THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. Today, I am visibly excited to be joined here in the Roosevelt Bedroom by the lovely, albeit vaguely colored-looking Erika Harold - the new Miss Real American. As you may have been reading in the Reverend Moon's quality publication over the past two days – and let me take a moment to say that Old Moonie may be yellow, but his journalism sure as shootin' isn't – this fine young lady has been taking more than a little bit of heat for her position (or lack thereof) on getting buck-naked and doing the nasty before marriage.

Today, I am pleased to learn that the latex ball gag of censorship has been removed from Miss Real American's trembling maw, and that she is free to resume her tireless preaching of pre-marital vaginal chastity to America's adolescents. Mrs. Bush and I have been aware of her work for some time now, and only regret that her inspirational message as a role model for professional prick-teases everywhere, in conjunction with that of the Abstinence Saves the Tart From Plunder program, did not reach our spirited daughters Jenna and Barbara until the barn door had long ago swung wide open.

At this point, I'm going to turn things to Miss Harpold-America for a few minutes.

MISS REAL AMERICAN: Thank you, Mr. President. Today, I am so pleased to be able to continue the important work I began as Miss Illinois, before I was so cruelly censored by the Miss Real American pageant committee. For you see, as a superstitious Christian, I believe that vaginal sex outside of the holy bonds of a Christian marriage is sinful and just begging for the vengeful Lord to get back at you by, like, having you die in a fiery car wreck or, worse, be third-runner-up. That is why I have spent the past year teaching young unmarried ladies wily ways to keep erect penises out of their honey-pots throughout the great state of Illinois.

For these visits to grade schools and high schools, I have developed a ten-minute demonstration on how to take men and other objects as large as 48 oz Gatorade bottles up the pooper. This simple exercise is designed to show schoolgirls that they can still indulge their boyfriends and parish priests in a harmless little thrill without running afoul of the Lord's request to save their vaginas for marriage.

Unfortunately, though the committee has granted me permission to resume speaking about lady-clam abstinence, they still insist that I refrain from conducting my exhibit, even though everyone who has seen it will attest to how amazed they were by my dilation skills - not to mention the tastefulness of my musical accompaniment. But now, not only has this unfair prohibition cost me an invitation to this year's Super Bowl halftime show, but all I have left to offer for my talent demonstration is my signature Jew's harp rendition of "The Flight of the Bumble Bee." It just isn't fair! Frankly, I had hoped to be a somewhat more unique Miss Real American by garnering a reputation as the "World's Piece," but now I am left to resort to the old pageant standby of just blabbing away about "world peace!"

(Hot Tears of Disappointment.)

THE PRESIDENT: There, there, little girl. Everything's going to be OK.

Let's have a warm round of applause for Miss Real American Erika Harold, ladies and gentlemen.

(Applause.)

We think she's doing a real bang-up job - and sincerely hope that there are no all-girl double-dong shots of her scheduled for publication in Penthouse. I want to thank her for taking time out of her busy schedule visiting car dealerships and nursing homes to come by the White House today, and for having the sense to wear a water-proof mascara that holds up well under a river of made-for-TV tears.

God bless you, darlin'!

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