“So will all the protest have any effect on your stance on Iraq?” asked a reporter.
Bush rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Saddam can gas whomever he wants; the mangy hippies have spoken. I just wish there was a way America could save the world for all the serious people and leave the drooling scummy hippies still vulnerable to terrorists.”
“So you want the protestors dead?”
Bush smiled. “Wouldn’t that be cool. All of them in hippy hell, where there are no signs to carry, no tie-dye shirts to wear, everyone has to have short hair and be clean-shaven, everyone has to work a regular job, and no pot smoking. And I could make it happen too. Just one phone call I could have helicopters strafing these protesters, killing them by the thousands. And no idiotic slogan they could chant could stop a bullet.” He continued to smile quietly for a moment, but then changed to a more serious expression. “But I don’t, because I’m just that tolerant and kind. They do everything they can to make me want to slaughter them, but I leave them unkilled. Do they understand how much will that takes? Do they ever say, ‘Hey, thanks for not having me killed, President Bush, even though I’m a filthy scummy worthless hippy deserving of a violent hippy death.’? No, they never give me any credit.” Bush stewed in his anger for a few moments. “It makes me want to murder them!”