"The Truth" Goes Unrecognized at White House

ormer heavyweight champion Carl "The Truth" Williams visited the Bush White House recently, at the invitation of Secretary of State Colin Powell, and no one there seemed to have a clue as to who he actually was. "The Truth" got the grand tour, meeting with the president, the vice president and many members of their respective staffs, yet all expressed puzzlement as to who he might really be or why he was there.

White House spokesman Ari Fleischer said "The Truth" looked very much a like "a guy I once hired to put up some sheet rock in my basement, and a couple times we would go off into the little closet down there to smoke crack and give each other handjobs, but other than that, I can't place him."

The president himself was similarly disinclined to speculate on the identity of his guest. "How the hell should I know?" he asked. "All them fellas look alike to me. He's not the guy who delivers the pretzels, is he? Because if he is, I got a few words of ornerification for him."

Vice president Dick Cheney, when asked if he recognized "The Truth," responded by saying that it was possible that he did, but that it would endanger national security and the ability of future vice presidents to effectively do their job if he admitted it. He went on to say that if "The Truth" were to accompany him to an undisclosed location, perhaps they could discuss the matter further by the side of a warm fireplace full of shredded documents.

Mary Matalin, Cheney's spokesperson, came closest to recognizing "The Truth" when she admitted that, "after studying him closely, he does look very much like that guy that fisted me and my serpentine husband up the ass without Vaseline one afternoon last November, but I can't be positive without James here."

Mr. Williams said that, despite the lack of recognition, he very much enjoyed his tour of the First Residence. "Muthafuckahs be livin' large here, y'all!" he was quoted as saying when the Secret Service escorted him out by way of the South Lawn. "Word, dawg, place be almost as happenin' as George Foreman's crib. Sheee-it."

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Hello, reading persons. Yes yes, is Boris. How are you? Oh well, that is not so good. Boris hopes you are soon to find some happiness under miserable rock of life.

Is there secret to such thing? Boris does not know. But Boris does know thing that is Boris is ready for some football.

Reader of Boris may not know that there is magic person in hat who comes on TV to ask Boris questions. Yes, is true, Boris is not talking of shit. Man is like fat cowboy to guide Boris through life. Is strange yes, fat cowboy is like conscience thing for Boris, like Jimmy cricket in cartoon movie. Or like alien friend for Flintstone in other movie, except Boris does not get alien or bug thing. No persons can know how come they get conscience that is strange thing like talking noodle or cowboy with guitar. Is magic of life.

Boris conscience does not say helping things, is not that kind of conscience. No saying "Boris, is good to unplug egg beater before licking frosting off those things" or "Boris, do not pour soda on duck." Nope. Him only to ask Boris questions, or maybe one question. Thinking conscience may ask other questions when Boris is not watching TV, but so far only see him ask "Are you ready for some football?"

Boris thinks about this for some days and decided. Yes, Boris is ready for some football.

Reader can remember time when Boris watches Superbowl and is so fun. This is football thing. Louis explain is not like soccer football, which is sport where persons puts on shorts and get kicked in the jimmy. That is stupid hurting game. Football is where persons fight until they fall down dead and then man runs to grass party place and dances. This is game Boris understand.

Baseball is sport does not make sense to Boris. Boris think should be called "Asshole." Yes, is true. Two mens is trying to play catch but big asshole with stick wants to mess up game. And him will not go home, just waits and waits until person throws ball to friend. Then big asshole hits ball with stick and runs away. Boris knows this game from homeland, except there it is called "Time to get new ball."

But baseball is more crazy because persons playing catch have friends who come and get ball for them, whole gang of persons. But then asshole has gang of friends who sneak around and pretend to be like other friends, but they do not get ball, asshole gang runs away when ball comes. Is very confusing. Boris does not like this game, except when person does hit bully in head with ball. So funny for him to fall down like Godzilla. Boris does clap for this brave part.

Hockey is other strange game. When is cold out, Boris understand persons does go inside building to be warm. This is smart. But when is warm, why person does go inside to be cold and watch mens fight on little pond? What is this? Is like wrestling without fun costumes and yelling. And hockey men does put down sticks to fight. No way. Persons should fight with sticks and kill others fast so Boris can get out of cold room.

So for answer of question, yes Boris is ready for some football, but not other things. And now Boris must watch TV to see if little fat cowboy has other questions or if him can teach Boris to magic fly like Peter Pants. Boris hoping answer is yes.

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Goddammit! I'm tired of America taking away my rights.

Add "cooking" to the ever-increasing list of things you're not allowed to do in this country anymore. I was having another fun weekend night off from my job, and had everything all planned out: A lot of drinking, some cruel prank phone calls, and smoke-cooking whatever I could find leftover in the freezer. Well, you can see where this is going, even if you graduated from public schools. The cops knock on my door, mine, and tell me I can't cook.

I don't think it was meant as a critique, once minutes of arguing straightened it out. Apparently, now get this, it's illegal for you to cook in your own house. This is bullshit of colossal proportions.

Don't get me wrong, all y'all. I'm not some bleeding heart queer doing it pro bono for the ACLU, or as I like to call them, Domestic Al-Qaeda. I voted for the Patriot Act, and since I wasn't a congressman it took a lot of deception on my part and I eventually got out of it with a fine, but that should tell you how committed I am to upholding law and order. Except for those dreadful spin-offs. I figured I was white and voted Republican, there was no way my rights would be infringed upon.

But, Oh Contrary. That's the French saying for bullshit, and those French are on to something. If the government wants to know what books I buy, I'm perfectly okay with that—I like to write to Dennis Miller himself sometimes just to let him know I'm putting money in his pocket. If the government wants to know what websites I go to, fine, I don't care; as long as they know occasionally Ramon Nootles borrows my computer to surf for some really freaky weird sex shit—I'm the one surfing turkey-hunting sites and entertainment news. I've let the government so far in they can tell me if I've got bowel obstructions. But here's where I draw the line.

A man's home is his castle. It doesn't matter if his castle looks like a trailer on the outside or not. Keep fucking with me, I'll stow every one of you all in the dungeon. I'm not shitting around here, guys. I'm small, but I'm spry. Just test me. I'm a good American, I always vote, I pay most of my taxes, and now I want to be left alone so I can do whatever the hell I want behind closed doors. If that means I want to start a bonfire and blacken fish in the privacy of my living room, there's not a damn thing you can do about it. In a fair and just America. The America I grew up with.

What do you expect me to do? I've given this country all I can, short of military service or volunteer work. I'm a hard worker, I make my opinion known, sometimes three blocks over in the dead of night, and I salute that goddamn flag every time you run it up the pole. You want my blood, too? Or do you want me to turn informant? Rat out all my red-loving friends at the commune just so I can cook anytime of the day or night, despite EPA emissions standards, and be left in peace and quiet? Because in spite of our differences, these people at the commune are my friends. That's what America is about, in my book: Freaks and normal people, no matter how different, can put aside their differences to be friends, and really rake in the dough.

Not that I'm saying I won't do it, mind you. Some of these whack-jobs can stand to have the fear of G.W. put into them. I think Lil Duncan has committed an obscene act with every object on or in her desk. And Bludney Pludd, I don't think the DSM-IV even has names for the kind of perversions he's capable of. Call me up. We'll chat. You dish your dirt and I'll dish mine. But don't send anymore uniforms to my door—I certainly rate higher than that.

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