behind the Rally's. My sister, one of those nutty feminists, has even called me a male whore, but I'm quick to remind her a male whore is called a gigolo, and anyway I don't get paid, just reimbursed for gas money.

Still, despite all the machismo spilling out all my holes, I got to admit I'm not as confident as I look all the time. I can ask girls out, I can ball their brains out if the car has enough room, and I can never call them again and not think twice about it. But I just don't know how to bring up the subject of group sex. I'm not that confident.

Me and my friends hang out a lot, we'll all bring whatever hotties we're seeing that week (or night) and just get together and drink and have fun. All my friends are good-looking dudes, by the way, and they never bring home less than an 8, although Gary brought three 4's one time and tried to pass them off as one 12. So with all these attractive people just sitting around, drunk as can be, you'd think the opportunity for an orgy would be quick to present itself. Wrong!

I don't know why. Everybody in the group is virile and all too ready for experimentation. Maybe all the other guys think I would be gay if I suggested group sex instead of girl swapping, but they should know better than that. I'm secure enough in my masculinity to make love to strange women in the company of three or four of my best friends while they screw someone else. And hey, if somebody is mistaken for a girl or whatever, I don't have a problem with it. It's not like I would set out to sample from the other side of the buffet, but I'm not going to get all freaked out. I'm still straight as long as the girl-to-guy ratio is 2-to-1 or better.

No, I don't have any problems with the idea, just with the proposal. The time never seems right. You don't just sit there and pretend to listen while Jojo talks about how his boss is a douchebag and non-chalantly say, "Hey, that reminds me—let's all have sex with each other." Maybe in some kind of office meeting or something, where you don't really want to work at the place and don't care what they think of you, but these are my friends.

Sometimes we get so close to a good subject I almost think I can work it in, but it doesn't happen. Pete got to saying how the cub scouts were all gay, taking young boys out in the woods and boffing 'em, and I thought for sure I could suggest a big orgy then, but I lost my nerve and he just started talking about how 4-H club was for homos.

At this point I figure my best bet is to bring home some kind of weird guy who will say anything. And then I could make a joke about an orgy in some way and the weird guy might be ballsy enough to suggest we all have an orgy. Then I could laugh it off just a little bit, then say, "Well, you know…" We'd have the whole thing practically started. The real downside, as I see it, this weird guy is going to want in on the action. That would put a real pisser on the idea, I know, unless this guy looked like Tom Cruise or something.

It's not like I've given up on the orgy idea, I'm just biding my time. Patience is the key to any great plan, and I know with my friends sooner or later the subject of hot group sex will come up. When it does, I'll jump on it. I only hope Jojo is still seeing that tattooed blonde at the time.

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Some of you out there may think it's all fun and games here at the commune, but I assure you it's not. Fun and games were eliminated when I returned months ago, about the same time I implemented the 30% pay reductions and started receiving those death threats in my inbox. But you can't always rule with an iron thumb, as I learned shortly after being arrested for assault with an iron thumb a while back. Sometimes you have to implement diplomacy. This may be one of those times.

I am all for the occasional goofing off, when I am completely unaware of it. I heartily endorse a work environment where everyone is comfortable when I'm not present. However, when my good will is abused like a 14-year-old's johnson, it's no more Mr. Nice Guy, Alice Cooper. Hence I instituted the strict policy that all commune employees, even the meager people, are no longer allowed to host personal websites. This not only goes for time spent at the office, but time away from the commune as well, and probably infringes upon quite a few constitutional rights, not that I'm bragging.

It is necessary, I assure you. I couldn't have cared less about what my staff did in their off hours a few short weeks ago, and lament all that money wasted on expensive digital videotape. Then I discovered the unsettling image of Ted Ted, half-nude, and dressed entirely as a woman. You couldn't see the naughty bits, thanks to his concealing hands and a well-placed teddy bear, but you might as well have scraped my eyes out with a melon baler and saved me the pain. No one here could forget that frightful image, especially since print-outs of it keep winding up on the hallway bulletin board.

My confidence in Ted Ted was shaken until I found out he took the photos early in his career, when a photographer friend of his assured him all reporters got their foot in the door the same way. Word has it he even produced some candid shots of Dan Rather to prove his point, which I won't argue with, since I don't want to see them myself. But Ted Ted promised the photos were quite old and he no longer engaged in such antics and the man who posted them would mysteriously turn up missing by the end of the week. However, this did not end the whole affair. As usual, with my staff, it was only the beginning.

I'm sure it's been the same case with friends you know, one friend is found looking quite attractive in drag in an old picture, then suddenly everyone is claiming they would look better dressed as a woman. If they want to make such claims and argue them over the water cooler, fine. If they want to host a private party where they all dress up just to prove a point, I have no problem with that either. When they start devoting an exorbitant amount of work time and personal finances to hosting websites where they are dressed as women, unbeknownst to site surfers, and ask people to rate their attractiveness in relation to each other, well, that's where I draw the line. Admittedly, my line-drawing was a little late on this occasion.

As I made clear to them yesterday, I will no longer tolerate randomly surfing for poontang and discovering one of my reporters wearing a teddy and garters. This also goes to the columnists and IT associates. Particularly Randy. Your news work is getting sloppy, the broadband out there is being tested, and I am sick of reading letters from lonely prisoners.

It is also a waste of time. It is quite clear Ivan Nacutchacokov is the real honey amongst you. Suck it up and give the queen his crown, fellas.

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