The more Dubya studied the Mudcat transcripts the deeper the frown that creased his forehead and clenched down around his burning eyes. "This is fiendish stuff," he muttered. "Fiendish. This is worse than the time Mordred spread them false stories about me havin' it on with the sheep in the royal stables! These are downright obscene and treasonable attacks on me and on everything that makes America the Land of the Free. We'll find ALL of these Mudcat liberals and their friends. We'll make a clean sweep. We will decimate them and wipe them off the suffering face of America like wipin' a bunch of flies off a fresh Texas beefsteak!"

He stalked about the office, twirling his sword and imagining all the horrible ways he would dispatch these enemies of the realm, these ex-hippy, fat, dope-smoking, sexually deviant, pseudointellectual creeps who dared insult their own chief executive and bite the hand that fed them all.

This sort of thing would never have been tolerated back in the year 500, when people knew how to run a tight ship of state. Hell no! Just kill 'em all. That's what an army was for, after all, killing people. Any fool knew that. Even the Eye-ranians knew that, even though they were basically barely beyond a medieval social consciousness. There were some days when George W. almost felt a tinge of sympathy for those poor Eye-ranians, but then he would always remember the one basic problem. They weren't Christians. They didn't believe. Well, there's really only one remedy for those kind of people, and it doesn't take a degree in rocket science to figure out what that is. No sir. Smoke 'em out and take 'em out.

"Gotcha!" He loved that expression, just loved it. He couldn't wait to say it to Bill D.

Just like in all the good movies...