THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon, people of Chile. I can't tell you what a pleasure it is to gaze out over all four of you who were actually granted admission after passing the Secret Service colonoscopy.

You know, when they first told me this Asia-Pacific summit was gonna be in South America, I thought they were talking about my beloved Red State Bible Belt. And when they first said it was at Chile's, I was way pumped about getting to go to my favorite restaurant. But then after thinking about it, I suggested that maybe we should do it at Applebee's instead – mainly on account of I know how the Orientals usually eat only rice and ASPCA stir fry, and the last thing I wanted to do is spend two whole days gagging on Chinky burrito farts.

Well as it turns out, "South America" is this little peninsula-like thing that dribbles off Texas's southern end like turd juice out of an Angus bull. And this "Chile" place is nothing like my favorite restaurant at all! It's really its own dinky little country – filled to the brim with indigenous dirt people whose ancestors rudely refused to cooperate when the heroic Christian European Francisco Pizarro selflessly offered to exterminate them. Who knew? And more importantly, who cared?

Get the GODLY New Book!

Now whenever I fly anywhere, I spend the whole trip just glued to that little "LiveMap" screen over the Air Force One mini bar. And that's how I learned on the way up here that this country is super long and skinny – like a real chile – you know, the ones you grind up and put in that dee-lish spicy meat soup, which is also called chile, and is also served at my favorite restaurant – which is also called Chile's! So I'm thinking to myself, this is gonna be one bitchin' place to visit!

Well it didn't take long to find out just how wrong I was. I mean, clearly none of you people got the memo about how inferior folks are supposed to treat the guy who Jesus just re-elected as Emperor of the Universe!

That's right, you Chilenisians sure are a bunch of spoiled ingrates. You get your skirts in a twist over my totally reasonable private army briefly seizing control of your pathetic nation? I guess that's gratitude for you! How soon you forget that it was the US of A that gave you the gift of Augustus Pinochet. How quickly you forget this mass-murdering, puppet dicatator who was Kissinger's BFF, and kept the commies in check by murdering anyone who disagreed with him. But do I get a thanks? Nooooooo!

Which is why, as I depart in a huff from Chile forever, I'm taking just a minute to teach you all just three simple rules – because while I myself will never be caught dead in this dump again, my baby brother Jeb might need to visit during his eight year term. So listen up:

Rule #1: Thou shalt NEVER expect any President Bush to wear one of your fruity hippie ponchos, lest He become confused and take His daily two-hour siesta not in his sateen-sheeted, custom-made Craftmatic® adjustable bed, but propped under a palm tree like some lazy Mexican.

Rule #2: Thou shalt NEVER be so deluded by the sins of dignity and self-assurance that you foolishly believe yourselves to be in charge of anything at any point during a President Bush's visit. Remember, your sovereignty takes a holiday the second He and His armed-to-the-teeth entourage of Ray-Ban clad centurians touches down at your sorry little airport.

Rule #3: Thou shalt FINALLY make an effort to at least live up to thy namesake, and open hundreds of franchises of the fine Tex-Mex restaurants from which thy stole the name for thine pathetic country, so that any President Bush may satiate His hunger in the manner to which He is accustomed.

Thank you, and God Bless Central North America.

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