Washington, D.C. 28 Feb, 2006. The White House Press Room.
Dozens of reporters packed into the room, all shouting questions and behaving like a bunch of third-graders... all except one. One simply stood in the back corner, looking coldly at anyone within ten feet of her and threatening bodily harm to anyone who passed within three.
A hush descended over the room, though, as the Press Secretary stepped away from the podium and The President strode in, muching handfulls of Lucky Charms from a box tucked under his arm.
"What?" He asked the crowd as they gawked. "They're magically delicious!"
"Mr. President," a reporter whined, "How are we to believe that you had nothing to do with the missing Lucky Charms when YOU ARE EATING THEM IN FRONT OF US?"
"I'd like to take this time to address these rumors coming from the press," said Bush. "But for once, this is no rumor."
All the reporters present were stunned... all but one, of course.
"Early last week, I ordered the Dirty Mercs into Ireland to secure and remove all of their stockpiles of Lucky Charms. However, being mercs, they would not follow my orders. So, I paid them. Well, I had Scotty here pay them, but anyway, after they got paid, they were more than happy to go over there and deprive... I mean secure the Lucky Charms."
Most of the reporters immediately wanted to know why the President had done such a cold blooded thing, but one... you all know who... being Russian, had a more relavent question:
"Mister Prezident, what Irish do to deserve this? Also, why they not glowing from strom of nuclear missiles?
"Well Katrina," he said with a smirk, "They had their chance. I told them to do something about those musical terrorists known as Coldplay... but they would not listen. I had no choice but to take something from them that they could not live without. Nook-you-ler attacks were never part of the strategery"
Some stupid American reporter interupted, saying "Coldplay's from London, dumbass!"
Now the President looked stunned. He looked down and leaned on the podium, looking really confused and sad.
"Really? Um, I did not know that... Must have some bad intel. Well, uh, hmmm... I guess I better fix it then!"
"Mister Prezident, if you need Coldplay... out of pikture... you could hire Dirty Mercs to kill them, no?"
"That's a good idea, Katrina, but think of this. Those Dirty Mercs are kinda gay sometimes, you know how I know? They listen to Coldplay. I couldn't trust 'em to do something like that that."
The President stood up tall and addressed the whole room.
"Thank you folks for setting me straight. I'm sorry I picked on the Irish 'cause of yet another crappy British band and I'm REALLY sorry that I took all their Lucky Charms. I'll call the Dirty Mercs right now and have them put 'em all back where they belong... 'cept this box of course... I kinda opened it already."
Katrina bolted from the pressroom and sought out a private alcove. After looking around to make sure that nobody was watching, she drew her cell phone and dialed. All she said was, "Yeah... he mess up. You're on now. Is up to you."