"Hello, America!" shouted a mouse down the

"Hello, America!" shouted a mouse down the microphone. Of course, this being a mouse, it only came out as "Squeak-squeak, Squeeaak!". The President looked baffled. Was this

the Vice President that was supposed to be his re-election running mate? A mouse. He was so small, so furry. Oh well thought the president as he scooped him up, politics makes for

-mer mystics awfully jealous. Ratsputin lurked in the aether, ready to pounce on Barack's mouse/VP. Prior the Vice Presidential debates, Ratsputin planted a trap with cheese and

hing themselves in the sewage treatment outflow was too good to pass up. Paul said a quick prayer and spat in the river. John cried "Behold! Ye Heathens be saved!" and clapped his

his thighs together three times. John held their heads under the raw sewage, muttering something about teaching them a lesson and continued to slap his thighes repeatedly until

John's vibrating adipose tissue formed a standing wave whose peaks & troughs reminded him of the Himalayan landscape near Adiposatva Buddhas cave. Lotus bloomed in the raw sewage &

cloaked the ascent of Buddha's Terminal Death Army. John's glutes signaled the impending approach of bloodthirsty hybrid-driving Starbucks-sipping hipsters whose tenets drove them

to wear cricket helmets and gloves whilst chanting England supporters songs. John's fears were realised when over the horizon the Barmy Army came to face Buddha's Terminal Death Ar

dvark. Shit! That's not how you spell aardvark. But, the important part was that the soccer hooligans would soon crumble beneath Buddha's favorite misfit animal.