I don't know who these people are.

Okay, okay, I know this might look a little suspicious. I know that. I'm just saying that it's not that unusual, really. I mean, it's not against the law to take a walk in the desert. We all just happened to be going in the same direction. I didn't know any of those guys. I never saw them before in my life. Look at me. I'm in a hurry. I don't know these people. They're strangers to me. All of them. Obviously, this is some random collection of people, being in the same place at the same time, by accident, coincidence, whatever. We're just there. I don't know them. They don't know me. Who are they? I don't know. So, really, that's all there is to the story. No story. End of story.

So this is my office, so fuck off

It's true that I sometimes find it necessary to work in secret. Well, actually, I ALWAYS find it necessary to work in secret. It's just easier and that way I don't ever have to explain anything. Turns out I'm not so great with the public. Turns out I also don't give a fuck. I need to get done what I need to get done. And if I have to meet someone in the back seat of a limo at 4 in the morning on a side street in Leesburg Virginia, then that's what I do. So fuck you, and get out of my way. That's YOUR tax return I'm looking at, chumpfuck, and if you ask one more question, you are totally being audited.

Let's cook this fucking turkey

Now I don't know about you but I'm looking a couple of turkeys here, and the one with the feathers is not the biggest turkey in the picture. First of all why would you have your picture taken with a fucking turkey? Is he a fucking moron or what? We're at war, right? I should know. I started it. And Junior thinks turkey pictures are a really good idea. His head is up his ass so far he can see daylight. Have you ever seen a fucking uglier bird? Reminds me of that old lawyer I shot a few weeks ago. Also makes me think of fucking Mrs. Junior, especially around the stringy neck area. What a pruney old bird she turned out to be. The two of them. Just what we fucking need.

Bless me, Pop, for I have sinned. Not.

There's nothing more satisfying than pulling a fast one. And I should know. I've been doing to the American public for five years. But look at this. This old queen was just about dead. I mean he couldn't even talk, or hardly move his fucking head. But I got him to bless the secret Haliburton corporate minutes. The ones where it says I'm still the chief executive and still really in charge of everything until after I destroy the Middle East and get back to real work. And now that they're blessed by a fucking pope, I don't have to show them to anybody, no fucking pussy Congressional committees or special prosecutors or World Court bullshit. It's all locked up now. Thank you, you old dead white dressed fuck. That's just what I needed.

The Good Twin

This is my twin sister, Dickalene. She's been operating behind the scenes for about fifty years, helping keep me on track. I don't know what I'd do without her. I'd probably be completely out of control. She and Lynne don't get along, but that's what you'd expect, I suppose, two strong women in love with the same guy. Well, Lynne's not that strong these days, what with the old ice pick in the brain thing. Dickalene's deliberately taken a low low profile all these years, but she's always there, watching my back. There's nothing stronger than family. Well, unless it's the Secret Service, or the NSA, or one of the secret police armies I control. But you get what I mean.

French Quarter my ass

Don't get me wrong. I'm not queer. I'm no Brokeback. Nosirreee. But with Lynne tied up at the moment, and when I say tied up, I mean tied up like in a fucking straightjacket, what's a powerful guy like me gonna do? A guy gets horny after bombing the shit out of a village of ragheads. A powerful guy has powerful fucking needs. And just get a load of this guy. Definitely hot. He looks like Tom Cruise, except not an insane dwarf. And those Gap jeans hug his ass so nice. Hunk here was showing me around New Orleans. I couldn't keep my mind on the disaster. Hot hot hot. I just wanted to throw him down on a pile of rotting wood and make him fuck my brains out. He was telling me about his grandmother who drowned or some bullshit. Who the fucks cares? I want cock. Fuck me! Fuck me now, you throbbing hunk of manmeat. And what Daddy Dick wants, Daddy Dick better get. Or fucking else. You reading me, Ennis?

