The Ra^therGate Memos
How I was just minding my own business when the Bush AWOL memos suddenly appeared in my hands like manna from Heaven... then those irresponsible living-room-sitting pajama-wearing digital brownshirts of the Blogosphere dared to accuse me of all sorts of unpleasantness (I'll bet those little creeps are making fun of me right now...they won't be laughing when I sue their pajama bottoms right off), but hey, who cares because they're just a bunch of mean-spirited poopy-heads and I'm The Great Dan Rather (did I ever mention that I wuz in the Marine Corps?) and anyway I run CBS.

The clock struck midnight as I, Dan Rather, veteran newshound and scourge of the BushReich, toiled away at my desk deep in the CBS command center. Fiddling absently with the radio dial, I searched for the frequency, fuming silently over my inability to nail GWB on the Bush AWOL story.

How quickly brainwashed viewers from those pathetic flyover states had forgotten the disenfranchisement of over a million blacks in Florida and the disgraceful debacle that was to follow. Of course I had predicted the rise of the Bush Dynasty, but did they listen? Morons...letting this trumped up, so-called "War on Terror" distract them from the real issue. "Doesn't anyone read the NY Times anymore?", I thought. The news business is not for the faint of heart: if it weren't for Krugman, I'd go mad.

As always, it was up to me to carry on the fight: to make sure that draft-dodging, selected-not-elected AWOL Yalie bastard didn't darken the doors of the Oval Office for four more years. It was time to stop the Bush Dynasty in its tracks.

As I poured over my top-secret files a tendril of cold air snaked in through the window, raising the hairs on the back of my neck. I heard a soft tap-tap-tapping on my office door.

"Who could it be at this hour?", I wondered… Cassandra

John McCain burst through my door, wearing a grey pinstriped suit and derby hat, smoking the biggest cigar I had ever seen and stinking of gin. He said with an evil chuckle "Danny boy we have a problem", and threw a manilla envelope on my desk. Pile On®

I viewed John McCain with thinly veiled contempt as I reached for the legal-sized envelope. McCain had troubled me, as he had not shown he was fully one of us. He is too conservative on some topics, and the 527s were a real setback for us with the Swifties.

Nonetheless, I decided that he was on the level and so, in reaching for the envelope, showed that I was willing to give this man the benefit of the doubt.

When I opened the envelope, saw the contents and realized what the implications were, I nearly had… La Femme Crickita

...a hardening of my manly bona fides. Cassandra

I said "John, can you vouch for the bona fides of these pictures? "

"I am a maverick, Danny boy, don't make me go maverick on your a**."

"Listen John, pictures of Speaker Hastert in a compromising position with Paris Hilton is a compelling story, but my sights are set a little higher. Besides these photos are clearly doctored, everyone knows she is a natural blonde".

"Well, just who do you want dirt on" said McCain, without ever unclenching his teeth.

"I want dirt on.........Pile On®

"BUSH!" I yelled. There it was, out in the open like a lanced boil. It felt good to finally say that...a release that gave strength and staying power to my suddenly realized agenda.

McCain shifted his weight, distracting me from my thoughts, Machiavellian as they were, and just needing to be released. Well, soon I would have it.

"Here is what I want you do," I told him, knowing that he might not go for it and would either pass the buck or not do anything at all. But the risk was worth it.

I told him to..." La Femme Crickita

...pucker up and kiss any chance of being on the GOP ticket in 2008 goodbye."

"Listen McCain", I said. "Our careers will be toast if we're caught. Journalism is my bread-and-butter - I can't afford to get in a jam. So no loafing, OK?" Cassandra

I looked at Rather for the first time, it seemed. He was nervous, and I could feel his hatred of me...of Bush, even of Kerry because we had something in common...and then I began to see how to kill two birds with one stone.

Little did he realize that I was going to put him on the razor's edge...that our quest was on the edge of a knife. If we strayed but a little, we would fail. Well, I didn't want to get smeared with Rather's butter and end up getting my toast jammed with his, so I decided to put on my best white bread face and replied: "Sure."

What I was thinking: "It will have to be done delicately. These things must be nuanced and finessed properly so as to give credibility to all the right people and bring down the others." La Femme Crickita

"Leave everything to me", said McCain as we shook hands to seal our unholy alliance.

He slipped out the door of my office. I felt good: finally we were making progress. How was I to know he would betray me?

Unbeknownst to me at the time, as McCain exited the building, he whipped his Blackberry from the pocket of his sleazy pinstriped suit and dialed Karl Rove. Cassandra

"Rove here" came the disembodied voice. "What poison do you have for me?"

McCain twitched nervously as gathered the courage to speak to the single most important man in Washington. "It's me, John McCain."

"McCaine!" Rove bellowed, "What do you want, traitor?

McAine winced at the spitting sound of Rove's last word. "I..uh..I want to help."

"Why you old goat! You're more slippery than me! Whatcha got?"

McCaine smiled to himself, knowing he had come to the right place. "I got Rather" he said bluntly."

"JEESUS EFFIN CHRISTMAS! Rove exploded into the phone so loudly that MaCain had to pull the receiver away from his ear. "You got Rather? How?"

"Hook line and sinker". McCain grinned. Now to reel him in. "I'll tell, you, Karl. Just as soon as you tell me what's in it for me." spd rdr

"The nerve of some people's children," Rove thought savagely to himself as he waited patiently for the moderate mole to detail how he wanted his bread buttered.

But he forced his mind into lines of patient thought as per his raising in the Be'ne G'sserrit convent school. "Fear is the great divider..." the mantra slipped easily through his consciousness as he realized McCain was scared and wanted to make sure he didn't get fingered...and then it hit him. What was in it for McCain, and indeed, for Rather, was that they not be exposed. No power, no money, just don't expose them.

No man wants to be revealed as small, as had happened to those college students being measured for prophylactics.

Rove grinned. It was going to be so easy, and so simple... La Femme Crickita

Of course, Karl didn't trust McCain for an instant. In the world of presidential politics, there were no deals: only double crosses, triple crosses, and the increasingly rare quadruple-reverse cross with a half gainer. Things were going swimmingly - now to dive in and put the plan into action.

He picked up the phone and called ChiChi LaBoom, his blonde bombshell secretary, into his inner lair... Cassandra

"Yeth?" she softly lisped as she undulated into his sanctum.

ChiChi was a rarity in Washington. A Jewish-Mexican of Chinese descent, she had worked her way up from mowing yards in St. Augustine for the wintering Washington elite. A dead ringer for Paris Hilton, she still had a hard time hitting 's's with clarity. La Femme Crickita

Rove screamed into the intercom on his desk. "I SAID send me ChiChi LaBamba! Not ChiChi LaBoom! get this woman out of my office!"

