MAYDAY!! Mayday!! Sara P Trades Rush to Redskins!! Donovan and Rush Flunk Wonderlic-Sent to Raiders for Al Davis Top 3 Sweat suits!! Rush Waterboards Stewie on Southwest Flite to LAX-Calls Her Big Fat Texas Retard. Rush Retracts-Stewie = Herb Kelleher Dressed in Drag for Fox Realty Show!! Blago Sexts Herb and Asks Him If He's Ever Fooled Around With El Tigre? Herb Chain-smokes in Men's Room While Doing Jell-O Shots of Wild Turkey With Joe B?

And Joey B, barking like the Big Dawg he always will be, commandeers the 727's PA system and impishly says the following:

Straight from my luxury suite on Planet Bratz, this is your captain and soul mate, Sasha Bratz, who wants each and every one of you to know that, contrary to rumors you may have heard, Rush Bimbaugh is no longer a passenger on this fun-filled Southwest comet in the sky. Rush gave your overnicotined leader and myself a very hard, profane time about the double fare he paid because of his wide-bodied tush.

So we ditched him somewhere over Peoria, after, of course, we made sure that he totally endorsed, without reservation or deductible, my brilliant new bit of health care genius-BidenBytes.

I know, I know. We sold our souls to pass that overinflated, underfunded health care Edsel with the bodacious label of ObamaWama Care. When I told my BBFLL-BestBratzFriendForLife-Barack O that his health "plan" was a BFD, that was my way of letting him know that OWC would look sheik and curly-girly on The Biggest Loser but as a substitute for my sapphire card BCBS plan-are you kidding me? Lier lier, pants on fire-or is it pants on the ground?

Like when I told that Irish boozer-I mean loser-I mean Mr Prime Minister-that his Mum had passed when she was-God bless her spudsy soul-alive and at least giving my Hall of Fame jokes a very quiet bit of courtesy laughter out in the most humorless audience I have ever addressed (present company excluded-Herb did you spike the peanuts with my favorite organic supplement-vitamin Versed?), you simply apologize to all the thick-headed, borderline retarded-and those are, I kid you not, the very last words Rush spoke before we ejected his double-wide fanny out into the Twittosphere-future Byters in the cheap seats and move on.

And do not linger on the apology stuff. Just act like you mean it and stress emphatically that you are working on your marriage while you are serving your time in some godforsaken group therapy soiree that reeks of insincerity. What a time-waste!! Guys, you know what the really important first step you must take right from the git-go?

Find a legal Godzilla with a catchy name such as Louie Prenup and make sure your Bratzy partner for life signs at least 3 copies of your no harm, no foul prenuptial contract before you register your china and sterling silver salad forks at Fritz & Floyd. Priorities-I cannot stress-or spell-how important it is to take care of your own a___, I mean basic guy needs, before you risk it all for some hottie you met at the Pancake Breakfast prior to the schmoozy Pro-Am that is part of the glitz and, uh, ornamental glory you must endure if you ever hope to have the kind of health insurance I am so literally blessed to receive.

Is it a perk? Is it wasteful and full of disincentives to save the precious taxes each of you work so hard to evade? Dammit, you are so right!! And I am so wrong!! But, that's why testosterone--plus a little Viagra--restores irrational order to a health care system that pumps me up while it continues to Byte you in the buns!!

However, and this is so important, once OWC bytes the dust, you can look to yours truly to restore the minimalist system for the underserved that works so well and cheaply while allowing my loyal health care friends in the S&P 500 to not only thrive but also sponsor the future warriors on the PGA tour who can entertain us with their off-course exploits.

Whoa!! Bad dream. Really bad dream!! I was sleeping at my post and must have dreamed every word above that I totally and absolutely retract, redact, and deny ever took place either in the friendly skies or the Tweetosphere. Or so I thought until I heard the following conversation among the 5-year-old class of 2011 kindergartners that I was supposed to be monitoring for the POTUS and his Healthcare of the Future Roundtable and Facebook friends and enemies GoTeam.

"OK guys. Enough of your Onion humor. No more spoofy stuff about the 98 proof, cigar-laced words and wisdom of Mr BagsFlyFree-he is our hero and a real warrior in the sky. Now tell me again, Mr Octopussy-who is in charge of hiding our Repo 105 action on the RajRaj Little Gallon balance sheet? And are you sure Dr Texas Twitter is still snoring like a hawg with too many adenoids?

Dr Tex really makes me worry about our future-like would he refill my Adderall if I really needed it sooner than a month? And yes the bimbo is still offline, twittering in dreamland.

Mr Balance Sheet? Some dude who calls himself Tipper X. Very sober and somber and he's a real pain in the a___. Keeps wanting me to repeat myself and talk real slow so he can "get all those little detail jobbers/numbers exactly right."

Yet he insists on calling me Goffer the Great like we were big Kappa Alpha bros at Mother Yale.

Mother Yale? How about Uncle NYU?

Okay. Okay. Was speaking metaphysically. Whoa!! Rajjy-the Doctor is in!! Doc Tex is live and Online!! Listening to the Twits. Resume KG Tweaking. Resume Dr Seuss Cat in the Twatter Chatter ASAP!!

Talk about shocked-I may be dumb-faced, but I can smell manure when the wind is blowing right in my eyeballs. Stay tuned-I think those little innocent kindergarten Twirps just stepped into something they can't shake off.