Early on April 29, the world unwittingly fell prey to another diabolical plot conceived by the Bush administration. Like the Twin Towers and the Pentagon on 9/11, the intentional destruction of a small section of a freeway in Oakland, Calif., is another example of Bush and his gang of thugs inventing nefarious schemes for reasons unclear.
In the wake of this highway disaster, tens of thousands of Bay Area commuters were left to travel on surface streets, or even worse, use public transportation. Perhaps it is another attempt by Bush to wrest control of oil riches from the Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. Or maybe there are more sinister motivations. You probably think this is some sort of conspiracy lunacy -- so I've set out to prove that the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge collapse is part of an ongoing global plot.
To get to the bottom of this, I dialed the White House to request an audience with Mr. Bush. As expected, he obliged and we met at his ultra secret fortress cleverly disguised as a Waffle House. Mr. Bush was incognito, masquerading as a foul-smelling hobo, and was almost unrecognizable. Being a gentleman, I offered to buy the president's breakfast -- a deal to which he eagerly agreed, and say what you will about him, but this guy can really wolf down free waffles.
To prepare for my interview, I consulted several bulletproof sources, including Rosie O'Donnell, the film Loose Change,
> and the ravings of various Internet goons. My sources confidently explained that fire simply cannot melt steel, whether in a building, a freeway or a steel mill. In fact, on a recent episode of The View,
Ms. O'Donnell said 9/11 was "the first time fire ever melted steel." We can only assume she is correct because if we can't trust people who are famous for reasons no one can really remember, who can we trust?
Now that I had proof 9/11 and 4/29 were parts of a massive government conspiracy, I was ready to question Mr. Bush who, oddly, was busy searching under his seat cushions for errant coins. I tried to get his attention by asking some hard-hitting questions.
"Mr. President," I said, "how were you able to pull off the largest conspiracy ever conceived? Your plot involved tens of thousands of co-conspirators, thousands more fictional victims, remote-controlled airplanes, cruise missiles, the cooperation of all media outlets, foreign intelligence, law enforcement agencies and Osama Bin Laden. And why did you decide to take out a section of freeway in Oakland using a method you and I know to be impossible? And, Mr. President, why didn't you plant WMDs in Baghdad? Surely this would have been the simplest part of your villainous game."
The president said nothing. Instead, he started licking the syrup from his plate -- a cunning move to avoid answering. Meanwhile, his very authentic hobo stink was becoming more than I could bear. Finally when I thought I would succumb to his malodor, the president shouted "potato feet!" and ran screaming from the Waffle House/secret hideout. Was this some sort of cryptic clue or another clever ruse meant to throw me off? Perhaps Rosie O'Donnell will have the answer.