A few minutes later, a dark eyed, raven-haired woman was escorted into Rove's office and made herself comfortable. Rove told her his plans.

"Why don't you ever want to destroy the reputation of cute young guys?" ChiChi drawled lazily, one leg draped over the arm of the overstuffed chair.

"Aw, come on, ChiChi." Rove answered in mock sadness. "You wouldn't want that dear old mother of yours to find herself back on the slow boat to Panama, would you?"

"Costa Rica. We.. are.. from.. Costa Rica." ChiChi said sitting up straight now and glaring at Rove through the slits in her dark Latin eyes.

"Whatever, honey" Rove said as he waved his hand and spun his desk chair around to return her gaze. "What I want is to make sure that neither of these two guys ever lifts a finger against my Boss. You think you can handle that?"

"Leave it to me," ChiChi said as she stood and smoothed her tight-fitting skirt around her ample hips. Before she left the room, ChiChi briefly leaned over to kiss the top of Rove's head and whispered "But nothing happens to Mamma, or something will happen to you."

Rove watched the the woman sashay out the door, grinning at both her figure and the depths of his own cunning. "Don't worry, baby" he thought laughing to himself. "When this is over, there'll be no Costa Rica." spd rdr

Little did Rove know (or much care, that slimy Jabba-the-Hut looking chauvinist pig) that the outwardly tough-as-nails redheaded bombshell was still nursing the pain of a broken heart. Secretly an illegal immigrant, she'd spent a life savings earned working at a seedy gentlemen's club in the Costa Rican district of Hong Kong on a one-way ticket to the Golden Mountain.

Struggling to build her fledgling lawn care business, she'd been cruelly jilted by a tall, dark, handsome Nebraska quai-loh now living in the Lone Star state. Apparently huge tracts of land and a deft way with kosher Asian/Tex-Mex fusion cuisine weren't enough to hold such an hombre.

Men are such pigs, she mused snidely...Cassandra

But for now, she realized she had a job to do. As she sat down to plan her insertion into the Kerry campaign she realized she wouldn't be able to use the standard political intern method. The last operation that tried that had almost brought all of them to their knees. Masked Menace

*****break*****
Okay. Who is the red head, who is the blond and who is the raven haired ChiChi? Do we have tres ChiChis? Or two?
*******resume storyline******** LaFemme Crickita

Looking back, she smiled with cruel amusement.

Monika was dealing with ups and downs with her hair and her weight, and had been given short shrift in a memoir...like snot being wiped on the page of history.

Well, that wasn't going to happen to her. Reaching for her secret file on her palm pilot, she emailed her tech wench guru, needing the phone number of a contact she had in the Kerry campaign, who had shown her some papers about Rove's Boss some weeks ago.

The man was so easy. A few gefilte fish eggrolls, some Sancho Panza chicken with sweet and sour, and he was telling her everything. She'd show that cow hipped raven haired hussy who was boss! La Femme Crickita

Sorry... I was just being annoying... I figured if the spelling of McCain's name could change every few words, so could ChiChi's haircolor.:)
_______________________________

As she strutted past the Macy's display window, ChiChi caught a reflected glimpse of herself hanging suspended like a hologram in front of the pants-less mannequin with no facial features and the to-die-for Manolo Blahnik pumps.

"Ugh!", she thought. Ducking into the nearest ColorWorks, she ditched her brassy tresses for a lustrous, yummy dark chocolate tint. Cassandra

CATFIGHT! spd rdr

***Commercial Interruption***

Have you ever had a hard time choosing which color hair dye you want? Now you don't have to choose! (Gore) Vidal-Sassoon's newest hair care product allows you to have two different hair colors at the same time. Can't settle on one? Why not have both!
...
Hi, I'm John Kerry, and I approve any product that can allow you to have 2 conflicting characteristics at the same time.

*** End commercial interruption *** Masked Menace

Meanwhile in a swanky bar that caters to attorneys in downtown Richmond. Two shady looking characters meet at a booth back in a corner of a dark and smoke filled room.

"Yeah, I'll have a gin and tonic, hold the tonic".

"Why do you drink gin?"

"Cause I can say it with my teeth clenched" he said with his teeth clenched so tight his fillings were transmitting signals to Ross Perot.

"Why did you ask me here?".

"You ash to many queshions. It's called operation triple salchow and we need a way to break a story outside the mainshtream media. You got any ideas"?

"I have friends in the blogosphere".

"Blogoschwat, oh never mind --- I don't want to know". Pile On®

***CUT!***CUT!!***Hold your places everyone...

One of you office bimbos tell that sumbi+ch Rather that these browns aren't pajamas, I'm certainly not sitting around in my living room and next time I deliver forgeries...uh...packages to him, I expect an equally compensated tip!!--*mumbling* cheap ba$tard!!
Thank you.

***everyone resume your places.....aaaaannndd ACTION!!!***** UPS Deliver Gal, from the Directors Chair

[Ed. Note: I am SO disgusted that no one got my superfluous pop-culture reference]

As Ms. La Bamba entered the swanky bar, every head in the place swiveled and a hundred pairs of eyes lingered (like a cheap buddy waiting for someone else to pick up the bar tab) on the sensuous roll of her hips as she crossed the room.

"Hey Sailor", she said in a husky voice to the man seated on the barstool.

"Yo no soy marinero..." he replied in a soft, musical accent. "Yo no soy marinero...", he continued, eyeing her ample cleavage speculatively. "Soy capitan...soy capitan." Cassandra

"So meester stranger person I am in need of some assistance" she said as she took a dip of chewing tobacco.

"Anything for a beautiful lady, do you need a spit cup?"

"Jes meester stranger thank you so kindly, I am in need of a person who can operate what is called a word processor, do you know of any person like this?"

"Yeah, I know of a woman in the D.C. area........ Pile On®

chewing tobacco??? Cassandra

"...but it's hard to get her to dress as a normal person. Her job calls for her to wear pajamas all day."

"Ees she some kind of...."

"No, no, not that kind of woman at all! She's just on the Internet all day, she operates a web blog in her spare time when she's not being a tech wench, well that's another story too, but, well, anyway and it's kind of an image thing, ya know?"

"So meester, how do I contact thees ladee?" Don Brouhaha

You're cruising... Cassandra

Meanwhile a phone call comes into the Rove office

"Carl here".

"Yes did you call for me?"

"Excuse me, you called me"

"Jes, jes, please forgive my manners this is Chi Chi".

"Chi Chi who?"

"Chi Chi Rodriguez, is there any other?"

"Yes there is, I had two Chi Chi's in my office just today"

"You are a lucky man senor Rove, I hope you locked the door so you could have some privacy, you know what I mean" he said with a hint of porcine empathy. "Well if you don't need me I am going nut buffalo hunting this afternoon, buena suerte senor".

