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

"Dirty story'll do."
"You want guy-girl, girl-girl, guy-girl-guy, or girl-guy-girl?"
Thomas thought for a moment. just considering the options raised his spirits. "Hmm.
How 'bout guy-girl?"
"Excellent choice," O'Reilly said, under his breath. He was equally grateful to have
something to take his mind off his own gut-wrenching terror. After thinking for a moment, he
began. "Ashley was now wearing only brief white panties. By removing her shirt and skirt,
and by leaning back on the couch, she had signaled her desire. Now, she closed her eyes,
concentrating on nothing but my tongue and lips. I gently teased her by licking the areas
around her most sensitive erogenous zone. Then I slipped her panties down her legs and,
within seconds, my tongue was inside her, moving rapidly."
A dozen feet away George Bush was oblivious to the amorous antics of Ashley and
O'Reilly. Bush gazed up at the moon, thinking back to another moonlit night just six months
ago and half a world away. He cursed the bad luck that had put those Mexican day laborers in
the bus shelter beside the dusty road that stretched between his favorite bar in Midland and
his favorite bar in Lubbock. He didn't remember swerving around the school bus and hitting
them. When Poppy bailed him out the next morning, he told his son the bad news. Because
the Mexicans had died, the Air National Guard was now out of the question. Bush would
have to serve in the actual military, and the sweet deal that would have allowed him to do his
military service entirely by mail was now a thing of the past. Why? Why? Why did those
dead Mexicans have to spoil everything?
Bush was rudely awakened from his self-pitying rumination by a hand suddenly
clutching at his forearm. It was Cheney. The fear of having a heart attack had brought on another
heart attack.