Do the Hokey Pokey

George Bush paced the floor of the Oval Office, checking his tie, wiping his brow, and occasionally turning to dust flakes of dandruff off Donald Rumsfeld's suit jacket.

"Why isn't he here yet?" George asked while he trimmed his nose hairs for the eighth time in front of the executive mirror, to the amusement of the CIA operatives watching from behind.

"He'll be here, George. Relax. Did you remember your deodorant? Wash behind the ears? Good, now sip this and calm down, I'm sure Sharon will be here any minute."

"Be honest, Don. Is that a pimple? Right there, see?"

"George, calm down. No, it's not a pimple, just a blemish where you stabbed yourself with that pretzel last night."

"Do you think he'll notice?"

"No, George. Now, sit down and take a deep breath...that's a good boy. I've got some business to take care of, so I'm going to go now. Just give me a call if there are any problems."

"He picks on me, sometimes."

"Yes, George, I know. Now good luck."

Twenty minutes later, Ariel Sharon arrived to find George Bush desperately packing his nose with Kleenex after an ill-advised ninth attempt with the hair trimmer.

"George, when will you ever get the hang of that thing? What happened to your chin?"

"You know I just, uh, I'm sure something will pop into my head in the midst of this conversation but with all the pressure of trying to come up with an answer, it hasn't yet."

"Yes, fine, now in the meantime, I believe you're sitting in my chair."

"Oh, sorry Ariel...please, have a seat."

"George? Have you forgotten already?"

"Forgotten? Probably. People tell me I do that."

"We agreed, didn't we, George, on how exactly you were to address me? Didn't we, George?"

"Ah, well yes...ah."

"Starts with 'm' George...come on, I don't have all day."

"...master."

"What was that? I can't hear you."

"Master."

"Very good, George. Now sit down, your knees are knocking...I'm sure you've been briefed on my request for full backing of my unilateral 'peace initiative', keeping the West Bank, no refugees etc...."

"Well, Dick mentioned something about it before he left for China."

"Yes, well just nod your head and read the teleprompter at the news conference. And I'll be wanting some more concessions in the future. I'm thinking about a retirement chalet on the Tigris once you get that whole mess cleaned up, but in the meantime I want you to stand on your head."

"What?!"

"On your head, George. Come on, or I'll have to give you a spanking...oh bravo, very good. Now, I'm also going to need a few lawyers to take back to Israel with me, given that nuisance of an embezzlement problem, but I'm quite confident that will all be forgotten once everyone hears the sort of support I'll be getting from you...on your feet George, your nose is bleeding again. Here, have another Kleenex."

"Thank you."

"Now, put your right hand in...."

"In where?"

"The song, George! Sing with me: put your right hand in, put your right hand out...."

"...put your right hand in...."

"...and shake it all about! Very good, George. You've been practicing! Now carry on with the left hand while I flip through these progress reports...you know, I really can't believe you're still putting up with all those greasy Mexicans crossing your border day and night. You should be like me and put up a real wall, something with substance, a real statement. Not that silly chain link thing you're using. Oh, I'll mention it to Dick when I talk to him next...the left foot George."

"...put your left foot in."

"That's it...now what's this about North Korea? No, keep going, George, I can read for myself...my, my, do you people ever learn? Remember '81, George? No, you probably don't. We took out Iraq's nuclear plant then, George. Very decisive. You really have to work on that."

"I'm done."

"Hmm? Oh yes, good. Well, I have a few things to do before the press conference and you have to change into the dress I sent you last week and take a stroll down Pennsylvania Avenue...and don't forget the high heels, George. It's very important you don't forget that."

"I remember!"

"Good, George."

"No, no...my chin! It was a pretzel!"