"Good bye" said the most powerful man in the world, lacking any intellectual curiosity. Pile On®

Cursing the fact that Pile On sucks, ChiChi La Bamba, Costa Rican raven-haired ample-hipped beauty, returns to the storyline and ruminates about how to ensure that McCain and Rather are compromised without calling attention to Karl Rove. She walks up and down M Street, dismissing the entreaties of those florid and pin-striped gentlemen who call to her from the safety of their silent black limousines. She is focused only on the task ahead: how to get compromising pictures of her and McCain. She instinctively sought the easier of the two problems, leaving for later the question of how to fulfill Rove's plan for a six-page spread in the National Review of Dan Rather, a jar of honey, two tasers, and an an angora goat.

Suddenly, her ears perked at a familiar voice and she shuddered, in a sexual way, at the sound of that familiar greeting: "Hello ChiChi. Are you the WRONG girl at the RIGHT time, stupid?"

Grinning easily at the lilting Cajun accent, ChiChi turned and glanced into the darkness of the black stretch limo.

"You're late" she said, smiling into the darkness. "I knew you were back, why didn't you call?"

"Get in" the voice spoke from the darkness, with just the smallest reflection from the bald head within. "We need to talk."
The driver opened the door for ChiChi and a thin claw-like hand reached out to pull the woman inside. Without a sound, the car sped off into the gathering gloom of a Washington evening in the election season. spd rdr

As the smoke of a $250 Cuban cigar swirled around the plush interior of the stretch limousine, ChiChi melted back into the buttery leather seats, the upholstery clinging to her every bend and curve. Yes...it had been a while... but Carville looked just the same as always.

His eyes ran over her slowly, lingering in all the wrong places, and she shuddered slightly (this time in a decidedly non-sexual way) hoping that he and Mary were getting along these days. But she had to keep up appearances: men were so touchy: their egos needed constant stroking.

Shrugging slightly to herself, she tried to move the conversation forward. "Gollum..." she purred into his shell-like ear, "It's been tooooo long." She fluttered her long eyelashes just to watch him dissolve into a puddle of frustrated desire.

Carville's wizened face broke into a pleased smile - hopefully she could pawn him off with flattery and sweet talk so he didn't get any ideas. The last thing she needed was to waste an evening whispering paleoconservative dogma to the DNC operative. She wondered how many people knew his guilty secret: how such dry nonsense could turn anyone on was beyond her ability to fathom. He must need it to get his masochistic freak on.

"I have something for you sugah", Carville drawled in tones that would be sexy if they weren't coming from a diminutive LOTR stunt double.

"Well...Smeagol... what do you say we take care of business before pleasure? I do so like to be relaxed you know... Cassandra

"Smeagol like gefilte fish rolls," he purred, only poor Smeagol couldn't eat them cause they was cooked, preciouss... you has some raw ones at your cave?" he queried, his head and eyes glowing.
ChiChi nodded and Carville gave instructions to the driver to go to a certain quiet area of DC.

ChiChi knew that she had to to work quickly or he would eat and then fall asleep before telling her what he had. She reminded herself to tip the tech wench an extra five grand. Karl could afford it, once she told him who her sources were.

She suppressed a smile...think about how she, and not Ms. whatshername in the last administration would be the new Deep Throat. La Femme Crickita

ChiChi had learned much from the one great love of her life. Who the good guys were, who the bad guys were and who could be manipulated to the will of a beautiful woman. She had to ditch the tortoise (her pet name for him) and get on with her mission. But first she would throw him off the trail.

"You got any decent beer tortoise, I need to wash down this skoal and I am thirsty for a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale"?

"Yeah I got beer darlin, howza bout you tell me what is goin on at the White House and share a little bit of dip with ol' tortoise. With Mary around the only time I get any is when I sees you".

"How would I know what is goin' on at the White House?"

"Sweetness, I watched you leave there".

"Okay, ju got me tortoise. There is notheeng but trouble up, total melting down. People are looking for lobbyist positions. I am supposed to seduce a journalist to keep a story from breaking, I don't know what to do torty".

"You just do what you gotta do buttercup, here is your hotel".

Finally she was free of that loathsome coona**, she had to get to the country, but how? Then she saw a sign for 24 hour moped rental and she was off for a cottage in the country. Pile On®

Upon breaking free of the city, she breathed a sigh of relief...rather difficult to do since she was out of breath from pedaling the last ten miles, having run out of gas shortly after she took the exit for Virginia off the Beltway. But, no one followed her or offered her a lift. So far, so good… or so she thought. La Femme Crickita

That was until a black stretch limousine bearing New York license plates pulled alongside of her. The darkly tinted back window slowly rolled down, eventually revealing a full head of wavy grey hair, and then that recognizable reddish bulbed nose. The familiar gravelly voice of a man wearing a hospital bracelet motioned to her to step in closer as he nonchalantly asked Chi Chi,"Hey babe, do you play HarMonica?"....... MissTery Whoamun

Looking at the face leering at her out of the window, she gasped. She had only one more mile to go, but she WAS tired. Eyeing him, and thinking he looked like a dissipated version of Ted Kennedy, she shook her head.

"Too bad, baby," he wheezed in a southern drawl that rasped on her nerves like fingernails on a chalkboard. "I was told to be on the lookout for you. I have something that Sandy Berger smuggled out in his underwear that you might like,' he leered at her. another precinct heard from

"EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! GROSS!!!!!" ChiChi boomed. "I am sooo out of here!" Her strength renewed, ChiChi pedaled quickly to escape the horrid scene.

Meanwhile, in a dark watering hole across town, McCain sat hunched over his fourth martini.

"I am shlo ashlamed" he drooled to the smartly dressed woman sitting across the small table.

"There, there" she said soothingly, her hand reaching out to gently pat the weeping man's hand. "You can tell me all about it. Have another martini."

As she spoke this last, she leaned forward out of the gloom and into the shaft of light that illuminated the table. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, accenting her thin face and full mouth. She was dressed in a dark pin-striped business suit, fashionably adorned with David Yurman jewelry and a small political button reading "Cheney-Rice '08."

McCain downed the last of his drink and attempted to look serious in his inebriation. "Mish Coulter" he began "you ain't going to believe thish."

"Try me" she cooed. "I been in Washington long enough to believe anything."

"Well" he began "it all shtarted when I.."

THUD! The noise of the Senator's head hitting the table startled the barroom's patrons.

"Oh damn." Coulter said exasperated.

"Is everything all right?" The bartender called over to the woman.

"Fine. Just fine." she said sarcastically, standing and retrieving her belongings.

"He's passed out. Here," she aid scribbling a on the back of a bar napkin "Put him in a cab and have him taken to this address. Here's a hundred for your trouble." The bartender took the bills and stuffed them in his pocket. Picking up the note he glanced at the address. "Here? You want me to have him taken HERE?" "Just do it. I let them know he's coming" the woman called out as she headed for the door, her heels tapping swiftly across the tiled floor.

