MAYDAY!! Mayday!! Twizzler Fizzler!! Cialis Tsunami!! Judge Jimmy Jack blows up in Fritch but ends up flying on the IPod Thailand Taxi to Six Flags over Sri Lanka.
Who!! Hold it right there. How does yours truly-the Honorable Judge Jimmy Jack, MD, JD, and FRDB (FirstRateDirtBag-a term of sincerely feigned affection used by William Jefferson)-end up on a plane somewhere over Kaola Lampur rapping with Shaq, Martha (she's back!!), and Babs about Who Shot Queen Latifa while William Jefferson and George Hermann are 2 buds and an IPod away from an international incident.
I cannot tell you how thankful I am for that dang Tsunami and how grateful I am to George Hermann for bailing my judicially spanked buns out of the Texas Guantanamo locally referred to as the Fritch Jail. Swept into the pokey by an errant Blizzard (ok-to be brutally frank, I suckerpunched Babs Bush cause she fired the Dairy Queen frozen missile at my moonlighting bailiff Big Dick Cheney, missed him, and hit Judge JJ right in the kisser) and swept out by the Mother Bear of Big Waves Ex-Presidential Tsunami Nation Relief Tour.
Judge JJ has high standards and does not endorse the use of Other People's Misfortune to get out of a lockup. But I could not in good conscience turn down the altruistic opportunity to serve as the CMO (Chief Medical Officer) of the WJ-GH Tsunami Relief Express. Or as Sweet Willy called it-The Candyland Caravan. But what about my trusty Tonto-Big Dick Cheney?
Still incarcerated in the Fritch Home for Wayward VPs. George W refused to bail Dick out when he discovered that Dickie was leveraging his Medical Savings Account and had spent every MSA penny he had access to buying futures in so-called Al Gore porkbellies, which are future options tied to a multiple of Al Gore's BMI and the number of Big Mac's he wolfs down in an average 5-day workweek. To be brutally honest, Dickie C still has his Halliburton stock and all those wonderful Iraqi cost overruns as a Social Security fallback position. However, he told me that, if I mentioned this hands-off relationship, I would lose both my hands faster than I could say Donald Rumsfeld is a very nice person. So I will discreetly blackline these comments, even though I am a little peeved that Dick refused to throw a few shares of AG futures my way.
Flying high on the Tsunami Express, I felt a little excluded from the George and Bill IPod inner circle. In the first place, the motives behind the whole venture were, quite frankly, not as reported. George W simply got tired of the Botox-seeking antics of George Hermann and Babs and saw the Clinton-Bush Soiree as the perfect vehicle to hit a grand slam-dump his parents and the Clinton twins on the wings of a great cause that would soak up at least a month's worth of ex-presidential relief followed up by a stateside Red Cross Lollapalooza Wheels of Fire Relief Tour.
Ever the opportunist, WJ stocked the plane with the best of the best Clinton Hall of Fame goodies. His ex-presidential view of relief supplies was 10 cases of Twizzlers and, after breaking into the first case, Bill was one happy camper, knocking down whole bags of Twizzlers without breaking a sweat. Hillary and Martha were going bananas over these cinnamon jujubears. Meanwhile, George H was totally sugared up on his own personal stock of chocolate DingDongs, and Babs was totally locked in to some weird version of liquorish Gummy Bears. So I was the only sober person on the plane, and I was also the only one who had no IPod to join the GH-WJ Tsunami Sockhop. First Bill decided to donate his IPod earbud to Babs-not to be outdone, George Hermann gave his twin buds to Hillary and Martha. Then Hillary could not stand to be left out of the deal, so she gave GH her bud, made Martha give WJ hers, and took credit for both while pretending to be shocked by GH's music of choice-Judas Priest. Hillary got even more agitated when she saw how well Babs was linedancing to what turned out to be Bill's favorite song of songs: The Notorious Cherry Bombs version of the old Perry Como standard: It's Hard to Kiss the Lips at Night That Chew My Ass Out All Day Long.
Hillary was outraged by the whole process and told WJ that she was pissed off "like I used to get in Arkansas," and "you are just going to have to whip George's ass." GH had had the foresight to get both Aetna and Cigna to donate a huge cache of Cialis to the relief cause (and, yes, it was my role as CMO to sign and accept all meds we took with us)-"to assure a fertile future for the Tsunami Nation" in George's best diplomatic language. So George was one happy ex-president with a lifetime supply of "the good stuff" tucked away in his old Yale laundry bag, and neither he nor WJ was in a big hurry to get physical just cause Hillary had got her presidential hormones all lathered up. Mayday!! Mayday!! This midair alert chilled the buds out of everyone's ear as the pilot-who turned out to be, I kid you not, The Shaqster-declared a midair emergency. Martha, the K-mart airhead, had forgotten to take off her inhouse inside-trading bacelet, and we were ordered to land asap in the middle of Sudan. Can you spell Civil War? Can you spell panic? And what a waste of 4 really almost brandnew IPods. Hold on cause we are going down [horizontal ellipsis]