The pizza was the last straw. P. F. Sneaze was not in a good mood. His tongue was numb from the pizza. It had been scalding hot.
The Great Man called in the directors of the C.I.A., the FBI, the Secret Service.
“Someone has been trying to assassinate me,” he told them in no uncertain terms.
“But, sir, it was only a pizza,” the Director of the Secret Service said. He had gone where no man had gone before. He had disagreed with the President.
Did anyone argue with George W. Bush when he wanted to go to war with Iraq? Did anyone argue with Bill Clinton about that intern? Did anyone argue with George H. W. Bush when he chose Dan Quail for a running mate? Did anyone argue with Ronald Reagan when he sold weapons to the Iranians so he would have money for the contras? Did anyone argue with Jimmy Carter when he did that malaise speech? Did anyone argue with Dick Nixon about those tapes? No. They wouldn’t dare. You just don’t argue with a President.
Then the President dropped the big one. And I mean it was yuge. “In the history of sovereign states, there has never been a dastardlier deed performed by one Sovereign State against another Sovereign State.”
The Directors wanted to ask what the heck the President was tawking about. But they knew they had better hold their tongues. It was bad etiquette to interrupt a President, especially in the Oval Office.
“It’s JMDs,” the President continued.
“JMDs?” the Directors all said at once.
“Jokes of Mass Destruction.”
There was incredulity on the faces of the Directors. In case you don’t know what “incredulity” means, I’m going to tell you. It means they didn’t believe what the President had just said.
“Have you ever heard a funny American?” the President asked. “Of course not. Oh, sure. We occasionally get someone who gives us a little chuckle. But we just are not funny. And there’s only one country to blame.”
The Directors had to agree. The President did have a point. They wracked their brains trying to come up with someone. They went down the list and no one but no one was that funny who had been born in the U S of A lately. Even Seinfeld didn’t pass the test. They had watched Seinfeld for years but none of them had ever laughed. His show was about nothing, and nothing was ever funny. The last funny American was Will Rogers, and that was because he was from Oklahoma.
“It’s Canada. They’ve been dropping Jokes of Mass Destruction on us for years.”
The Directors’ incredulity was now going into overtime. They just couldn’t believe what they were hearing.
“Jim Carey, Dan Ackroyd, Mike Myers, Martin Short, Seth Rogen, Leslie Nielsen, Norm MacDonald, Catherine O’Hara, Dave Thomas, Caroline Rhea, Tommy Chong, Maggie Cassella. These are either making Americans laugh from their comedy. Or they are writing stuff for others that was the funny stuff. And that Lorne Michaels. He’s the worst. Saturday Night Live my belt buckle. It isn’t live. It’s pre-recorded.”
The Directors’ faces were giant saucers of unbelievability at what they were hearing. But it was true they realized. All true.
“The pizza was the last straw. It was the Canadian bacon on the pizza that burned my mouth to high heaven.”
“Canadian bacon?” CIA asked.
“Canadian bacon,” the Great Man said, “is not bacon. It’s ham. It’s ham. I ought to know. I am a pig farmer after all. We only want real bacon in these United States of America. If it ain’t bacon, it ain’t bacon. So from now on, the USDA will have to certify that bacon is actually bacon before it can be called bacon.
“On top of that, Canadian geese are using America for a rest stop. Have you ever tried to clean that Canadian geese poop off your car. It just can’t be done.”
“The rule of thumb, Mr. President,” CIA said with the wisdom of the years he had served, “is never go to war with a country we can’t beat. We can’t beat Canada.”
“Aw, c’mon. We’ll kick their butts from here to Nome, Alaska.”
“Sir, please don’t say butt in the Oval Office. The Oval Office doesn’t like it.”
“Canadians,” the President screamed, “are shooting off jmds at us like crazy. And all you can say is ‘Don’t say butt in the Oval Office.'”
The Directors had never thought of it this way.
“Gentlemen, the day they delivered that pizza with ham from Canada on it is a day that will live in infamy. Tomorrow I will address a Joint Session of Congress and ask that we declare war on Canada. I, and the American people, are fed up with those Canadians making fun of us. And getting us to pay them for it.”
“But, Mr. President,” the FBI Director said to everyone else’s chagrin, “the Canadians now own Mississippi and they have that snow pipeline.”
“Well, we’ll just have to do something about that, won’t we?”
“Instead of going to war immediately,” FBI said, “why don’t we get the world on our side. We can send in the United Nations Joke Inspectors.”
Next Week Why Did Big Al Do a Darn Thang Like That?