"Whatever you say, lady" the bartender shrugged. He knew better than to ask more. It was election season. spd rdr

*******Commercial Break*************
JUST IN TIME FOR THE ELECTION!
The 30th Anniversary edition of 'Jaws' is out on DVD! Included in the Special Edition is commentary from John Kerry, Bill Clinton and Michael Moore detailing how they are going after the Vast Right Wing Conspiracy much like the ill fated shark of the hit movie, series and spoofs. The have named their secret weapon, "Bruce." **************Resume Story************** La Femme Crickita

Finally Chichi had arrived at the quaint country cottage. She was nervous, she had heard this woman was a bit eccentric, but she had a mission to complete so she knocked on the door. Quickly a woman came to the door, she was wearing New Kids On The Block pajamas and bunny slippers. She had a snarling weenie dog in her arms and said "yes, can I help you?".

"I am ChiChi LaBamba, I was told you know how to operate a processor of the words".

"Yes, I have been expecting you, what is the code word?

"Snarkette" came ChiChi's reply.

"Good come on in, but I must tell you I don't think I should do this....its… its...illegal"

"Don't worry" ChiChi interrupted"Senor Rove has thought of everything, and I brought you a box of wine".

"Well, let's get busy then".

"Bueno, I am so sorry about coming so late at night, can you tell me what are the New Kids on Block?"

"It is okay I get up at 1:00 am anyway, and they are my favorite boy band".

"Oh, like an anglo Menudo"

"Yes". With that they settled into work, quickly becoming the best of friends......... Pile On®

"Where am I?" McCain asked groggily. His head was pounding like a jackhammer and his mouth tasted of stale booze and something akin to rodent fur. His eyes were open, but everything was still black. As the boozy haze slowly lifted he realized that he was tied and blindfolded!

"Hey! McCain called out in hopes that someone might hear him, "What gives? I'm a United States Senator! Free me at once!"

"Shut your trap" came the surly reply. "We'll untie you just as soon as the Boss says so.
"The Boss?" McCain asked, Who is the Boss?"

"You'll find out soon enough. Now shut up." Tense moments passed, then tense minutes, and then tens of tense minutes.

Eventually, McCain could hear doors slamming and the sound of jackboots treading heavily across metal floors. Suddenly a loud, gruff voice was barking orders. "Get that crap off of him! What do you guys think this is? An Iraqi prison?"

McCain recognized that voice, and immediately knew where he was. His heart sunk.

"Dick?" he asked feebly, "Is that you, Dick." A hand yanked the hood from McCain's head and he winced at the bright light.

"Welcome to the 'undisclosed location', John." The Vice President breathed menacingly. "We've been expecting you." spd rdr

As he gazed at Cheney's polished black shoes, McCain could dimly make out in the shadows two delicately manicured feet in taupe sling-back sandals [bunny slippers indeed]. His gaze slipped upwards slowly, revealing an expanse of tanned bare leg, followed by a digital cocoa-brown slip dress in Chantilly lace. The petite, curly-haired brunette was middle-aged but trim, a svelte Wiener Beast cradled in her lithe arms.

In her hands were what appeared to be several typewritten documents.... Cassandra

From the corner of the room an irritating but familiar voice was heard "hey what about me, what about me, stop this stop this at once".

"Would somebody release him and shut him up" Cheney said with an air of authority.

It was senator Chuck Hagel, who scurried across the floor as soon as he was released, "Boss boss are you okay, I am sorry I let you down, boss boss are you...." he was interrupted as McCain swatted him on the nose like a puppy with a rolled up newspaper. He then cowered before his great boss like a submissive puppy.

"What is the meaning of this" McCain growled through teeth clenched so tight his fillings were sending signals to Dennis Kucinich.

"When you play with fire it gets hot, Senator" replied the mysterious enchanting middle aged woman who McCain did not recognize. She tossed the documents to McCain "Now send your stooge to a Texas Kinkos to fax these to your buddy at CBS". Pile On®

"Senator MacCain, I don't have a lot of time. Some Office Bimbo handed these to me after getting them from a dissipated looking Ted Kennedy wannabe. I only had a few minutes to change before rushing over here, but I do apologize for the inconvenience and the necessity of slipping you a Micky Finn in your martini. Men can be so dense."

Senator MacCain looked at them and whistled. He knew then that he had the key to getting even with Kerry and Rather and making sure that he would never have to associate with them again.

"What do you want me to do?"

The lovely brunette sighed.

"It is all so simple, really. Give these to Dan Rather and tell him you got them from the Ted Kennedy look alike on the freeway going toward Langley AFB. And now, Senator, you have to go. I am sorry, but I can't risk you putting two and two together and finding out where this place is. The Office Bimbo will be getting you a glass of water, but the blindfold and cuff have to go back on until you are safely away from here. I must return to my Unit. Good evening."

With that speech, delivered in a sweet, bell like voice, the dainty lady turned and walked through the door. Senator MacCain thought whatever Unit she was assigned to was lucky indeed. And then it hit him. The Office Bimbo knew more than he did! She knew where they were. Well, he was not unattractive and if he didn't screech too loudly he just might charm her into telling him where they had just spent some tense minutes. La Femme Crickita

Meanwhile, in a galaxy far far away.

McCain let his gaze drift past the pajama-clad woman and took in the scene around him. There were four uniformed men with automatic weapons standing behind the Vice President. Behind them was a wall of glass looking out over an enormous room. The far room had a gigantic electronic map of the world in one wall and row upon row off computer consoles manned by similarly uniformed men and women.

"What is this place?" he croaked at last.

The Vice President, clad in a black uniform of a type McCain had never seen before, threw back his black cape in a broad gesture towards the room behind the glass.

"This, Mr. McCain, is the War Room."

"We're in the Pentagon?" McCain asked, somewhat confused.

A maniacal laugh erupted from Cheney. "Mwahahahahaha! Not the Pentagon, John,. Dear me no!" The vice President strode of to the glass wall, and raising his arms a la Rocky Balboa said, " This is the HALLIBURTON War room! We're sixteen stories beneath a Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits restaurant on New York Avenue, Northwest!"

McCain gasped! "The Halliburton War room! Who is Halliburton at war with?"

"Cheney slowly turned and leveled his gaze at McCain. "Why… the world, Mr. McCain. The whole world."

McCain struggled to keep his wits. "I don't understand." He managed at last.

"Of course you don't Mr. McCain, Cheney said in a low voice. "There are only a handful of people in the world that know of our plans for world domination."

"Huh?"

"Why, our plans for world domination."

"Oh. That's what I thought you said. Huh?"

"Mr. McCain, do you know what this world runs on?"

