Hey, Iraq is a whole nother country!

Why didn't anyone brief me on this?

Today I learned that "vernal eqinox"is not a disease

A couple of weeks ago, a visitor to the president's house told me it was vernal equinox day. I told her that I didn't know they had a day for it, but that penicillin clears it right up. I said that I use to get it all the time when I was training to be a National Guard fighter pilot during the Vietnam War. My job was to stay home and defend the Empire State Building against the Viet Kong King--he took a white woman up there during WWI. They made a documentary about it a few years ago. The king never attacked while I was on duty, so I got tired after awhile and went home.

Anyway, today, I was reading my favorite newspaper, and I learned that vernal equinox is not a disease. It's the day the robins return. You can sure learn a lot from reading.

Mr Cheney has a blog too

He posts from an undisguised location.

Mr. and Mrs Cheney do scary things

Somebody told Mr. Rove about my NyQuil bong and he took it away. I think one of you people snitched. I'm not going to write stuff here anymore if you tattle on me. So stop it.

Last night, I went down in the tunnels to drink my NyQuil without my bong. The tunnels are cool. They connect the president's house to all of the other important buildings in Washington like the Space Needle. There are little golf-cart-like thingies down there that you can use to drive from place to place. I like to drink my NyQuil while I drive around exploring the tunnels.

Anyway, last night, I was sitting in one of the golf cart thingies drinking my NyQuil when I heard this awful bellowing in the distance. It sounded like a heifer in distress. I decided to check it out.

The bellowing seemed to be coming from the tunnel to Mr. Cheney's house so I headed that way. Sure enough, the closer I got, the louder it became, and as I pulled up beneath the house, it was obvious that it was the source.

I climbed up the stairs until I came to introspection of a bunch of different hallways. The sound seemed to be coming from the hall marked bedroom, so I went that way. I slowly squeezed through a door at the end of the hall and found myself in a closet.

I could now make out words between the bellows. Mr Cheney sounded like he was in pain. He was kind of moaning the words, "deeeeeeper, Lynne, deeeeeper."

I could partially see Mrs Cheney through a crack in the door to the bedroom. SHE WAS NAKED! I wanted to see more, so I tried to crack the door open a little bit further. In in my excitement, I moved too fast, tangling my feet up in one of Mr Cheney's kimonos and tumbling through the doorway and into the bedroom. I was met with the most horrible sight I've ever seen. Mrs Cheney had her arm in Mr Cheney's rear-end clear up to the elbow.

I started to scream. I screamed and screamed for what must have been at least twenty minutes. Mrs. Cheney pulled her arm out of Mr, Cheney and tried to comfort me with a hug. That just made me scream more. Her arm was all slick and stinky. It was horrible. I'm crying right now just thinking about it.

Finally, someone handed me a bottle of Wild Turkey and after a few swigs I was able to calm down a little bit. Mr Cheney was screaming at me. He kept yelling: "See the butter. I was like Brando. You see the butter don't you?" Sure enough, there was a bunch of cubes of "I can't Believe it's not Butter" spread out on the floor around Mr. Cheney, but I didn't understand what he meant. He just kept screaming about Brando and butter.

Finally, Mrs. Cheney kicked him really hard in the jaw, knocking him out. She then explained things. It was a fundraiser. I hadn't noticed until then that there were a bunch of men sitting in folding chairs around the room. Each one wore a name tag with a picture of an oil derrick and the words "Hi, my name is ..." printed on it. According to Mrs Cheney, they were all in town for an oil industry convention. The Cheneys decided to raise money for our next campaign by by charging them to watch the couple perform scenes from the Marlon Brando movie, "Last Tango in Paris."

It still seemed kind of weird to me, especially since General Ashcroft had recently given me one of those "special gifts" talks about sex and stuff. I told Mrs. Cheney that, and said I'd have to ask General Ashcroft about it. She just laughed and looked toward the back of the room. General Ashcroft was there, holding a pair of binoculars. He yelled out to us that he had asked Jesus about it and that Jesus said it was OK, because the money would be used to re-elect me and then I could give more money to faith-based programs.

I guess I can't argue with Jesus, but I'm still a bit scared of Mr. and Mrs. Cheney. Whatever you do, don't let her touch you.

Gen. JC Christian is going to Iraq

Mr and Mrs. Cheney are going to give him a job .

People are going to make fun of the Cheneys tomorrow

I was told that it's "Make Fun of the Cheneys Day" tomorrow. By coincidence, I'm posting a story about the Cheneys tomorrow as well. I hope they don't think I'm making fun of them too. The Cheneys scare me. Especially Mrs Cheney. Whatever you do, don't ever let her shake your hand. More on that tomorrow.

I'm in trouble

My wife Laura heard CNN on the TV and wondered why I'd be watching that. She knows I think news is stupid. I like ESPN, Fox Sports, and Nickelodeon. Sometimes I watch HBO, but General Ashcroft says that it's a wicked channel, and that I'll go to Hell if I watch it.

