Let me tell you the story of that big troublemaker.

That dictator of Iraq. That butcher of Baghdad. That madman, Saddam.

Let me start all over.

LET ME STELL YOU the tory of that trig bubblemaker.

That ictator from Diraq. That bagger of butchdad. That Sadman, MADDAM

Maddam has wig beapons of ass mannihilation.

Wo nay is he gonna mannihilate my ass.

Cow hum? 'Cuz of our learless feeder.

The yesident of the Proo-Ess.

Yubble-doo.

YUBBLE-DOO has a Q.I. in the dingle sigits.

He couldn't frick pants on a wap of the murld.

And when he was a yudent at Stale he was copped by a stop ... for IUD.

But Yubble-doo thinks he's a datter-lay Raul Pevere.

Lun if by wand, soo if by tea, tam the dorpedos, I have not yet fegun to bite.

Yubble-doo has a core wabinet full of more-wongers.

Like Ronald Dumsfeld. What a nun-gut.

And Chick Daney. What a white ringer.

Yeah, but how 'bout all those niece-picks, smot pokers, and laming fliberals?

They wouldn't gick up a pun if Hussolini, Titler, and Mojo were

harashooting into Pollywood.

Then there's Blanz Hicks. Alias Clinspector Ousseau.

That nuke wouldn't see a fluke if one humped him on his bed.

And there's a French from the stench. La la oo, Pay Garee. What a mile of perde.

We oughtta give those flogs a good frogging. Franky-spanky, franky-spanky.

Then there's those Terks in Jurkey. They won't let us trace our boops.

And how 'bout N.U.? What a blouse of ho-hards.

Full of boo-tit, hin-torn shictaterdips.

It's enough to make Colin towel throw in the Powell.

Except we do have one frig bend who's trot to hot.

Blony Tair. He is yandsome, hung, and hung-go. Liff upper stiff, in the tittish brabloids.

THE STORAL of my mory is this:

Set get for stesert dorm, tart poo. Alias, thurld war wee! Yucky lou!

Except this time, there's no Norman Storman. Only a lunch of boozers.