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(Jivester News, Lmtd.) President George W. Bush's condition was officially listed as "nervous" today, just after having had lunch with the Vice President of the United States. Doctors for the President have advised him to lay low for awhile, further advising him not to answer any phone he might hear ringing--not even that big red one on his desk.
Sources close to the President, but not so close as to be hit with buckshot by the VP, relayed details of the President's lunch with Vice President Dick Cheney. The Two Giant Heads met at an un-named bistro near Georgetown early Friday afternoon. Press Secretary Scott McClellan, who was making kissy faces and giving raspberries to members of the White House Press Corps just before the cameras came on, stated that the President and the Vice President "...had lunch to get caught up on what's been going on with each other, "how's it hangin'," that sort of thing." McClellan, after accusing one reporter of being a runway model pretty boy fluff monkey, went on to note that the Secret Service scoured the restaurant prior to the two dining. He noted that the SS "...did a routine Sweep de Corleone of the bathroom before Bush and Cheney frisked each other, then both were frisked by the other's Secret Service agents, then they frisked the Secret Service agents, then Cheney frisked himself, but the President declined to frisk himself fearing he might enjoy the self-frisking." Scott McClellan, in a jaunty sort of mood during the Press Conference, ended his statement period, then turned and shook his ass at the cameras and said "Ooh, la, la."
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Jivester News performed a series of interviews with those closest to the President (up to two feet away) and those not as close but reasonably close to the Vice President (fifty yards away). Based upon those interviews I have been able to cobble together a description of the lunch enjoyed by Bush and Cheney. The events went like this:
After a brief prayer by the waiter in which he asked Queztacoatl to please grant him a long life, Bush and Cheney finally sat down opposite each other, each man eyeing the other one as they descended their buttocks onto the chairs at a cozy little two top in the back part of the main room.
Lunch began innocently enough: George asked if Dick had gotten any more grief about stealing blood from the White House lab, how's his sneer holding up, did anyone say anything about his wearing the thong underwear when going out to get his morning paper in the driveway--the usual stuff. It was when the waiter suddenly appeared, and how Dick wheeled his body quickly to bark his order, that the tone of the lunch became increasingly tense.
"Don't sneak up on me like that!" snarled Dick at the waiter, his right hand making visible "trigger pull" movements.
"(unintelligible--some of it sounded like a bowel movement)" replied the waiter.
Cheney turned back to face the President. "George, you ever try the wounded pheasant?"
"No, Dick, I haven't. Doesn't it have to be dead to..." asked the President, trailing off at the last as a thought trotted up to the front of his mind before going "poof" and vanishing forever.
The Vice President replied, "Of, don't be such a pussy, George. It doesn't have to be dead to eat it, for Crissakes! Look at sushi: that's live, people eat that. Am I right, George?"
George squinted and replied, "I don't think sushi is alive. I think sushi is double-d-dead, Dick."
Cheney lowered his head, but not by bending his neck forward. He lowered his head by pushing a valve at the base of his skull which released a sub-cranial hydraulic jack mechanism, causing the VP's head to jut forward and then slowly climb down as his articulated rigging system fully deployed. His face stopped just short of the table top, corrected its descent by climbing another foot in altitude, and then hovered momentarily before thrusting forward into the chin of the President. Again, Cheney's head made a positional correction, pulled back about four inches, raised up to eye level with Bush and then crashed forward, with Cheney's entire upper torso smacking the table while his head swept back and forth across the tabletop, knocking the plates, salt and pepper shaker, the little porcelain boat of Sweet 'n Lows and the silverware onto the parquet floor. "Gargghh," said the Vice President, "...garghh gizzsh."
Five minutes later Dick and George were sitting at a new table and laughing about the whole thing.
"So, Dick," said the President, changing the mood of their luncheon, "you finally shot a human being."
"It's important to have dreams, George. I missed my opportunity to shoot humans--I had other priorities, deeper, very important priorities back in the 60s. Well, let me tell you something...come closer."
"Don't do that rockem sockem robot thing with your head again," George countered, coloring his request with that cute little 'you're freakin' me out' voice he sometimes uses when someone has an hydraulic attachment at the base of their skull and then juts their head out at him like an alien from the Planet John Deere.
Cheney sighed, then whispered "What I want to say is this..."
It was then that the waiter, wearing a bright orange vest and bearing two salads, foccacia bread (with balsamic plasma for dipping) came up to the executive diners, two steps behind and one step to the left of the Vice President. Cheney spun in his chair, spied a fly just over the waiter's head, and deftly threw his steak knife at the fly, barely missing it by two and a half feet as the steak knife lodged in the throat of the waiter. The orange vest remained spotless for about ten or fifteen seconds until blood began to run onto it from the waiter's neck wound.
George stared at Dick with his mouth the most open it had been since a college era sorority stunt in Durango. Cheney looked back at George and spoke: "You ride with him to the hospital. I haven't eaten yet."
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Artwork from here.
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