Get me fuckiing out of here

Can there be anything more fucking boring than walking around looking at a bunch of broken old vases with a man wearing a pup tent? I don't have a clue who this turkey is or why I'm here or even where I am. Maybe Turkey is right. Who the fuck knows. All I need is the fucking exit before I stuff that hat into his goddamn mouth. I gonna kill that fucking Junior for setting this up. I can't go, he whines. I gots to ride my tricycle. What a fucking putz.

Big Dick to the fucking rescue

So now they're talking Censure. Right, like the Senate is suddenly growing balls. And Junior's getting nervous, and is hitting the bottle again. And just when I was convinced he couldn't be fucking stupider than he already is. Junior drunk makes Junior sober look like a fucking brain surgeon. And the baby Republicans are all pissing in their pants about November and 2008. Well, give it all a big fucking rest, chumps, because Big Daddy's gonna take real good care of ya'll. I'm headin' in from left field and lo and fucking behold, it'll be Cheney in 2008, you watch and see. You know how I know? Because there ain't gonna be no fucking real election. We control the voting machines. We control the electoral committees. And if it comes down to it, we control the Supremes. We did it before. We'll just do it again. Go back to the fucking kitchen, Hill, cause you is not gonna be in the White House again. Big Dick guaranfuckingtees it.

Stay on the fucking path, you useless clown

Jesus Fucking Christ, that man is stupid. He is such a dogshit moron he can't even walk down the path when it's paved and ten feet wide and there's a giant fucking crowd waiting for him at the end of it. He just wanders off, looking for brush to clear. I don't know if I can stand three more years of this drooling idiot. At least he goes to bed at nine, so I get something done every day. Otherwise I'm spending all my fucking time hauling his ass back from the brink of whatever christless mess he gets the country into. Where did we find this horses ass, anyway? Oh, yeah. Pigshit, Texas. Crawling around drunk in pool of his own puke in a trailer park somewhere in Abilene, trying to fuck those two whore cunt twins of his. Talk about spawn of the devil. Meet the double spawn, one stupider than the other. They make those Olsen skanks look like fucking Einsteins. That whole family ought to be blown fucking up, the sooner the better.

Piece of fucking cake

Aren't these guys great? They threw this big fucking surprise party for me for my ninety first birthday. I went down to the War Room expecting that we were just going to invade some new shitty little country, and the lights were out, and then SURPRISE! Too bad Lynne couldn't be there but she'd gotten violent again and they had to keep her locked in the ward. But look at that fucking cake. They made it out of all these supplies that were supposed to be sent to a New Orleans homeless shelter. They just took 'em off the truck. Fucking right on. How much food do they need down there anyway? Rummy loaned me use his special sword to cut it. That's the one he stole from that museum in London. What a fucking guy. He and I go way back. And that sword is sharp. Shit, I cut myself before I even got to the cake. But I didn't let a little thing like blood on the floor stop me from celebrating. I never do.

Fight, you pussies, fight

Over and over again I have to keep telling those fuckin grunts to keep fighting. What the fuck is up with that? We're paying them, aren't we? We give them guns. We give them armor, well some of them, a little armor. How much do they need? All they do is whine. We're getting blown up. We're getting shot at. They hate us. Ooooooh, I'm so sad to hear it, fuckwits. If you weren't so fucking stupid, you wouldn't be in the army anyway. You're just meat, don't you get it? Do you think I give a shit if you live or die? I'm getting back on that plane to my ranch in Montana or Wyoming or wherever the fuck it is and leave you here in the shit up to your eyeballs, and guess what, you're just going to have to do it. That's life. I live. You die. Get over it. At least you get to torture the ragheads. What more do you want?

You wonder where I get all my ideas?

Lynn took this picture of me one night when I was getting in touch with the Gods of Total Darkness, which is where most of my ideas come from. My honey isn't as deft with the old Kodak as she used to be now that her mind is beginning to drift, but you get the idea, I think. A lot of people think these ideas just come to me, but they're fucking idiots. These ideas are lifted right from the GTD, and are time tested and obviously will lead us to World Domination and Oil Wealth Beyond Imagination. That's the plan. Well, that's MY plan. And mine is the only plan that counts.