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The United States of America checks into rehab for its addiction to oil. |
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 Written by philbill
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Tuesday, 16 September 2008 |
“So how did you get here?” the rehab psychologist asked the avuncular figure in red, white, and blue.
“In a limo that gets about one mile per gallon,” Uncle Sam said.
“Let me rephrase that: So why are you checking in?”
“Well, I guess I have a little substance dependency problem and my ‘friends’ did an intervention,” Sam said.
“Tell me about the intervention.”
“Well, they lured me into a cheap motel in and said they had this hot Alaskan MILF who wanted me do some drilling in her natural wildlife habitat. So I go in this motel room and she’s the hot librarian type and I’m thinking, ‘Yeah, Momma,’ and she’s all like, ‘Oh, Uncle Sam, your off-shore rig is so big and hard. And, I’m ready to blow my top like Spindletop right then, but first I want to do some oil. So I’m like, ‘Let’s do some of this light sweet crude, honey. I got it from T. Boone Pickens so you know it’s some primo shit,’ and she’s like, ‘All right,’ so I lie face down on her massage table – she called it her moose table, I don’t know why – and I’m expecting her to rub hot petrol all over me.
That’s when the cuffs went on my wrists and I said, ‘Yo, Sarah, you’re one kinky governor, I like that,’ and then I look up and it’s some old cat with a jawbreaker on one side of his mouth and he’s saying all this incomprehensible stuff about he’s a maverick. She’s a maverick and he’s all for energy independence, blah, blah, blah. Let me tell you, I’ve used with this McCain cat before and he’s voted against alternative fuels and solar tax credits so I’m like, ‘That’s bogus, John, you buzz kill.’ And then they tied me up with a gas pump hose and checked me in here. This is my 56th trip to rehab. What’s the name of this joint, anyway?”
“It’s the Lindsay Lohan-Britney Spears We’re Not Serious About Really Quitting, But This Will Keep Us Out of Jail For A While Rehab Clinic.”
“Cool. I think I’m going to like it here.”
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