Satan strides up to the back door of the White House. The Marines recognize him instantly, of course--he's there practically every day--and wave him through. They don't even search his red leather fanny pack, the one with the cute little red forked tail hanging off it, that Karl made for him at Boy Scout camp one year. They have their orders. Nobody frisks Satan.

George W. is out in the outer office, chatting up the secretaries. Fortunately for the Republican Party, Satan knows, the secretaries are absolutely safe. The primitive cloning technology that produced him made it so Georgie can't get an erection without a special pill; and, well, he's never been particularly interested in sex anyway. This is a very good thing. After eight years of a pussyhound like Clinton in the White House, the American people needed a little morality, a guy who doesn't even fuck his wife. Clinton was way too smart to be president anyway: how's a guy going to listen to Satan if he's got higher than a 100 IQ?

"Hey, Satan," Georgie says. "How's ma man?" He gives his signature shit-eating grin, the one that his detractors say makes him look like a moronic chimpanzee.

"He in?" Satan says.

"Yeah, but he's kind of busy," Georgie says. "He and Dick are up to something. Something big, I think."

"Of course he is," Satan says. "That's what I'm here to talk to him about."

"Oh, right, right," Georgie says. "Well, you just go right on in, then, ha ha!"

Satan rolls his eyes a little as he opens the door to the Oval Office. There at the big desk sits Karl Rove. Dick Cheney is leaning over the table looking at some papers with him.

Karl jumps up. "Dad!" he cries. "Good to see you! May I service you?"

"Sure," Satan says. Karl comes over and takes Satan's rather large red veiny penis in his mouth, begins to fellate him. The other Dick looks away politely. He's no longer embarrassed by Satanic fellatio in the Oval Office. It's funny what you can get used to, if you see it often enough. But he figures it isn't polite to stare.

Satan doesn't really care, though. He ejaculates explosively and Karl swallows, then pulls his hanky out of his breast pocket and wipes his lips.

"So," he says when his voice works again, "did it work? Did your lights come on down there?"

"Worked like a charm," Satan says. "You're such a good boy. Why can't your brothers all be like you?"

Rove shrugs modestly. Beside him, Dick Cheney burns, but keeps smiling. Tries to empty his thoughts. No point pissing off Satan. Too much is on the line. Not just the election, but the destruction of the American democracy. It's a big gamble, but what isn't, with Satan? Always the high-roller. Always the earth-shaking stakes. A theocracy--ruled not by Yahweh but by the fallen Morning Star Lucifer in a Yahweh suit! What an idea! It's so crazy, Cheney thinks, it might even work.

# posted by Doug Robinson @ 1:18 PM