he White House, always on the search for rare species of human beings or close approximations, unearthed an impressive find last week: A female conservative. Defying usual stereotypes, the so-called "right-wing woman" is apparently not a career politician or from the deep rural South. In fact, she's completed higher education and appears to be not at all an idiot of any sort—though field-testing leaves the possibility open. And, perhaps most startling of all, the administration found the rare species in the most unlikeliest of places—within its own ranks.

The alleged female Republican is Harriet Miers, White House attorney and personal lawyer to the Bush clan for years. Born and raised in Dallas, a small state in the country of Texas, Miers earned several accolades for her legal work and previous appointments by Texas governor George W. Bush, no relation to the current president. Though she lacks any bench experience, discounting bus stops, Miers is a respected lawyer, despite being personal attorney to the president and the White House counsel.

The president, sorely in need of just such an animal, nominated the conservative woman for the Supreme Court immediately. It's a move that fits the Bush dynasty tradition, given President George Bush I nominating ultra-rare find conservative black man Clarence Thomas to the court in 1990. At the time, the senior Bush ignored several charges of sexual harassment and a bench history of seat-filling rather than leading, promoting the move as a huge victory for diversity.

"The Democrats want to cater to special interest groups and make nominations to curry votes," said Bush. "My administration is truly interested in minorities—real minorities. Right-wing blacks, archconservative women, gay members of the NRA, born-again Christian Jews. If you're one of a kind and can't find a friend in the world, maybe I'll put you on the Supreme Court!"

Little boy Bush was equally proud of his unique find.

"I'll tell you, soon as I found Ms. Miers here, I wanted to mount her," said the president, awkwardly laughing alone at his own joke during the press conference to announce the nomination. "You know… 'mount her' like… like a tiger I hunted and killed or something. Not like… you know. Kill her and stuff her kind of mount her. 'Cause she's rare and all. Special. Not that I wanted to kill 'er or anything. Not really. I just… maybe like a butterfly. Shove a huge pin through her. I'm not really gonna do it or anything, but you know what I mean…"

Despite our knowing the intention, the president carried on for a few more minutes to explain the poor joke. Reporters eventually interrupted to ask questions about Miers' qualifications, and the conservative response to the fact Miers has no history on the bench to judge her politics by.

"Gentlemen… and girl reporters, too: We can't get side-tracked on politics at a time like this. We were lucky to find a lady Limbaugh fan, and I'm darn well going to make sure she gets rewarded for being one of a kind. We have the space on the Supreme Court now, we needed a woman, and I'm pretty sure she fits the bill. We'll have doctors verify she's what she claims to be, but assuming that all works out, I think you're gazing at one heck of a Ultimate Justice. Whatever they're called."

Miers herself towed the official line, pledging her service to the Bush Round Table, but did let slip that years of settling the president's dirty out-of-court business finally paid off.

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"Politics makes strange bedfellows, but sheep are surprisingly comfortable."

I heard once that you never talk about religion or politics with people, which sounds like a good idea 'cause that way they never know you're an idiot. Oh, they might think they know, and they may even tell you so, but they don't got no proof. That's what counts. So I try to stay out of politics. And public swimming pools.

It's amazing more people don't catch diseases from public swimming pools. All those people swimming around in the same lukewarm water with each other, spitting and blowing snot and peeing. It's like venereal soup or something. Which might not be too bad, actually, if you threw in some mushrooms. I love mushrooms.

I got tuberculosis or something from a public pool last year. True story. It's a good thing they have a cure for that now. I've just got to convince the doctor to give it to me, I think he's holding out just to be a dick. It's probably not even TB, he said I should go home and try to sleep it off for a few months and if it gets any worse come back.

I know a friend, Loomis, and he caught genital warts from a toilet seat. No shit. He got real pissed but the guy said it's his own fault for not waiting until he was finished before sitting down. Loomis is still waiting for that jackass to call him back.

It would really suck to have genital warts because then everybody would take a look at your hands and know you've been masturbating. Or touching frogs repeatedly. I don't know which is worse. I don't want everyone to know I masturbate. Sure, they can guess, but they have no proof. Those 7-11 security camera photos are way too grainy, that shit won't stand up in court.

I always heard if you get a sexual disease it makes your wang burn. But I say my dingle's always hot for action, mama. Then they slap me and say it's a free clinic, not a singles bar. But there's not much difference, I keep seeing the same people in both places, there's just more lights in the clinic.

If my schlong ever burnt from a sexual disease, I would just put some ice cream on it. Think about it—nothing can live in ice cream, it's too cold. Plus, chicks love ice cream. Actually, guys love ice cream, too. I'd probably lick myself down there if I had ice cream. Or if my back could bend that far. Even without the ice cream.

I wish my back could bend like that.

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Isaac DePlane took off his brain
as it had grown heavy
and his neck was tired.
All filled up with stats
and soluble fats
his poor peachy brain became mired.

"Catch you later, bitch!"
he hucked his brain in a ditch
and he felt wonderfully lightheaded.
Until his eye began to twitch
as he felt a phantom itch
and he forgot about where he was headed.

He wandered into a gas station
and like a mad animation
he drank down three pints of unleaded.
He screamed out names of soups
as he ran 'round in loops
like a chicken very recently beheaded.

Isaac DePlane rode a tugboat to Maine
where he took off his pants in a hurry.
And parading through town
in a homemade mackerel crown
he told folks "They're not live, don't worry."

Speaking of fish
made him hungry and wish
he was eating a salmon-stuffed taco.
But the townspeople were quick
to tire of his shtick
and they made him call his brother Rocco.

He came with their cousin Dino
in a rusty El Camino
and took Isaac to go find his brain.
When they did, Isaac cried
since someone pissed on one side
and it had been left out in the rain.

But in the end he was pleased
he no longer shit when he sneezed
and now things didn't all taste like dreck.

Though in a week he complained
about being so inconveniently brained
and the unbearable strain on his neck.

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