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For Immediate Release    -    Office of Media Relations    -    August 10, 2004    -    10:55 AM (EST)


THE PRESIDENT: Gooooooood morning, Pennsyldelphia! How you all doing today?! Christ, it looks like a goddamned Quaker Oats guy convention out there!


You know, when Karl Rove suggested that we follow the old campaign trail out here to Lancaster County, I thought that little porker had finally burst a gasket. After all, taking this detour through Dullsville meant cancelling another Crawford pit stop. And if you think that I'm eager to give up valuable nap time at my luxury ranch in favor of standing here gagging on your scrapple farts, then you people must be even more inbred than you look.


THE PRESIDENT: Hello? Is it too much to ask to show a little enthusiasm? Seriously. It's all well and good that you're scared shitless of the Lord, respect the Good Book, and loathe homory as much as I do. But trust me on this one, people. Puttering along in your grandpappy's stagecoach ain't got shit on pinning the speedo needle in a souped-up '74 Corvair. I mean, if Jesus didn't want us firing down the road on all cylinders, burning up as much gasoline as the V-8 can suck down, He never would have given us the carburetor, now would He?


THE PRESIDENT: Anyhoo, the reason I'm here is to announce that if you Amishonians would just get off your high buggy horse and flip on the boob tube once in awhile, you might find out there's a frigging election coming up. And guess which cute little zipper-hating, twelve-fingered barn raisers just so happen to live here in one of the key battleground states?


THE PRESIDENT: See, this is why you folks gotta step away from the buttermilk churn every now and then. Now, you know about movies, right? Kind of like shadow puppets, only louder. Anyway, there's this one movie called, "Witness", where that Han Solo guy was the only Amishican who had cajones enough to whup some heiny when that city slicker got uppity. Anyone catch that one?

(silence. a cow moos.)

THE PRESIDENT: Well, I'm Han Solo. And my cadaver-like opponent is that tough talking-city slicker, thinking he can get all up in your crusty C. Everett Koop beards just because you Amishes are a big a bunch of pacifist pussies. But like Han Solo, I kick uppity ass for a living. Anyone tries to mess with my posse, they get a whomping so hard it keeps folks warring even after I've declared the warring over. Then I hop in the Millenium Falco, bust out the jump to light speed – Boom! Outta there!


THE PRESIDENT: Well, I guess you all can get back to your quilting bee now. Just remember, a vote for Dubya is a vote for progress. Or wait... It's a vote for no progress... or... uh...

(Karl Rove clears his throat)

THE PRESIDENT: Oh for shit's sake – I could've counted a hundred sheep in my La-Z-Boy by now. Fire up the bus and let's roll!

- William Asher

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