Oh, Scotty McClellan, we hardly knew ye. I mean that literally. I hardly knew you. I think my nickname for you was "Roundhead," or maybe "Bubbles." I knew you were the guy who had to go out in front of the press when I screwed things up, but there's a point at which the farmer has to forget the name of the fatted calf, if you know what I mean.

So I'm cool with your book, I guess. Karl's another matter entirely. To say that he was mad is an understatement. He said that he's going to rape you.

(Photo credit: Associated Press)

As you could probably imagine, the job of president of the United States is a darned boring one, with not much to do. In previous years, I mostly just sit around at my big old desk for a bunch of hours, reorganizing files, lookin' real busy, waitin' for Dick or Condi to come in and tell me that stuff is okay and I don't gotta worry. And then I would spend the afternoon playing some golf.

But then someone pointed out that with all the hurricanes and the war and the terrorism and the scandals and the economy and the other scandals, it wouldn't look so good on the teevee for folks to see reporters sticking a microphone in my face asking me about all that tragic shit and I'm just sittin' pretty in a golf cart talkin' bout puttin'.

So I got off the course and onto the Interwebs. And lemme tell you, there's a lot of agitated people out there, and boy do they like to type about it! If I didn't know any better, I'd think that the Interweb was set up by and large to allow angry people to anonymously call me a "fascist douche-bag who is totally ruining America." Maybe it was.

But it's starting to get way out of hand. I mean, it's one thing if some pimple-faced prick in his basement calls me "an illiterate cowboy Hitler pigboinker" on some Interweb site. But when we got a whole buttload of people goin on to this Interwebs and typin' bout how I "drink the blood of Iraqi children" and how my foreign policy strategy "is basically like a retarded kid hopped up on pixie sticks playing whack-a-mole with a sledgehammer", I take great offense to that. Whack-a-mole is a great American pastime and should not be used for political attackery.

The New York Times and other members of the so-called media have outlined what they say is my vision for the Middle East. There's some truth to what they say, in the sense that it's the officially disseminated version I instructed my spokespeople to discuss when asked. But it isn't the whole picture. That's the thing about media. It's like taking a snapshot with a finger over part of the lens. Do I want Israel to prevail against extremism and for Palestinians to eventually have a homeland? Of course. But that's only the first step.

My little girl's married. Sniff. I almost never write "sniff" unless I'm actually crying while I write it. Also, I don't write "ha ha" unless I'm actually laughing. So to all the people out there who think I use language lightly, ha ha. I mean what I say and I say what I mean. That's why I feel it's important to take to the airwaves to tell you that I approve of Jenna's husband, old what's his name.

Did you hear I made a joke? I said that we're going to send Jessica Simpson to the Democrat convention. Some people are saying that I had a speechwriter draft the joke. Nonsense! I write all my own material. Who do you think I am, Robin Williams? In addition to writing jokes, as you know, I write songs. It's inspired by the recent troubles of the baseball pitcher and fellow Texan Roger Clemens. It's called "Intentional Walk." Here's how it goes:

Roger was the greatest
The greatest in the land
Batters shuddered when the baseball
Left his meaty hand
Roger struck out one man
Then he struck out two
The third man came to home plate
Didn't know what to do

Whiff, whiff, whiff
Whiff, whiff, whiff
He punched out the side
The Rocket!

Roger was a leader
And Roger was a pro
Winning seasons followed
Wherever Roger'd go
Roger was a legend
Roger made his name
As one of the greatest
To ever play the game

Whiff, whiff, whiff
Whiff, whiff, whiff
He punched out the side
The Rocket!

Then the day grew dark
Then the day grew sad
Roger did some stuff
That people thought was bad
He shot himself with steroids
He screwed a bunch of girls
Now he is the loneliest
Right-hander in the world

Whiff, whiff, whiff
Whiff, whiff, whiff
He's been decried
The Rocket!

That's the song. Scary-good, right? I have a guy who is playing a wicked electric guitar on the track. It's going to be like "Hotel California," only better.

Iran doesn't like Barbie. I can't agree. Barbie is every straight man's fantasy. Ralph Reed used to tell me about playing with his Barbies. Later, when he was older, he and Ted Haggard swapped stories. I think that they may have also had Kens. I'm not sure. Kens are very important to our party's health, though: Ken Lay, Ken Starr, Ken Stabler. He was the Snake! What's more masculine than that?

This may be a little stream-of-consciousness. I went to see that Harold and Kumar movie where they have a character in it who's supposed to be me smoking wacky weed. I haven't done that since the seventies, but the movie gave me a contact high. In the movie, Harold and Kumar escape from Gitmo. That's how come I knew it was a comedy. No one escapes from Gitmo unless they go through a tunnel I like to call Death. From Barbie to Death: wow, man. Heady.

Yeah, I'm going to appear on Deal or No Deal. Deal with it! Get it? I re-used the word "deal." I'm really looking forward to it. For starters, I have lots of bald jokes that I used on Cheney that I can now use on Howie Mandel. Also, I think I know how to pick the cases so that I win at least a half-million.

And then there are the models. Do you think they can turn down a sitting President? Not every part of me is sitting.

Everyone wants me to comment on the polygamous sect, because it's from West Texas, and I'm from Texas, and it's indicative of a moral shortcoming that is toxic to our nation, and so am I. Ha ha. Don't say I'm not self-aware.

At any rate, I do have something to say about the polygamous sect, which is this: why the eff would you want more than one wife? I mean, it's going in the opposite direction. The right way to go from one is down to zero. I say this mainly because this morning Laura was asleep, snoring, and I shook her and she said, "Stop it, Scooter!" and my blood ran cold but it turned out she was only faking snoring and sleeping. "Do you have to fake everything?" I said and she said "If I can't get it the real way," and I sensed that the conversation had drifted into an unpleasant zone, and I went to name Steve Preston as the new head of HUD. Try saying that fast.

I met the Pope. I met the Pope. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god. I should probably capitalize god, shouldn't I? Or maybe not. I don't know. The Pope is a bigshot. He has a fancy hat. I don't get to wear a fancy hat at work. I come to work in my shirt and tie. The Pope wears a fancy hat or, barring that, a little hat. It's all hats with that guy. It was awesome! More later.

(Photo credit: Associated Press)