Yet another formation of a terrorist group cohering around its desire to inflict pain upon Americans. The new group, Fatah al Islam, is a governed by the ideals of Al Qaeda and ignited by anger at the US for conducting it's illegal war in Iraq.
Thanks George, we need more enemies.
Liberal Drew and the President
“ . . . and to tell you the truth,” the President leaned closer to Drew and lowered his voice to a whiskey soaked, hoarse whisper, “to tell you the truth, I really have no idea what I’m doing here, hehehehe! But don’t tell anyone, now, you got that?!”
“More M&M sprinkled profiteroles, Mr. President?” The alarmingly solid block of secret service agent leaned over and offered the tray of presidential pastries and pressed it against the president’s cheek and then wiggled it a bit.
The president jerked back, “what do you think you’re doing, boy!”.
The solid block of secrete service agent leapt back in horror. “Oh, I’m so sorry sir, Mr President, sir; it’s these uniform sunglasses, I can’t actually see very well with them on when I’m inside the House.”
“Well, dumb ass, take them off” he stated sternly, while winking at Drew with a quick smile and a repressed belch.
“But I get in trouble if I take them off sir . . . HR are all over us if we don’t keep uniform.” The agent began to choke up, “it’s really very, very stressful, and I don’t mean to complain, but” BLAM! The agent fell to the ground in a limp pile of muscle and black suit.
Drew gasped. The president put his gun back into one of his holsters, and then dived to the ground and raced along on all fours to catch an M&M which had rolled off his profiterole. He looked at Drew and Drew looked at him. “I guess you want some kind of explanation” said the president.
“Oh, huh?, no!, not at all . . . pfft, about what? No, no, no . . . um, tell you what, though . . . wow . . . wow . . . it’s been great . . . really, really great, but ah, I probably need to mosey on out of here” Drew said with his voice trailing off distractedly while pointing at his rainbow colored watch but staring at the president.
“It’s an orange one,” the president noted with only slight glimpses of the profiterole being mashed about.
“Huh” Drew startled.
“It’s an orange one.”
“Oh . . is that why you, um . . . an orange what?
“An orange M&M. I don’t go crawling on the floor for any old M&M, but the oranges ones are the best ones. Maybe I’d go after a green one. If it was brown, I could see myself stretching around the floor with my hand, but I wouldn’t get out of my chair for a brown one, or a yellow one. I have all the red ones burned, like we should do with all the liberal commie pinkos trying to destroy America.
“Oh, I see. That’s, that’s really interesting.” Then Drew noticed that where a second ago there had been a pile of crumpled black suit and floppy secret service agent, there was just the floor. “Um, gee, I ah wonder what happened to that secret service agent?”
“Which secret service agent?”
“The one whom you, ah, received the profiteroles from.”
“Well, I don’t recall any agent pressing a tray of M&M coated profiteroles into my cheek and wiggling it a bit.”
“Oh, sure, yeah. What! what am I even talking about, man I’m just, just, well . . . yeah, probably.”
The President turned his head slowly to the other agents but kept his eyes fixed on Drew and asked, “do you boys recall any other secret service agents round here?”
Right then, the secret service agent who’d been shot, jumped out from behind a curtain: “Gotchya!”
Booyah! Yelled the president laughing so hard his face went a deep mauve.
Drew noted that it was quite a lovely color, but then also decided that it didn’t really suit the president’s face. He then recalled how he had a t-shirt that color, and that he hadn’t seen it for a while and that perhaps it had slipped out of the back of the drawer and found its way into that little space behind all the draws but not actually in any of the draws. And then he remembered that he was sitting in the Oval Office with the President who had just shot a secret service agent for complaining about his uniform, but really for bumping him in the cheek with a tray of M&M coated profiteroles, but was nonetheless pretending nothing had happened except for a rescue attempt on an orange M&M. And then he thought how this all sounded just a little odd, and he then noticed he’d been staring for a while and that all the secret service agents were laughing and pointing at him and then recalled that the dead agent had jumped out from behind a curtain and that he wasn’t dead at all.
“Now get the hell of out my office ya liberal bastard!” The President’s yelled, startling Drew. “And stop destroying America or I’ll come and kill you dead myself.” Then the secret service agents came after Drew, so he ran as fast he could to flee his humiliation.
Drew’s legs were going as fast as they could, but when he got to the door, there was no handle to turn, so he jumped out of the window and tried running across the White House lawn when a giant profiterole covered in M&Ms asked him if he wanted to know a secret about the president. Drew kept running but the giant profiterole had grabbed the scruff of his neck and was dangling him in the air while his legs spun around pointlessly and all the M&Ms were laughing at him because he had no clothes on, so he tried running pointlessly faster and the faster he ran the louder the music got and the more vigorously the profiterole shook him about. Drew started screaming Noooooooo! Noooooooo! and the profiterole was yelling back at him, Duuuuude! Duuuuude!
“Wha?!” Drew looked up and gave a girly yelp at the sight of his roommate standing over him way too close in unbecoming boxer shorts.
“Was it the profiterole and the president dream again?” he asked.
“No! . . . and put some pants on.”
“I’ve got pants on.”
“In only the most strained sense of the term . . . yelch!”
Watch this video. I don’t know about all the facts, but they sound true enough. It was originally put together by Carl Fisch and then modified by Scott McLeod both are education and technology guys. I’m tapping you into a YouTube video:
