Congress Approves Military Budget for "Whatever the President Thinks is Fair"

sure sign of the times, Congress gave a blanket approval to any military budget requests from president Bush Friday.

In an effort to quickly pass a military budget to cover next year—and the exciting promise of future military operations—both the House and the Senate conceded that what was necessary for the defense of the United States and its aggressive acts overseas was surely better decided by the president than by countless Washington insiders just there to fatten their pockets.

"Now I'm a politician, not a militaritician," said Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R-Illinois), "nor am I knowledgeable of what words mean. But the president is a well-informed man with infallible decision-making powers. That's all I need to know before I approve him for whatever he needs. Policeman and firefighters are the real heroes."

After months of arguing over details, according to one Washington insider, members of the House stopped the quibbling by loudly speaking out of turn and saying maybe they were just fighting with each other because of partisanship.

"Well, no one wanted to believe it was true," said Rep. Jose Serrano (D-NewYork), "but we thought it might be possible. That made all of us feel none too good, let me tell you."

It was at that point they agreed the president was better prepared to decide how billions of dollars would be spent on the military projects for the future. Only he had the close contact with the Joint Chiefs of Staff and other military officials, and only he knew what was planned for U.S. military actions next year.

The Democrat-controlled Senate quickly followed suit, approving the measure in record time.

"Our fellow representatives in the House are on the right track," said Senate Majority Leader Tom Daschle (D-South Dakota). "We can't expect the president to stop doing all the things he has to do to come down here and ask us for money. He's busy making plans, and these plans affect the lives of millions of Americans. And if he's going to send them into battle, we better make sure he has the state-of-the-art equipment and funding they need."

The Senate roared with approval, although one minor voice in the background, a suspected Democrat, was heard to say, "Are you fucking crazy?"

On Saturday Daschle met with President Bush in the oval office with a giant blank check for a photo opportunity as Congress handed the president his open budget for 2003.

"Now just fill in the amount for whatever you think is fair, Mr. Bush," Daschle said, shaking hands with the president. "Keep our boys fighting as long as you think it's necessary. Just don't go buying anything all nutty like a Star Wars defense system or something," said Daschle with a laugh.

"It's not nutty, it really works," Bush snapped, turning red. "It can destroy 9 out of 10 nuclear missiles aimed at us by Russia agents or attacks from outer space."

Daschle then refused to give the check to Bush, saying he had to examine the date and make sure it was correct. He promised the check would be returned to Mr. Bush at a later time.

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Hey commune folk. Stu here.

Thanks to a little bird who gave me the word I'm now officially up to speed on the whole situation. The Cubans, the whole acid rain deal, and the clandestine adventures of your friend and mine, Senior Swashbuckle. Some pretty wild shit if I do say so myself, and in case anyone's taking notes: I do. Now that I've got it all under control I feel comfortable sending you this. Yes! A human pancreas! Gross! No, but seriously, that was a joke, and if I really scared you then I think it's time to admit that you have absolutely no idea what a human pancreas really looks like. I think they have informational pamphlets down at the DMV that can help you with that. In actual actuality, I have sent you this column, at least in some loosey-goosey futuristic sense of the word "sent," you beamed it down or whatever from the intergalactic informational alcove where I had seen to it being stored. You know the score.

This is it, folks, the Stu Umbrage Show. What you see is what you get, and that includes more topless birds than the Tropicana and Charlie Sheen's house combined. So if you don't like it you can blame me, and also kiss my black ass while you're at it. On a side note, I was trying to get Diana Ross to be my column sidekick here, but it didn't work out because she had no idea who I was and also I use phrases like "kiss my black ass" far too often.

Sure, the idea of a sidekick for a humor column is a fairly revolutionary one, but I think it's solid. After all, I don't hear any of you laughing. Which may be some kind of technical issue we haven't resolved yet, but in the meantime I could use somebody to sit over here and laugh like I just pulled the tonsils out of the lead guy from Weezer when I type the punchlines. Carson made it work on the Tonight Show, which revealed the show's roots: him and McMahon sitting in Johnny's basement, smashed on Absolut and babbling incoherently about current events and Ed's supernaturally large goiter. But damnit, it worked. They didn't make an afterschool special about it, but it worked.

