1. Wednesday, March 12, 2003

    then the president said, 

    nononono nooo.

    you dont understand.

    that whole fucking thing is a bomb.

    that bombs the bomb.

    its the mother of all bombs.

    i said why did you paint it orange?

    he said, because pink looked gay.

    he said, because if youre going to get blown to shit by the mother of all bombs, you really deserve to see it coming.

    he asked me if i was impressed.

    i said i wasnt impressed. i said anyone can make a bigass bomb.

    i could make a big ass hamburger with 100 pounds of meat but who cares.

    he said its easy being a hippie when you have the marines doing your dirty work, isnt it.

    i said, your daddy bombed that sonofabitch so much they invented the term carpet bomb in it’s wake, and that bastard is not only alive, he looks not only better than your poppa and your momma, but in a fist fight i would bet on him over you.

    he said, dude, 9/11.

    so i gave him the evil eye.

    thats quite a stretch. most of those dudes were saudi, not iraqi.

    so then he gave me the evil eye.

    some young country bullshit pop music was playing on the boombox in the corner.

    two men in suits stared quietly ahead but heard every word.

    the president was eating cashews like he never ate anything so good, and the phone on the desk flashed hysterically but nobody seemed to care too much.

    i really need you to get behind this project, tony

    and by project he meant bomb and you dont make a bomb like that unless youd like to see it go off.

    finally he decided to pick up the phone and there werent any magazines around and the tv was tuned to the stock market channel, apparently the president enjoys horror, so i decided to f with the secret service.

    there was a black one and a white one.

    i asked the white one, is that guy allowed to talk?

    they stood there totally wanting to not only say something, but then they wanted to kick my ass, but they had to stand there like housebroken dogs.

    nothing is fair.

    but bombs that big and fucked up questions while youre trying to work are particularilly unnecessary.

    and anyway, saddam is a taurus.

    the bull.

    the president said, whats a taurus.

    i said, someone who you cant force to do shit, not even with the biggest boom stick on the playground.

    and bro looked like he was gonna cry and whispered something about it costing pretty much everything.

    screaming into the wind + vihm + pshrink