Franken-Lies-And-the-Lying-Liars-Who-Tell

Kerry already regretted allowing the overly solicitous Tennessean to tag along. "First
of all, I didn't do it single-handedly. And, secondly, if I ever do wear the Silver Star, it'll be
for the brave men I served with. It's their medal, too."
"That's great, that's great," Gore said, writing furiously. "Do you mind if I tell your
crew what you said about their heroism?"
Kerry scowled, and picked a chip of paint off a rusting bulkhead. "Not this crew."
Something about Kerry's tone of voice aroused Gore's reporter's instincts. "So this is a
new crew?"
"New?" Kerry scoffed. "That's a charitable way to describe them. Frankly, in my two
tours, I've never seen a bigger bunch of pants-pissers."
Gore stopped writing. This wasn't the sort of angle Captain Ailes approved of. "So
they're more heroes in the making than actual heroes?"
Before Kerry could answer, loud screaming broke out on deck. The lieutenant vaulted
topsides, as Gore scrambled after.
All hell was breaking loose. The Swift Boat had pulled up alongside a fragile-looking
sampan carrying two elderly Vietnamese women, baskets of fruit, and a small pig.
At the rail of the Swift Boat, two very agitated seamen were waving their M-16s and
screaming.
"What's under the pig, dink bitch?!" shouted the smaller of the two in an accent
somewhere between Midland, Texas, and Kennebunkport, Maine. "Pick up the fucking pig!"
The terrified old women began wailing in Vietnamese.
The stouter, bespectacled seaman snarled sarcastically, shouting, "What's wrong,
Charlie, no speakee English? I bet you speakee Commie, don'tchee?"
"Bush, Cheney, stand down!" Kerry ordered.
"They're hostiles, Skipper!" Bush shrieked. "I've seen this trick a thousand times.
Look at those grenades!"
"Those are mangoes, sailor." Kerry could tell that Bush was drunk again.
"What you, got under that pig? Pick up the pig! PICK UP THE FUCKING PIG!"
Cheney shouted, ignoring his commander.