This has been a crazy year already, and I'm not even talking about those cannibals they found living in the walls at the White House. Those guys got a bad rap, you know what I'm talking about? It reminded me of the last few Public Enemy albums.

Anybody else out there realize that salsa is a food as well as a dance style? I've never been so embarrassed in my life; I always thought you had to be a bum to get kicked out of a Mexican restaurant. This country's going to hell and nobody's stopping for bathroom breaks, be advised.

I've often wondered what our medical profession would be like if cancer gave you really big breasts instead of just rotting out your organs and whatnot. Dollars to dodos says they'd be force-feeding skinny blonde broads asbestos in day spas all over L.A., and the doctors would all turn their attentions to curing whatever the hell is wrong with Pauly Shore. Mark my words, on the off chance something truly freaky happens and that situation actually comes up.

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So it's no surprise, everybody's been talking about the same thing for two weeks now: My dad broke out of jail. It's high time I gave everybody the facts to stop these vicious rumors.

Okay, for one, yes, he broke out, but my mom had already posted the bail just before the breakout occurred, so technically he shouldn't even be wanted at this point. You can't tell me five minutes makes a difference between him being legally bonded and on the run from the law. The police tell me that, but we both know the real deal.

And two, that guy dropped his gun so that charge of stealing an officer's weapon is complete bullshit. If I dropped a pencil and you picked it up, you didn't steal it, did you? Right, it's finders-keepers law, and everybody knows it. That cop is just embarrassed because he couldn't hang onto his gun when dad pushed him.

Third, and this is the big one for me, my mom dropped the charges against him. Technically, shouldn't that start some kind of Back to the Future time unraveling deal where dad never went to jail because the charges never existed? So all these surplus charges shouldn't be there either. I saw It's a Wonderful Life enough times to know that chain reaction shit.

It's all that dildo Freddie Mercury's fault. Not the singer from Queen Freddie Mercury, I think he's dead, but that jackass wanna-be pimp friend of dad's Freddie Mercury. That guy just seems to come out of the woodwork whenever my dad's in a spot and he's always trouble. Dad was perfectly willing to wait the extra day until he made bail, then that Freddie Mercury started talking up all this crap about being outlaws. So one thing leads to another, Freddie Mercury rips the door off the cell with his A.T.V., and now the two of them are on the run to Tijuana. Dad doesn't even speak Spanish so it's particularly stupid.

Sure, the cops will catch him, and he'll probably get a lawyer who can plea-bargain him down to pushing a cop with extreme prejudice, but it just pisses me off. Stuff about my dad keeps coming over the wire and all the commune staffers give me shit about it. "Hey, Clarissa, that white guy with the fade, he looks kind of like you." Yeah, I know that, Ramon. He's even got the same last name, you prick, you're just rubbing it in.

The end result is that I can't watch America's Most Wanted, Cops, or any of my other favorite shows until he's back in custody 'cause it's too embarrassing. We already recognize my Uncle Luke on an episode at least once a year, no way I need to add to that humiliation.

At least Fox News and the 24-hour stations are all busy reporting on this Iran stuff. The last thing I need is for those news dorks to interrupt Headline News to show another police chase involving my dad and Freddie Mercury. These bloodsuckers at the commune never fail to drag that one out of the closet and reminisce every time someone's had a few beers. "Hey, remember that time Clarissa's dad and that guy in the jumpsuit stole that 7-Up truck?" Yeah, everyone remembers, Ramon, just let it be.

If dad does make it to Mexico at least it won't be on the news, since no one here cares what happens in Mexico. The down side to that is that mom will continue living with me and driving me crazy until who knows when. It seems like no matter what I do, I'm screwed. But if you do see my dad, please report him to the local police. Just tell the press it's Carlos Nootles.

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