McCain thought for a moment. "Campaign money/"

Cheney shook his head slowly. "No, Mr. McCain. But that's what we let you think. It's OIL, Mr. McCain. The lifeblood of nations. Soon we will control the world's supply of oil, and the world will be OURS! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!"

McCain let out a small burp. "Sorry" he said. And then "Who is "we?" You mean you and President Bush?"

Cheney cackled again "President BUSH??? Don't make me laugh. I have owned President Bush since his Texas Air National Guard days. Where do you think he was when he went missing from Guard duty anyway?"

"Uh, Alabama?"

"No, Mr. McCain. He was at a Halliburton training facility in North Korea."

"North Korea?" McCain gasped, again.

"Come now, Mr. McCain, you don't think that a little ideology would stand in our way, did you?"

Cheney explained his diabolical plan. The huge electronic map showed the location of every single drop of oil in the world. A round red and black "H" marked the nations under Halliburton's control. The whole middle east was a sea of H's, as were Central and South America.

"You must be stopped!" McCain said at last.

"Tonight, we get Costa Rica" Cheney said mockingly, "Nothing can stop us." spd rdr

As the four uniformed men with Uzis hustled the blindfolded McCain out of the room, a secret door opened silently and in strolled the President of the United States. Cassandra, Blog Princess and her diminutive yet ferocious weiner beast followed in his wake

Cheney threw off the cheesy black cape and unzipped his black uniform, revealing his usual tasteful business attire. As he straightened his Hermes tie with a practiced, yet rueful gesture, a wry grin flitted over his normally implacid face.

"Was I over the top, boss?", he said, chuckling.

"McCain's such a self-important maroon", the President replied. "You were perfect - you just played to his enormous ego. I'm sure he was reliving his old war days - you've got him convinced he's the only one who can save the world now... what a moron. And people think I'm stupid...".

"What's next, boss?", Cheney asked. Cassandra

The car made a sharp sudden stop, nearly launching the blindfolded man off the rear seat. The door was opened and single word spoken. "Out."

A strong pair of hands pushed man out of the door and the car sped off. McCain pulled off his blindfold and found himself alone, on a street corner, at night, in the rain, next to a Kinkos. He knew he had to expose Cheney's diabolical plan before it was too late for Costa Rica and too late for the world! He quickly ran into the copy store and asked to borrow the phone. Then he went next door to a small Italian Cafe and asked them if he could borrow the phone.

Finally, he bummed a quarter from a guy. telling him that he really needed a drink. After wandering around for a while, past darkened stores and strangely-clad women asking him for dates, he found a public telephone and dialed the number from memory. The phone rang four and a half times before a male voice answered.

"Dan here."

"It's me, John"

"What's the frequency?" came the reply."

McCain scrambled to think. "96.4 on your FM dial" McCain said at last.

"Okay, you pass. Hello John."

"Listen, Dan you are not going to believe this. Can you and your news crew meet me at the Popeye's Chicken and Biscuits on New York Avenue Northwest in 15 minutes?"

A pause followed. A long pause.

"Dan?"

"Have you been drinking again, John?" spd rdr

John McCains next memory was waking up in bed with a pounding headache, his teeth clenched so tight that his fillings were sending signals to Major Owens. "Boss -- boss" came the voice from the hallway. "Get in here Chucky, bring me a handful of aspirin and my gin bottle".

"Yes boss yes boss, I faxed the documents to Dan Rather like you asked me to, then I told him they were from a credible source".

"Whatever, I have bigger fish to fry".

"Oh boss lets not talk about that" said Hagel in a timid and fearful voice.

"What is it" bellowed McCain, causing his head to pound,

"Turn on the tv".

"Yes boss" said Hagel cowering in the corner, as the news of the most embarrassing moment in the political history of the world (which includes many embarrassing moments by many embarrassing politicians). The CNN anchors laughed in puzzled amazement about what had happened to the great maverick John McCain. Pile On®

Back at the ranch, uh war room, President Tech
held a hand to her stomach and said, "Kerry really gives me a pain. Right here." As she belched daintily, she looked on the monitors to see the broadcast of CBS news and the seemingly unrelated story of John Macao's
bizarre account of being held by a fascist clad Chancy and a female Chief Executive. La Femme Crickita

"This is Dan Rather reporting from outside a Papaya's Chicken and Biscuits restaurant in northwest Washington DC CBS has learned that beneath this seemingly unpretentious eatery lies the secret undisclosed location from which Halliburton is planning to take over the world. Let's go to Geraldo Rivera for an update. Geraldo?"

"Thanks, Dan. I am currently in the basement of the Popeye's restaurant with a crew of intrepid spelunkers. We are searching for a secret hidden door that our sources say leads to and ultra-secret "war room" lying some sixteen stories beneath the street. It is from there that Vice President Dick Cheney is attempting to seize control of the world's oil supply for Halliburton."

"Excuse me, Geraldo, this is Dan Rather. Did you say Halliburton?"

"Yes, Dan, I did. The very same Halliburton that the Vice President served as CEO. As I was saying, so far we have gotten as far as the basement, only fifteen stories left to go."

"Thank you, Geraldo. We'll be checking in form time to time. Let's now go to Leslie Stahl for an update from John Kerry. Leslie?"

"Thank you, Dan. Well, as you know Senator Kerry has for the last 47 minutes made the Halliburton takeover of the world a central theme to his campaign. Here's a clip of him speaking to the Washington State Lefty Moonbat Club."

(Video of Kerry standing before crowd, some of whom have started a mosh pit in front of the stage)

Kerry: "President Bush has a "W" in his name. That "W" stands for "wiener." And like all wieners, President Bush is smooth and pink! All the while Halliburton is spending your tax dollars to take over the world's energy supply. Money that could be used for prescription drugs! When I am president, every American will need prescription drugs. And jobs too!"

Stahl: "Senator Kerry also said that global warming is to blame for Britney Spears, and called on the President to release all of his National Guard records.

Rather: "Funny you should bring that up Leslie." spd rdr

Mindlessly staring at the television, brain unengaged a thought awakens McCain: "Da*n, Ya know, I should have auditioned for that Mel Gibson flick. Passion Of Crimes ...Passion Flower?...Patton?...Whatever that was. I could have scored some coins playing the part of that guy that hung himself...oh what was his name again?.... A Rock N Roll guy..Juice Newton..Nooo!..lemme think..uh...Judas Priest? Oh well......... Not Gonna Say

As the four uniformed men with Uzis hustled the blindfolded McCain out of the room, a secret door opened silently and in strolled the President of the United States, Cassandra, Blog Princess and her diminutive yet ferocious wiener beast in tow. Cassandra

Back deep in the bowels of CBS News the entire news staff is scurrying about preparing coverage of the mental crack up of the maverick senator from Arizona John McCain. After years of suppressing his feelings about being held as a prisoner of war during an illegal war where atrocities were committed on a daily basis with full knowledge in the chain of command, McCain has finally cracked up.

