Dear Mr. Ammajabbawabbadingdong,

I am in receipt of your letter, and now that I have it, I can't help but wonder: why are we so freaked out about you dirty Persian rednecks getting nukes? You can't even figure out how to use the phone or e-mail. Plus, you stink like balls. Sweaty ones. I could smell it on the paper. I mean, a letter? Who the fuck writes letters? I thought only fruits in ascots do that. Whatevs, Mammoo.

In any case, I'm told you guys are pretty super-proud of this here little manifesto. I imagine a bunch of boys in black frocks sat around on a dirt floor, pouring over drafts, pulling lentils out of your beards while deep in thought. Come to think of it, y'all ain't that different from our very own 700 Club, the only difference being that God actually talks to Pat. But only when God has had a couple too many Smirnoff Ices.

I just told one of my secretaries – who I like to call "Legz" – to take dictation. Only I said "DICK-tation." HAR HAR HAR. You probably wouldn't get that, because you write in a language that looks and sounds like retard camels fucking each other up the ass.

Get the GODLY New Book!

Thankfully, we got people here who can read your scribblings. And I was just given the ol' recap, the Cliff Notes. Basically, your letter boils down to: "Why are you such an asshole, George W. Bush?"

And you also say a lot of shit about moral contradictions, and hypocrisy, and call the West out for its double standards; its grandiose language about democracy and liberalism and the brutal way it asserts its self-interest. You also question how a follower of my Commander-in-Chief, General Jesus H. Christ, could advocate war.

Y-A-W-N. I'll tell you how I can be Christ's BFF while sending America's children to dispatch Iraqi children to the hell where all non-Christian infidels go. Because Jesus said "Blessed be the peacemakers, because they will be called the Sons of God." I promise you: once the majority of you desert people are dead, there will be peace. And everybody says "A-men."

What the fuck, dude! Are you a college student, Mammoo? For a second, I thought I got a love letter from Al Franken and Randy Rhodes. What did you hope this letter was going to do? Make you illiterate oil sluts look all intellectual? Sheesh. I got a White House full of Princeton and Dartmouth grads, and I still come off like a moron.

Here's how this works. I think you revolutionaries have been cooped up in your bunkers for far too long. That's not healthy. If you're anything like Uncle President Cheney, then you probably talk to yourself and hide little salty snacks in your bellybutton.

You're losing touch with reality. We have so much in common, our countries. We're both run by small-minded bigots who are all head, no shaft (if you know what I mean.) We both love nukes, oil, corruption, cronyism, blind obedience. And let's not forget using the name of God (or "Holla" in your case) to keep the people scared, stupid, and quiet. Damn, it's like we're frickin' soul mates, Mammoo!

And I'll tell you why I'm such an asshole: I'm the President of the United States of America. If there was ever a God on Earth, that God would be Jesus. Then me. Peace Be Unto Moi, motherfuckers!

In short – I donšt really want you goofballs to give up your pipe dreams of building a tactical nukular weapon. For serious, I don't. I want you to build a bunch. Because when I go to sleep at precisely 8:30 in the PM, I have these dreams where the entire US nuclear stockpile, all 7,000 or so of them, call to me to crack them open like giant radioactive eggs and let their death yolk ooze all over your pain in my ass country.

I will be in the history books. You will be a footnote. It's gonna be awesome, Mammoo.

Love,

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