Damage Control

The White House Staff watched the Bush press conference with the White House Press Corps in horror. Cheney called on his phone from his secret lair down tunnel 2 underneath the White House. Back in his lair, Cheney sat watching the debacle take place, on the walls of his secret office were black and white photos of all the women whom had rejected Cheney's advances . Scrawled in bright red lipstick on the photos was the word' bitch', the one on Jessica Simpson's photo was particularly sloppy, as if it had been written in a time of personal rage. Cheney stared at the monitor and called Rove,"We have to get out there and spin this mess right now, send Scott to see Larry King and the rest of the talk show ringmasters." Rove quickly put down his Flex muscle magazine that he had been engrossed in for hours and called Scott McClellan in. "Go see Larry, make it right, we will start a whisper campaign about Hillary, take the heat off George, got it?" Rove asked Scott. McClellan nodded his head in quiet compliance, he knew not to go against anything Karl said or else there would be rumors around Washington that he was a raging zooaphile, and Scott knew getting play was hard enough as it was without having Rove's pet boy Jeff Gannett spreading rumors that he was intimate with a burro or some other creature that Karl could dream up.

Scott drove up to Larry King's mansion in his Yugo which he still kept running with pride. It had been a gift to him from George Bush Senior when he helped open the Yugo factory in the former Yugoslavia. The Factory owners gave it to the president as a gift, he did not take a liking to the odd vehicle so he gave it to an up and coming up- start in the republican circles. Scott drove that car with pride, it gave him the warm comfort of better days, Junior only gave Scott a hard time and a horrible nick-name, Scotty Boy. God, how he hated that name. Scott walked up to the huge mansion after the valet took his keys with a smirk, "He has been expecting you.", the valet said with a slight grin. Scott knocked on the door, the huge red mahogany door swung open, and there he was the King of talk, standing in women's clothing. Larry was not dressed in sexy drag, it was an unusual ensemble that only Larry could have picked out. He had a black wig on with big yellow curlers in it, there was a lime green babushka wrapped around it, his beard stubble looked as though he had not shaved in 5 days, and a Virginia Slim cigarette hung out of the corner of his mouth. He stared at Scott through thick rimmed tortoise shell glasses reminiscent of Audrey Hepburns from the 60's movie"Wait until dark". His eyes had a strange yellow jaundiced look to them as he peered at Scott, he moved the rest of himself from behind the door, Scott was horrified to see the attire Larry was wearing, it was a lime green see through house coat, with big fuzzy slippers to match, he adorned a Jayne Mansfield bullet bra with newspaper stuffing that was falling out everywhere around the cup, but the worst was the lime green see through granny panties that King had pulled up so tight that the band ran just 4 inches from his bra. King, drinking a martini , spun around with his arms outstretched and said "Welcome to my humble abode, mi casa et su casa!" "Can I get you anything to drink?" McClellan politely declined the offer, then accidentally looked at Larry's nether region, he turned his head, vomited in his mouth, then tried to swallow the acidic bile back down. Larry knew what Scott had came for and told him he would gladly abide

McClellan dropped off the talking points and ran out of King's house as fast as his legs could carry him, the Valet laughed and handed Scott his keys, then said"You enjoy the show? Thank god you didn't catch him on Joane Crawford Night, he runs around naked with cold cream on his face screaming "No More Wire Hangers!", man talk about a bitch!" Scott thanked the valet and went on his way. He looked at his list of reporters to contact, oh man, he thought I have to see Ann Coulter and Sean Hannity, they do not pay me enough for this gig.

Driving over to Ann's house was never fun, she lived out in the country in the middle of nowhere, and her farm house was one of the most macabre places he had ever stepped foot into. He arrived at 9 p.m., an old vapor light hung by the dirt road that led up to the archaic house. The yard was riddled with broken down vehicles rusting away, a few refrigerators were cast about along with a cracked toilet and a stove that had started to oxidize on the surface. The house, about 120 years of age was showing signs of deep neglect, the wood slats were rotting and falling off of the structure, the roof had shingles curling everywhere and it was slanted at a strange lilt, with parts of the wraparound porch falling down. The stairs to the porch had long since collapsed and rotted away. Scott peered through a broken window, the drapes covered in mildew, were tattered and hung with a smell that permeated his senses causing him once again to vomit in his mouth, this time, since no one was around he was allowed the luxury to spit it on to the side of the house. Then a creaking door swung open, there stood Ann. "Why hello Scott!, I am so glad to have a visitor, I don't get them anymore, it is so good of you to come out here to keep me company, come inside." Ugghh, thought Scott, as he made his way up the rotting wooden slats that ran across where a great porch once stood. Then without warning his foot broke through the wood, the slat tore into his shin and ripped the shoe off of his foot, his foot landed into something soft, squishy, wet and indefinable. At that instant a myriad of horrors ran through his mind, was it a body, an animal, or something worse? He screamed at the pictures that raced through his mind, the pain from the wood tearing his flesh wide open was oblivious to his body as nightmarish imagery overtook his neurons. "What the hell is underneath this porch?" Scott squealed in a high pitch yell that hurt Ann's ears. "Just my garbage you dork, come on in." Scott looked into the hole in the porch as he removed his foot from the damaged area, relieved to see black Hefty bags piled underneath the substrate. "I don't have garbage removal out here so I have to store it until I can hire some one to take it to the dump." Ann said affectionately." The Mexicans that usually do it went back to Matamoros for the off season from their migrant work." As Scott walked into the house he gasped at the condition of the homestead, there was rotting food everywhere, garbage littered the floor at least 2 feet deep in some areas. Rats were abound feasting on a smorgasboard of left over food rotting on plates, where there weren't rats there were flies, so many they looked like black rags covering old dishes. Hundreds of glasses with rancid milk that had separated into a yellow sludge, decorated almost every hand rail, armchair and stair step. Scott looked over and asked,"Is that a bloated racoon over in the corner?" "No," said Ann humbly,"That was my Pom-A-Poo," it is a cross between a Pomeranian and a Poodle, but I think one of the rats bit him and I haven't the heart to throw him out yet." Scott said,"Listen Ann, I am just here to drop off Bush's talking points so that we can try another brainwashing on the public, I really have to go and see Hannity next."

"Please don't go" Ann begged, " I see so few people anymore, and I am desperately lonely, Even Bill O'Reiley stopped sleeping with me, will you make me feel like a woman?" Ann disrobed and flung her skeletal nakedness into a pile of trash and started rolling around in it frantically screaming "Take me, Take me!" Scott, who had been without since Mardi Gras entertained the thought for a split second then came to his senses, "Dear Christ," he thought,"How sad must my life be if I am going to take Bill O'Reiley's leftovers." He handed Miss Coulter her talking points then crept out of the house while she started to undulate on top of a mountain of half eaten Krispy Kreme doughnuts that were black with mold. With tears in her eyes and her face flush with embarrassment , she screamed at McClellan like a Harpy,"It's your loss you f#$kin' loser, you could have had the greatest, most satiating love of your life, but you choose to be the faggot you are, you're not a man, Rush did me next to the corpse of my father upstairs lying in the same bed, he's a man, not you!" Scott thought for a minute about Ann's father, a man whom companies paid to hire goons to assault the wives and children of striking union men, still upstairs lying in the same bed he died in. It was just not right for a great Republican like him, to end that way. He turned to a Ann who was sobbing with convulsion into an old napkin that had ketchup splattered on it, then gently whispering into her ear told her with great tenderness," I will only because I owe it to your father." She smiled through her tears, kicking away a rat that was about to bite Scott's wound and said, " These are the moments when the Angels envy humans."