The calm at the center of this media storm is in the office of Dan Rather. Rather is calm, staring at documents that will bring down his nemesis. The father had scolded him on live tv, embarrassed him, now the son would pay. Yes he would pay big time. Rather has the goods, and they came from Texas so they must be true. He pours himself a brandy, and with a look of satisfaction he drinks to vengeance. Pile On®

Meanwhile in a plush office building in the trendy section of downtown Flint Michigan a cutting edge documentary film maker emits a low grunting noise reminiscent of a bull moose during the rut. His secretary recognizes the sound and immediately rushes to his office "Yes Mikey - what can I do for you?" Though she loathed the man, his gluttonous excesses, sloppy appearance and rude behavior, she was glad to have a job. It was after all the worst economy since the dark ages.

"Toots" he groaned, "get me John McCain, we gots us a film to make". Pile On®

"I'll drink to that!" Rove said as Rather finished his prime time "expose" of Bush's supposedly being AWOL from the Air National Guard in order to pursue a sex-change operation.

"ChiChi" he said, smiling, to the raven-haired Jewish-Mexican-Chinese Princess from Costa Rica, "You are a bloody genius!

"Why thank you, Karl" ChiChi answered, coyly batting her blonde eyelashes. "You are too thweet."

"Just one question" Karl asked, slumping into his swivel chair and propping his feet on the birdseye walnut desk,

"How did you ever get him to buy the bit about the monkeys?" spd rdr

There really is no requirement that this story make any sense... is there? Oh well, roll with it.

*************************
"It wasn't eathy, Karl", ChiChi purred in a sultry tone of voice that promised more than Karl's aging carcass was likely to be able to collect upon. As she rose from the leather divan and crossed the room, her light floral scent drifted towards him, teasing him with the memory of delirious nights atop the Canon 4000 copier. He still had the autographed, full color images of her derriere locked in a secret compartment of his birdseye walnut desk to prove it.

ChiChi parked her ample derriere on the corner of Rove's desk and continued.

"Once McCain got the fake documents to Rather, it was vital that we dull his suspicions. A professional journalist like Rather would never accept unverified documents from a mysterious source, no matter how badly he wanted the story."

"Of course they would be subjected to a rigorous CBS verification process: that could take months. Well, we couldn't have that, could we, Karl? I knew it was time for your Plan."

Rove rubbery lips stretched into a wicked smile...he knew what was coming. Unfortunately it wasn't him, but that could wait until he was alone with his Paleocon action figures....

ChiChi leaned even closer to Rove. Geez, it was becoming difficult to concentrate on her words...his eyes kept drifting to her luscious curves. Mesmerized, he was only half listening as she continued her narrative...

"When I got to his apartment, I had nothing on underneath my black leather rain slicker except a pair of fishnet stockings and a garter belt. The honey and tasers were tucked into an inside pocket, and my accomplice had brought the angora goat up the service elevator. The rest...."

Rove leaned even closer...

ChiChi darted forward and pricked him in his fat neck with an anesthetic dart. He slumped to the ground in a sweaty, disgusting heap. Dusting her hands off, she wiped the office for fingerprints and pulled the door shut, whispering, "That'll teach you to threaten my Mamacita, gordito". Cassandra

Quickly she rifled through his pockets and found the keys to his desk. She tried them and found the pictures she knew were hers.

She also found the stash of emergency cash, the passport blanks and all the documents needed to bring her beloved Mamathita to the Thtateth.

Rove slumbered on. ChiChi added a bit more anesthetic and removed the syringe. She grabbed a Kleenex, opened the windows and turned the A/C up full blast.

Putting everything in her attaché, she blew a kith to the thumbering man and left. Now for
the forger's to fill in the docs and Fed Ex them to Mamathita. La Femme Crickita

"Geraldo here. Hello? I'm still down here in the basement of the Popeye's restaurant looking for the secret door. Is anybody out there? Hello?" spd rdr

[drilling sounds]

[shouting] "This is Geraldo Rivera, live from the subterranean depths below Popeye's Chicken & Biscuits in tony NW DC. We're here on a hot tip from maverick Senator John McCain, who recently dropped a bombshell on the news community, breaking a bizarre tail of kidnapping, bondage, and world domination involving none other than Diamond Dick Cheney, long suspected to be the secret power behind the throne in the Bush White House"

"We go now to the 15th level below the street, where any minute now, we'll be breaking through to the secret compartment where the Halliburton command center McCain spoke of earlier is located. And remember...Geraldo Rivera brought it to you....LIVE. Cassandra

Up in C-BS HQ Dan Rather's Eye in the media storm was twitching. HOW DARE those Internet terrorists DEFY HIS AUTHORITY and HOW DARE they expose these documents as phony! Jackbooted brownpajamaed livingroom dwelling GEEKS!

Damage control was the furthest thing from his mind, but insidiously, a Thought tendriled its way into his mental stupor: Play it as authentic. Go down with the ship. Like Clinton and Kerry, keep repeating the lie until even he, himself, Dan Rather, believed it.

This Thought he clung to, giving thanks to the guru of liberalism and starting the mantra taught him long ago when he was at the Be'Ne Gesserit Seminary. La Femme Crickita

[sound of panting]

"This is Geraldo Rivera LIVE from the 16th underground level below Washington DC: the secret underground hiding place of evil mastermind Dick Cheney. Today we bring to you: The Mystery of Cheney's Vault [sound of sub-machine gun fire]"

[voice of camaraman] "Geraldo, why didn't you just use the doorknob? It was unlocked..."

Geraldo: "Right. Well, here we are Ladies and Gentlemen: the big moment. What will be revealed behind the door to Cheney's secret command center? We're literally taking our lives into our hands. McCain described armed guards with automatic weapons during his dramatic kidnapping."

[camaraman, sotto voce] "Well then it probably wasn't real smart to announce our arrival with a burst of machine gun fire then, was it Mr. Bright Guy? But then that's why you get paid the big bucks, isn't it?"

Geraldo, clearing throat: "Okay: one...two...three... be ready for anything" [opens door]

"uh...."

"What do you see?"

"It's.... a pile of dirt" "And... looks like...gnawed fried chicken bones...and....an empty bottle of Mad Dog 20/20."

"This is bad" Cassandra

CBS Lead story on the evening news.

**********************

Vice President Dick Cheney is accused of stealing dirty deep fried chicken and dirty dirty rice while drunk on cheap fortified wine during his stay in an undisclosed location. More details as this story unfolds. Pile On®

**********************

Geraldo stood in stunned disbelief. You would think , after making a career as a James Bond journalist wannabe that he would get ONE big break. JUST ONE! He remembered the empty vaults in Al Capone's Chicago. The humiliation of his talk show. Being fired from embedding with the infantry for shooting off his tent flap mouth.

