Not As Bad As It Will Be |
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Ennervating |
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 MISSES ALARM AGAIN  By Clark Stark Jr. JERSEY CITY, NJ, April 14 – The nation’s best known Al Qaeda sleeper cell missed their wake-up call for the eighth time since the four-man team was founded in 1998. This time, they slept through the signal to derail the 7:00 am Amtrak Metroliner. In fact, the would-be terrorists are something of a joke in the Arab section of this city across the Hudson from New York. “Did they miss it again?” asked body shop owner Mustafa Nassif as he took a break from sanding. “Those guys couldn’t blow up a balloon, much less a building or anything. If that’s what Al Qaeda’s putting out these days,” he said, “Tom Ridge can take a long vacation.” Cell leader Jibran Al-Subbah agreed to meet The Pox in the nearby TCBY inside the Jersey City PATH station. He was outraged that people were laughing. “Why do they make fun? We signed on as a sleeper cell, so that’s what we do. If they wanted an Awaker Cell, why didn’t they put it in the job description? I can tell you this, Mr. Reporter, that this is last time we work for Osama Bin whatever-his-name-is. Yes, the money’s not bad, but dammit, we want respect, too.” Al-Subbah admitted that he didn’t know much about terrorism, “but when it comes to sleeping, I’m Christendom’s biggest nightmare.” After about ten minutes of desultory conversation, the cell leader asked to be excused. “It’s time for my nap,” he said.
BUSH PASSES CRANIAL 
1. 81% bone envelope 2. 19% brain By Birch Whitefish WASHINGTON, April 25 -- President George W. Bush gave the thumbs up today when he left Walter Reed Army Hospital. The President had just passed the crainial bone density scan with the highest numbers ever given to a sitting American President—eighty percent. “Usually,” said Captain Edgar Fastoon, Army craniologist, “we expect people over 50 to lose some bone density, but the President keeps gaining bone. There’s no telling when, if ever, he’ll quit adding head weight.” The downside, Capt. Fastoon told reporters, is that “each year there’s less room for his brain.” Asked if this development could account for the President’s tax cut proposal, Fastoon said, “I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.” After his exam, Bush headed for the family ranch in Crawford, Texas, where according to spokesman Ari Fleischer, he intends to spend two weeks, “coloring, playing with blocks, that kind of thing.” |
  By Gabriela Bocagrande Just back from Houston, my darlings, a terrifying and badly polluted urban phenomenon with hideous traffic, rug-biting Baptists and way, way too many Bushes. The social event of the week was the inaugural meeting of the Ugly Divorce Club at the home of Neil “Don’t Steal” Bush. Neil’s glamorous swankienda was graciously outfitted with glass- and dinnerware filched from Air Force One, all of which will soon be sold as part of the shocking split-up settlement with poor Sharon. Such a shame. Speaking as he swiveled ‘round in his souvenir captain’s chair near the panic room, Neil expressed some regret that Texas, a community-property state, could force him to part with so many of his mementos from Poppy’s festive Presidency. “But with Boy George still in the White House,” said Neil, “I should be able to get more plates with that big bird head on them. Or at least some new ashtrays.”Neil is working on his kleptomania with counseling from Deputy Assistant Secretary of State and Unlicensed Clinical Social Worker Richard Armitage, who popped by to facilitate the meeting and compulsively scarf chips and dip. Armitage, the hands-down winner of our “Not-Likely-to-Survive-Combat Contest” held earlier this year, had brought along another of his clients, Newt Gingrich. Newt “The Beaut,” as you are all aware, had slipped his leash earlier in the week and bee-lined over to the American Enterprise Institute to call a press conference and reorganize the State Department. The whole sorry mess had forced Armitage to stop eating long enough to apologize and explain that Newt was off his meds. “He’s got the big head,” Armitage explained. “I hide my pills under my tongue and then spit them out in the toilet,” Newt yelled triumphantly from the top stair, where he was hunched over chewing a stick. Newt and Neil were awaiting the arrival of the club’s third member and hardened veteran of the decade’s most sordid divorce, Rudy Giuliani. Rudy “The Beauty” phoned on his way from George Bush Intercontinental Airport to complain that the limo sent to meet him did not have blackout windows, making him a target for the snipers on Houston’s freeways, who routinely try to pick off arriving “Yankees.” Neil snickered and then confided that he stole some Yankee memorabilia from Rudy’s box at the stadium during the September 11 galarama in New York last year, but he didn’t use it much because he thought it said “Sneaky.” “We’re working on the dyslexia, too,” Armitage said. The highlight of the afternoon was the surprise visit from Bar Bush, on her way to her canasta game at the River Oaks Country Club. In Houston, they name places after things that aren’t there. I mean, where is the river? Where are the oaks? There is nothing here but carcinogenic smog and asphalt, my darlings. Bar loves the club, though: “They make a gin fizz there that’ll knock your block off,” she told me. Never mind. Bar had good advice for Neilsie and the other boys. “Next time, get an iron-clad pre-nup. That’s what I’ve got with Poppy. If he tries to weasel out on me, he’ll have nothing left but his cigarette boat.” She took off still laughing with that distressing liquid choking sound typical of the Houston Smart Set. Ciao now, GB
© The Washington Pox 2003 |