Thursday, August 24, 2006


By Ivan G. Goldman

--Mama, I made a big mess.

--That’s ok, dear. Just get the servants to clean it up.

--No, mama, I tried that.

--What kind of mess are we talking about, anyway? Ketchup, a coke bust? What?

--Iraq, mama. The one with the ‘q’ at the end.

--Oh, that. Listen, Iraq’s not nearly as terrible as everybody says. Watch Fox, dear, like I told you.

--I do, mama.

--Iraq’s a lot like Katrina.

--That’s what everybody says.

--Those Iraqis are just like all those colored people they showed complaining about everything down there. Listen, those Arabs live much better than they did before we bombed the crap out of them. Money just pours into the place. Cheney wets his beak, everything’s coming up roses.

--But they say a lot of American troops got killed and burned and everything.

--Really. Do you know any of them?


--Me neither. They’d be out on the street if we hadn’t given them a paycheck.

--But mama, they’re missing arms and legs and stuff.

--Listen, dummy, grow some backbone. Those oil fields we grabbed over there will be worth a mint someday. So forget about it. Clear some brush or something. Cheney's watching the store.

--Okay, mama. But can’t you stop everybody from making fun of me?

--Stop whining. I told your father a thousand times we shoulda let Jeb inherit the presidency. That’s what the Godfather did. But your father? He knew better. Passed up Michael and gave the job to Fredo.


--Drive your SUV around the ranch. And be sure to practice saying ‘Bring it on’ in the mirror. It’ll make you feel masculine. Too bad it won’t make you smart.


1 comment:

Anonymous said...

It only hurts when I laugh.