But, he never did figure it out. Those who were in the know never told Geraldo anything. They dished with no one.
And laughed evilly the whole time. La Femme Crickita

Back in the deep end of the deep part of the deep bowels of the CBS news building a new storm was beginning to flatulate. Dan Rather had called an emergency meeting of news personnel. It was quiet… too quiet, uncomfortably quiet as the veteran newsman called the meeting to order.

Dan started out calm, and laid out the plan of attack, "the best defense" he said "is a good offense."

After detailing where they would go from here, he became more and more emotional, his voice rising in fits of anger "I am Dan effing Rather people" he yelled "I am in the top five of most trusted men in America, these pissant bloggers don't know who they are messing with, THIS IS C EFFING BS, THE EYE DAMN** THE EYE" just then Dan was interrupted as Slim Whitman entered the room, accompanied by a two piece band consisting of a banjo and mandolin player. Slim delivered the most powerful, emotional version of "Danny Boy" the world has ever heard.

There was not a dry eye in the room as Slim exited as quietly as he had come in. Pile On®

"Uh, Mr, Rather. Sir?"

"What's the frequency?"

"Um...I don't know, sir...six?
"
"Close enough. What do you want?"

"Um, sir, uh Mr. Rivera is holding on line two sir. He's been calling every couple of minutes and he's really getting nasty, sir."

"Who?"

"Mr. Rivera, sir. Geraldo"

"What does he want?"

"Well, sir, it appears that Mr. Rivera's been down in a pretty deep hole for the last couple of days, and..."

"So have we all, son."

"Ha ha! Uh, I mean, yes sir, sorry sir. Anyway, Mr. Rivera says the network has better get him out of there real soon or he's gonna quit."

"Fill in the hole."

"Fill in the hole, sir? You mean...bury him, sir?"

"He buried himself, son. Long ago. And evidence is a bad thing to leave laying around. So do what I say and maybe someday you too can be an anchorman."

"An anchorman!!! Gee, do you really think so, Mr. Rather? Me? Wow!"

"Run along, now. And forget we had this conversation."

"Yes SIR! Wow. (turns and leaves speaking in an announcer voice) "'This has been the CBS nightly news with Tex Pile On.' Wow." spd rdr

Now I know how Cass felt when I gave her a cheap shot.
Pile On®

Aimlessly fumbling around at the bottom of the deep hole, Geraldo wondered to himself "Where did I go wrong?"

He stubbed his toe in the dark against something hard and metallic. He picked it up and saw in the dim light that it was an old IBM Selectric typewriter. Strange, though. All the keys for the vowels had been removed. What did this mean? Was this some kind of....CLUE? Don Brouhaha

Meanwhile on the 16th floor of a plush office building in Richmond, Virginia, a wealthy and sinister attorney was burning up the phone lines, brokering power deals with the illuminati of the Washington political scene....

"Get me Karl Rove", he barked in quiet tones that brooked no denial.

"Bu...bu..but we haven't heard from Mr. Rove in hours, Mr..."

"Don't say my name, you cretin. You don't know if this line is secure. Rove knows better than to duck my calls - he'd better call me back within the hour." The phone rocked back in its cradle violently as he pushed his Eames chair away from the desk, running his fingers through his hair.

"So far it's all gone according to my master plan... the President, Rove, Rather, McCain, Rivera...they've all danced like puppets on the end of my string."

"Now all I have to do is be patient while the game plays out to its inevitable conclusion. It's a good plan. And I never lose. After all, I'm a UVA man..." Cassandra

Yes it was a good plan, but why wasn't anyone returning his calls? Hadn't he thought of everything? What was going on? Yes, there were loose ends, but there were always loose ends in these difficult schemes. There was the matter of Chichi LaBamba, she knew too much and she was a loose cannon, and very cunning. There was her ex-lover, a mole at CBS news, the man from whom she had learned everything she knew. If it weren't for her unsavory vice of chewing tobacco they might still be together, that would be a duo to be reckoned with. Had they hooked up again to work together?

It was quiet, too quiet, a bead of sweat that had been forming on his extremely large forehead ran down his nose. WHY WASN'T ANYONE RETURNING HIS CALLS? Pile On®

He couldn't sit any longer.

His powerful frame, used to action, launched itself explosively from the expensive executive chair and he paced back and forth in front of the window of his penthouse window like a caged panther, muscles bunching with pent-up energy waiting to be unleashed.

Was that a knock? It was so quiet he almost ignored it, but an animal-like sixth sense warned him that this would be a mistake. Silently he crossed the floor and whipped the door open with a savage gesture. Framed in the pool of light from the hallway stood the delicate form of....ChiChi LaBamba.

"Hello lover", she purred softly. "Surprised to see me?" Cassandra

Surprised wasn't the word. It was an understatement. He remembered the sweet smell of her skin, the deep blue of her eyes, and the snort she made when she laughed...the nights of deep longing fulfilled by her and she asked if he was surprised???? His whole body responded. La Femme Crickita

"You theem nervous" Chichi observed suddenly feeling she was in the drivers seat.

"Uh of..of..of course I am nervous, who wouldn't be working with you?". "Now thweety, there is no call for that, why don't you get uth thomething to drink, you know I like a good beer". "Yeah I know, speaking of which, have you been seeing you know who?"

"Now why on earth would you bring him up my thweet?" she said as she moved toward him seductively. "Don't try that on me you know I have a loving wife and eleven daughters at home?"

"Now thweety that never stopped you before", she said as she freshened up her pinch between her cheek and gum,

"Now get me my spitoon and let's talk about where we go from here"............ Pile On®

Memories passed in spd rdr's head like parades of high school marching bands; formed so as to be not quite completely out of rhythm and tune, but yet closely mis-ordered enough to be effortlessly effing noisy as helk.
He abided, dude. spd rdr

Suddenly, a shot rang out. Purple raider

He shook his head to clear it of the sensations that threatened to overwhelm him - nothing must be allowed to interfere with the plan: not even ChiChi and her overripe charms. Giving her a shove, he said, "Give up, baby - it was over a long time ago".

Yeah...he said it, but in his heart he knew it would never be over. They'd always have Cleveland... But she didn't have to know that --

At that moment, a shot rang out. Running out the door and down the hallway, he followed the smell of cordite. At the end of the hallway there was a crumpled body lying in a pool of blood. With one toe of his expensive shoe he flipped the corpse over.

It was John McCain. Cassandra

Things had suddenly spun out of control. The man who could read and memorize entire legal briefs in mere seconds was reeling trying to figure out what had happened. Was it a hit by Rather, trying to hide the source of the documents he had staked his career on? Was it Rove? That didn't make sense, McCain had been effectively eliminated as a credible political rival. Was it Geraldo, who was furious over another career humiliation? Could it be suicide?