Anyway, I was kind of feeling..ahh you know...ahhh...like a bull in a pen full of heifers, so I decided to touch myself "down there," if you know what I mean. I tried to think of something kind of sexy but couldn't -- mom always said that I don't have a good magination.

I turned on the TV, but the sports channels weren't very helpful. Spongebob was on Nickelodeon, but Squidward wasn't in this episode. I had to look elsewhere.

Then I remembered that Mr Cheney is always saying how he'd like to do it with this lady on CNN named Polly Zong, so I decided to check her out. She wasn't on. It was some guy named Wolf Blitzer. Isn't that a cool name? I'm going to fire Mr. Rumsfeld and make Wolf Blitzer my Man Secretary of Defense. Nobody would mess with us then. They'd be afraid of tangling with someone named Wolf Blitzer. I bet he could even beat up Helen Thomas. She scares me. That's why I try to never look at her.

I don't like Mr. Rumsfeld anymore. He's always whining. He keeps telling Mr Rove and Mr. Cheney that he didn't screw up the war. He says it was Tommy's plan, so Tommy should get in trouble, not him. Now, we have to send more soldiers there, because Mr. Rumsfeld was stupid. Half of all our army and marines will be there. How are we going to fight the Serious and the Iranianians and the Koreas if half our troops are stuck in Iraqistan. I'm starting to wonder if I'll ever get my car now.

I forgot what I was talking about...Oh yeah, Laura and CNN. Well, while I was watching Wolf Blitzer and thinking how I should make him my Man Secretary of Defense, this Frederica lady came on. She was really purdy so I decided to do it fast while she was on the air. I really went to town. I was going so fast that my hand was a blur. It was like I was the Bruce Lee of touching myself. Laura walked in just as I was beginning to finish. That scared me, so I jumped up and knocked over the head statue thingy of Herbert Hoover that I like so much and squirted my man juice everywhere.

Laura made me clean everything up by myself. She also called General Ashcroft. We're going to have one of those talks about Jesus and "special gifts" again. I hate those talks with General Ashcroft. It's like he can see inside my head and know what I'm thinking. He might really be doing that. He's always talking about how he should be able to arrest people for thinking bad things. I hope he doesn't arrest me.

Why is everyone mad at Al Jazeera?

This morning, while I was eating Captain Crunch and playing Super Mario Brothers, I overheard Mr Cheney in the next room telling General Ashcroft that they kicked Al Jazeera out of the stock market. I couldn't figure out why anyone would be mad at Mr Jazeera -- he's not really a vampire -- so I asked Mr Cheney what was wrong. He told me not to worry about it and gave me a big bag of pretzels. He's always giving me pretzels, but the Secret Service takes them away before I can open them. I hate the Secret Service. They're not really secret.

I'm at Camp Dave again

Mr. Rove is mad because because I yelled "fuckin' A" and high-fived everyone when we bombed the crap out of Iraq, yesterday. He says it wasn't presidential. I say if you can't take delight in bombing then why do it at all.

Anyway, I'm at Camp Dave again, and it's cool. I don't have to watch the war all the time on TV--the bombing only takes a few minutes and then it's a bunch of weird people talking.

Instead, I can watch the NCAA. I bought a lot of squares in Mr. Ridge's gambling pool, but don't tell Mr. Ashcroft or Tommy Thompson because they say that NCAA gambling pools make Jesus cry.

Lots of people are watching the games with me and most of them are drinking beer and liquor. That's cool because I can finish their drinks when they go to pee. You see, it's not really falling off the wagon if you don't pour it for yourself. Nancy Reagan taught me that.

The only thing that bothers me about Camp David is that Mr. Abraham is always there. He's a secretary at the Department of Energy even though he's a man. I think that's kind of strange. We don't have a lot of tolerance for man secretaries down in Texas, but I try to be open-minded because it seems like I have to work with a lot of them here in Washington. There's Mr. Abraham, Tommy, Mr. Ridge, Mr. Rumsfeld, Mr. Powell, and a bunch of others.

Anyway, I really don't like a man secretary following me around like Mr Abraham does. He's always trying to please me. It's like, "can I get you anything Mr. President" or "would you like to see our new plan to drill for oil in Arlington Cemetary, Mr. President." Sure the last thing sounds like a good idea, but I'm always wondering if he's sneaking peeks at my butt. You can kill a man in Texas for doing that.

He's also kind of scary. I've often wondered if he is an alien--not the kind Mr Ashcroft likes to send to other countries to be tortured because they talk funny, but the kind that comes from outer space, He looks kind of like Jabba the Hut. When I'm not worrying if he's checking out my butt, I'm worried that he might grab me with his lightening fast tounge and swallow me whole. I don't think the Secret Service would be fast enough to stop him.

It's begun

I can't say much about it yet, but we've begun our attack of Iraq. I don't think it should take long, so I'm pretty eager to get my car--spoils of war and all that. That'll be great. It'll give me a level of freedom I haven't had up until now. I've always had to ask Mr. Rove for a ride and he says no most of the time.

I've lived in Washington for over two years now and I still haven't been to the Space Needle or a Mariners game. That's all going to change once I have my new wheels. It's going to be bitchin'. The babes will be all over me when I pull up to Safeco Field.

