George Bush Is An Evil Alien Sheep-Clone
a really weird screenplay-thing written by Mercury Silverscale
starring Mecury and Bob the Stick-Figure
(written 8/25/01)

(Setting: One night, Mercury Silverscale was channel surfing with her imaginary friend, Bob the Stick Figure.)

Bob: Sports... Stupid Pet Tricks... Rosie O'Donnel... hey, Jerry Springer!

Me: They've got the worlds' heaviest supermodel up next!

Bob: Eeew! *changes channel to the news* Hey, look!

Me: *reads* "George Bush is taking a 30 day vacation to his ranch in south Texas." And why am I supposed to care about that?

Bob: *wheels in his head start to turn* It'd take about a week and a half if we walked... less if we hitchhiked...

Me: Are you suggesting that we. visit George Dubya Bush?

Bob: No! I want to spy on him! Then we can sell the stuff we find to the local legitimate newspaper! We could get rich!

Me: Bob, I like the way you think! Let's get packing!

???????????? ONE WEEK LATER ????????????

Bob and Mercury hitchhiked for a week. It was difficult (though not quite as difficult as it would have been had they not lived in Texas) because A) they had no idea where George Bush lived, and B) neither did anyone else. But through perseverance, boxcars, and a lot of coffee...

Bob & Me: WE MADE IT!!!!!!!!!!

Bob: George Bush's ranch!!!

Me: Shut up, they'll hear us!

Bob: Okay. What shall we do first?

Me: Well, there's a humongous hedge around the back. Maybe it's... hiding something.

Bob: Right! Let's do it!

*they sneak around to the back of the house and climb up a tree*

Bob: *peering through binoculars* I don't see anyone there...

Me: *also peering* Me neither... wait! Someone's coming out!

Bob: It's Bush!

Me: Okay, I'll watch him, you take notes.

Bob: What's he wearing?

Me: It appears to be... a bathrobe of some type.

Bob: What he doing?

Me: He's sitting down on a lawn chair, he's reaching for the bathrobe sash- thingy, and... OH MY GOD!!!!!! *falls out of tree, hands over eyes*

Bob: What is it?!


Bob: Oh, gross!!!! Should I take pictures?

Me: Hmmmm... well, we came here to get dirt on him for the newspaper, so... go ahead. I'm getting down.

*several seconds later at the bottom of the tree*

Bob: Done. *shudders* As much as I would like to forget that, I believe I've been scarred for life.

Me: Too bad! We've got dirt to dig up!

*they sneak to another corner of the house*

Me: I'm not climbing another tree.

Bob: You don't have to, there's no hedge here.

Me: But there is a wine cellar.

Bob: A wine cellar? *excited glint in his eye*

Me: Bob, we came here to destroy what is left of the name of Bush, not get drunk. What did we get so far?

Bob: *eyes glaze over* George Bush sunbathing in the nekkididity.

Me: Exactly! That's not enough! We need more info! Watch the wine cellar door.

*the cellar door opens, and two people walk out*

Bob: Wow! It's the Bush twins!

Me: And judging by the way they're walking...

Bob: They're stone drunk! *gets out camera and takes several pictures* Man, we are going to be rich!

*an odd humming sound is heard overhead*

Me: What is that weird humming sound? *looks up* (gasp!) It's an alien spacecraft!

Big Booming Voice: George Bush! George Bush! Do not be alarmed! We are representatives from Planet Sheep-Clone, and we have come to check on your progress!

Me: His progress?

Bob: This could mean but one thing...


*a thing resembling a cross between a sheep and a human exits the spaceship, and meets with another such sheep-person exiting the Bush home*

Me: Get out the spy-ear so we can record what they're saying!

Bob: Will do! *listening carefully*

Sheep Thing: How is your progress, Aybud?

Me: Aybud? That must be Bush! Aybud is Dubya spelled backward!

Bob: Ah! Anagrams! Those clever sheep!

Aybud: It is going well, Master. The Girl Scout Cookies have successfully poisoned the minds of the Americans. How else could I have won that election?

Me: Girl Scout Cookies? I love Girl Scout Cookies!

Bob: No wonder. They must have put some kind of addictive, mind-controlling substance in them!

Alien: Have you encountered any difficulties in you journey, Aybud?

Aybud: Only one, sir. The Earthlings tried to kill me with a pretzel. I think they're starting to suspect me...

Me: Oh! No wonder he can't speak clearly! He's an alien!

Bob: It also explains why he choked on that pretzel. It must be the shape of his jaw or something...

Me: Take pictures! The newspaper is going to love this!!

$$$$$$$$$$$$BACK HOME THE NEXT DAY$$$$$$$$$$$$

Bob: Look! It's the National Inquirer!

Me: *reads* "George Bush Is An Alien". Oh, crap, someone got to it before us! Now that it's in the tabloids no one will ever believe us!!

Bob: There are still those pictures I got of him sunbathing...

Me: Oh, give me a break! Who'd pay money for those? *slowly it dawns on her* Bob, call the Inquirer!

Bob: Of course. I can see it now: "George Bush's Secret Life...As An Exotic Dancer".

Me & Bob: *shudders*