A moment ago no one was returning his calls, now the world would be beating a path to his door, he turned to Chichi and said "Sweetheart we need answers, you know who you need to talk to. Now go before my wife or one of my thirteen daughters sees on the nightly news that you were here". Pile On®

Thinking as fast as only a man living with a wife and fifteen daughters can, spd absently watched ChiChi's hips retreat down the hall, swaying back and forth gently like a hammock in a summer breeze at the WhiteTail nudist camp.

Then he spotted the open door at the end of the corridor. Fortunately, being a father of 17 girls, his work ethic at the office was as strong as it was in...err...other rooms... Grabbing McCain's feet, he dragged the corpse down the hall and into the broom closet, returning with a mop and bucket.

He quickly cleaned up the mess, muttering to himself, "This is woman's work...I should have kept ChiChi around for a few minutes." But there was no helping that now, and the secretary was gone for the day - dammitall to helk.

He'd just have to do it himself.

Finishing up, he whipped his Blackberry out of his suit pocket and placed a long distance call to an undisclosed location... Cassandra

A voice answered: "Hello, Mt. Union College, home of the Purple Raiders. Can I help you?"

Dang! wrong number! He tried again. Don Brouhaha

Suddenly Larry Kehres appeared.

And another shot rang out. Purple raider

Who the hell am I? Larry Kehres

Spd Looked aghast at his old nemesis.

Since high school, this man had dogged him worse than Glenn Close had Michael Douglas.

He asked him "Why?"

Larry told him.

Spd shook his head. Had he only known that Larry did it for the love of ChiChi, he would have thrown her at him a long time ago.

But, he had been busy, getting and begetting.

He was tired, so tired...so he told Larry that ChiChi would be back soon, and he would arrange for a PROPER intro. La Femme Crickita

With only seconds to go in the fourth quarter, and the game tied 48% to 48%, spd rdr knew that he had to take control of the situation. An idea hatched in his mind and swam around the labyrinth of his intellect like a tadpole, until it at last leaped, toadlike, into his frontal lobe. He knew what had to happen next. Cocking his broad brimmed fedora rakishly atop his thick locks, he strode purposefully down the darkened streets still glistening from the aftermath of Ivan's wrath. He would search all night if he had to, but he would locate the end of this story...even if it meant exposing Don Brouhaha as the culprit.

Stopping off at an all night cafe for a cuppa joe and a slice of pie, spd got a load of a waitress with the biggest set of headlights this side of Topeka. That would be a story for another day, however, as spd only had just enough time to save the world as it was.

Exiting Lafayette Park spd hailed a cab.

"1600 Pennsylvania Avenue" he ordered to the cabbie. The cab made a quick U-turn and stopped abruptly.

"That'll be ten bucks" the cabbie said, his grizzled hand reaching back over the grimy seat back. spd threw him a fifty and stepped out of the cab into a puddle. Cursing softly under his breath, spd shook the water from his $2000 Bally loafers as he walked towards the security gate, looking for all the world like a man with St. Vitus dance.
The guard inspected spd's identification and called up to the White House.

"He's here to see the boss," the guard whispered into the phone, "and he's not looking too happy."

The iron gates parted and spd marched up towards the main entrance, his shoes squeaking now from their encounter with the remnants of tropical moisture. As he approached, the front door opened and the President could be seen framed in the portico, a bevy of secret service men behind him.

"What do you want?" the president asked as spd handed over his trenchcoat and hat to a waiting lackey.

"You know why I'm here. McCain's dead, and I know who did it."

"Shhhh!" the President silenced spd, holding a vertical digit before his lips. "Not here. Let's go to the inner sanctum."

The inner sanctum was actually a small kitchenette located off the Oval Office and the scene of many a liaison in administrations past. "Here" the president said, "have a cookie and tell me what you know."

Sidling up to the coke dispenser spd told the president the whole story. After having to wake the president up a couple of times, spd decided to cut to the chase.

"A few days ago this blogger, her name is not important right now, got the cockamamie idea that it would be fun to have a kind of 'story-go-round.' She gave an opening and people from all over the country would drop by and add to the tale. Kind of a round-the-campfire tall tale. It started out innocently enough, mostly pointing fun at Dan Rather. Pretty soon, however, the whole thing started to unravel. Geraldo was brought in as a media clown, as were Rove, Carville and Coulter. The next thing you know, the Vice President is aping Darth Vader and a United States Senator is found lying in a pool of digital blood."

"Nobody is going to believe *that*" that president spoke at last. "Not in a million years."
spd shook his head ruefully. "Mr. President. It's on the Internet. Everybody knows that means it's true, even if they can't believe it."

The President sat quietly for a few minutes pondering what he had just been told, or maybe wondering whether it was polite to grab the last cookie in his own house. Either way, a few minutes passed before he spoke.

"Mwuff should we do?" he said between bites of the last cookie. "Who can we blame for this fiasco?"

spd held his breath for a moment before speaking. He knew the weight of the words he was about to utter.

"Why are you holding your breath?" the president asked."

"For effect." spd answered.

"Oh."

"Mr. President. In order to bring this vicious turn of events full circle, we must produce a fall guy. Not just any fall guy, but a honest-to-god certifiable nut-job that everyone will automatically believe is responsible."

"You mean..."

"Yes, Mr. President. Al Gore."

"Oh my God! That poor man is already beset with enough problems! Why lay this at his doorstep?"

spd held up his hand, palm out, like a policeman trying to stop traffic, and said, "Mr. President, Al Gore invented the Internet. Without Gore there would be no blogs. Without blogs, there would be no story carnivals - at least none that could be archived. Thus it's perfectly plausible that he might be orchestrating these kinds of partisan attacks on your administration as revenge for your taking Florida in 2000. Plus, he is a complete lunatic. Who is
going to believe his denials?"

The President walked to the door and grabbed the door knob. "These are real brass" he said, looking at the knob, "but yours are even bigger. Make it so." With that he left.

Dan Rather reported the story the following evening. By the eleven o'clock news, Al Gore was in a straitjacket and John McCain was alive again and playing ping pong with Barbara Boxer. The entire matter was forgotten by most within days, all except for those haunted by the memories of a good story gone bad. A memory that would linger in the annals of Jet Noise until at last purged by a merciful blog princess.
Coda

"Brrrrring! Brrrring!" spd's phone rang at his desk.

"spd rdr. Problem solver."

It was mrs. rdr.

"Hello, baby." he said into the receiver.

"Mwha mwha mwha mwha mwha mwha" came the reply.

"Another girl?" said spd, exasperated. "For crying out loud."

THE END spd rdr