The President of Corpses:
No one told George W. Bush that presidencies are measured in corpses, stacked like cordwood outside the White House. Stretched out in his king-sized bed, Bush begins to think that it all makes sense when you put it in the context of corpses. Nixon wouldn't have been on the road to impeachment and trial if it hadn't been for all the corpses he was responsible for. Clinton survived largely because of the low number of corpses on his watch (a few hundred thousand Tutsis aside). Johnson went down because of the corpses, and FDR kept going because his were noble corpses - ahh, so corpses can be opportunities. Between soldier corpses and Twin Tower corpses and the growing pile of Katrina corpses, Bush can barely see the Washington Monument. But at least the Rose Garden will be fertilized for the foreseeable future.

Now, in bed, he turns to one side and sees the bloated corpse of a black women that had been floating in the water of New Orleans for the last six days. He turns to the other side and sees the corpse of William Rehnquist. After snorting the scent of sewage and toxins off the black woman, in sweet remembrance of times past, he turns to the Chief Justice, rolls him over, and starts fucking him, trying to put the stench and decay of the other corpse out of his head, fucking Rehnquist's cold, stiff ass to thank him for small favors.