We're going to war

I hope I get to wear a uniform. That would be so cool. Daddy never got to wear one. He didn't get Saddam. I will. I will be a greater president than my Daddy.

Homeland Security Alert

Before I go, I think I'd better put out this Homeland Security Alert. I asked Mr. Ridge to do it, but he just tussled my hair and laughed.

Our head gardner's sister's friend recently went out on a date. As is too often the case in our permissive society, she ended up "parking" with a guy in a "lovers lane." Well, they were kissing and stuff when they heard on the radio that a one armed crazy man had escaped from a nearby mental hospital. The report said he was very dangerous and that he killed people with a hook he had instead of a hand.

They continued to make out until they heard a scratching sound on their car. That kind of freaked them out, but they went on touching each other inappropriately anyway.

Then they heard the scratching again. This time they panicked. The boyfriend threw the car into drive and took off like a bat out of heck. When he got home, he examined the car and found a bloody hook stuck to the bumper!

This guy is still out there, so be careful. Don't let the fact that we're only in a yellow alert lull you into complacency. I'm trying to get everything upped to orange, but it isn't easy. Until then, be very very wary.

I'm off to a zore

I'm not really sure what a zore is, but I'm going to one. They tell me there are a lot of porch geese there. Can you imagine that. I'm going to bring my bb gun.

Mr. Blair or Mr Tony --I can never remember which name is the last one-- is going to be there. My one secretary named Colin says that this trip is supposed to help Tony stay in labor a little longer. That shows you just how stupid secretaries are. Men can't have babies. Men shouldn't be secretaries either. Jesus doesn't like that.

I'm also going to meet with a Spanish guy. We had a lot of them in Texas. They all talked funny and ate spicy food. They kind of scare me. I think Helen Thomas might be one too. She really scares me. Mr. Fleischer says that she isn't real, so I should just pretend that I don't see her. I try to do that, but I can't help but to look at her. If I didn't watch her, she might try to eat me.

My Secret Road Map for Middle East Peace

Today I announced that I have a secret road map for Middle East peace that I'll show to the public as soon as the Palestinians elect a new pryminister. Mr. Cheney hasn't shown me the road map yet, but from what I've heard, it starts at my ranch in Crawford, Texas and ends in Palestine with beer stops in Waco and Teague.

I'm not sure how this will all result in peace. I asked Mr. Cheney, and he told me to stop bothering him and to go watch TV. That gave me an idea. Once we get to Palestine, they should make us all live in a really cool motel room with cameras all over the place so they can show it on TV. We could all compete for things like the best bed, those little bottles of shampoo, NyQuil or some other really neat prize. Every week or so, all the housemates would get together and vote to kick out one person who we feel isn't doing his share to achieve peace. Then we will bomb the heck out of his country. I'm going to vote for the French guy every time. The show will end when I'm the only one left, and since I want peace, that will be the prize.

I'll be gone until Friday

I'll be out at Camp Dave with Gen. JC Christian. We're going to watch gladiator movies. I guess we're going to cook too. He said he wanted me to toss his salad.

MAMA!

Hello? Is anybody out there?

President Nixon keeps calling me "Bebe". I don't like this. Please call Mr. Rove.

Has anyone been able to get a hold of Mr Rove?

President Nixon is here now. He has horns. He want's me to show him "the button," but Mr. Cheney says that I shouldn't ever play with it.

Please call Mr. Rove

Helen Thomas is sitting on my bed next to my phone. Every time I try to grab it, she reaches out to me with some kind of hideous lobster claw. I don't know what to do.

She was here when I came back from the infirmary. I sneak down there every night and drink all of the NyQuil. -- I have the sniffles. Tonight, after the fourth time I drained the NyQuil bong Noel made for me (it's really cool--you pour a whole bottle in this funnel that's connected to a tube and then you raise it above your head and it shoots down your throat like chocolate milk) anyway, after I took my fourth hit, I noticed that the really good medicine cabinet was unlocked.

There were some really pretty pills in there. I wasn't going to take any, but President Lincoln said that I should -- he always comes around after my fourth NyQuil bong hit. So I took five and chased them with a final bottle of the big NQ before settling into watch the examination table for a while. I do that every night. It's surprising how interesting an examination table can be. Did you know they have stirrups? Sometimes, I get on it and play like I'm a cowboy, but usually, my sniffles make it too hard for me to stand up, let alone ride the examination table, so I just watch it.

Tonight a bunch of little tiny Ken Lays crawled out of it. They were all yelling that they wanted their money back. I told President Lincoln to make them go away, but he's a big wussy -- he even wears a wig. We argued for a few minutes, but by that time, the Mr. Lays had made their way up to me, and they were carrying a big bear trap thingy they called a "subpoena". That was enough for me. I turned tail and ran all the way back to my room.

Now I'm here and Helen Thomas is there next to the phone. I'd like to go sleep in Mrs Laura's room if she'd let me, but I'm just too afraid to move.

Please call Mr. Rove for me.