Farewell to the DOG

To: Bitches
From: Pimps
Date: Hoes
Subject: [Insert 30 seconds of thinking up a vapid subject line.]

Well, everyone, this is my last entry from my job at the newspaper. I’ll probably take a three- or four-day break from blogging, but I’ll be back next week. I have to figure out how easily I’ll be able to blog without my co-workers and bosses knowing.

I had a meeting with George W. Bush yesterday. Quite interesting. We talk every now and then. He likes to ask me for advice and what not. I usually end the meeting by putting him in a head lock and making him say “Uncle!”.

It got a little rough yesterday, though:

Dubya: Hey, Spence, how ya doin’, buddy?

Me: Firstly, jackfuck, don’t call me Spence — or buddy. I’m not your friend, your partner, your admirer or even your compatriot. Just call me "Daddy." Secondly, I’m “doin’ ” pretty fucking bad. I’d feel a lot better if I could bitch slap you right now.

Dubya: I’m sorry. Go ahead. Slap me. (Schlack!) Ewww yeah — Poppa like

Me: Goddamn. How’d I know you’d like that? So what the hell are you doing nowadays? Last time I heard, you were invading Americans’ privacy, and trying to justify it with the executive powers that you don’t have.

Dubya: Spence, you need to do some catchin’ up.

Me: OK, you sonuva bitch. If you call me “Spence” one more goddamn time, I’m gonna give you the worst fuckin’ charlie horse you could ever fathom. Got me?

Dubya: Yes, sir. I’m sorry.

Me: Good. Now, do you have access to blogs? Like, say, mine? The Memo?

Dubya: Aheehee, aheehee, yeah, of course we do. I like that picture you had of that good ol’ boy from that movie. Darnit, what was it called? Super Cops?

Me: Super Troopers, ass pirate.

Dubya: Yeah, yeah, I forgot. My daughter loves that movie.

Me: Jenna? Yeah, I know she does.

Dubya: And, might I ask, just how do you know that, Mr. Campbell?

Me: She’s come over to my house before to watch it. A couple times. We always have fun.

Dubya: I didn’t know about this.

Me: George, I think there’s a LOT of stuff you don’t know about Jenna.

Dubya: Well, enlighten me.

Me: Aww man, where do I start? Oh I know! Almost every time Jenna comes over, she’ll put on that blue-jean skirt — kinda like the French woman in that movie — and make me perform a search on her like I was a policeman. She’s really into role play.

She looooooves it in the poopline, too. Whoo! And she can’t get enough of the shocker — you know, where I act like I'm picking up a six-pack?!

Dubya: (Without even batting an eye, he said) Get ‘em. ...

And just like that, I suffered the most deleterious beating of my short life from three Secret Service agents. I tried to talk shit while they were thrashing my face, but one of my teeth was knocked out — I ended up spitting blood and sounding like that blonde from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy when I talked.

All I could muster was, "Tell Laura that Daddy said 'Hello, darlin’!' ... Bitch!"

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