Dear Dubya: How's yer doing? It's your pal Jean

[[PX]Kal Bob]

To: The President of the United States
From: The Prime Minister of Canada.

Dear George:

So, how's yer doing dere anyway, by gar? I am writing this letter to you because you hang up every time I call and I can't vist you because of the No Fly Zone you have in force over Ontairo, Quebuec and the Prairies.
You know, I keep telling my people that there is no problem between you and me but then yesterday, near Parliament Hill, a rooftop sniper shot a tall, goofy guy who looks just like me and I thought this would be a good time to write to you.
You knoe these bad feelings between us started when I told then-president Clinton that if you, George W. Bush, ever got elected president, I would push a wheelbarrow full of poutine from Ottawa to Washington and sit in it and maybe I shouldn't have said that but you got mad at me and broke with tradition by visiting Mexico instead of Canada, so I didn't rush immediately to New York ground zero, and then you said Britain was your best firend, and then I said I had a previous commitment and couldn't go to war with you, and then you cancelled a state vist to Canada, and I said the Iraqis don't have weapons of mass destruction and you said oh yeah, they do, because "we kept the bill of sale," and thenyou had lunch with that good-for-nothing Mulroney and I went golfing with that good-for-one thing Clinton, and you called me an aging dinosaur and I called you God's own cowboy, and then my staff called you an idiot and your staff called me Popeye face, and you told Tubby Schwarzkopf to beat me up behind the House of Commons during recess and I instructed Pamela Wallin to Saran Wrap your oval office toilet seat, and you had Tom Ridge bard-wire our border, so I kicked your speech writer David Frum out of Canada on the basis that he wants his marrage to Rush Limbaugh recognized by the state, and then you had Paul Cellucci scold us for being an independent counry, and I threatened Mike Weir with serious jail time if he didn't win the masters, and you said speaking of masters "how is Prime Minister Jean Bates" and so I suggested we get Beghdad Bob, the former Iraqi information minister, to defened your economic policies, and you said speaking of Iraq "that's some sweet oil wells you got out there in Alberta," and I said "you're all hat and no oil," and then you said you're so mad at Canada you wouldn't even speek to the next prime minister, Paul Martin, and I said that makes two of us, and then you said you'd never help clean up the earth by signing that Kyoto Agreement and I signed it immediately because, what the hell, I'll be long gone when that thing kicks in, and then you said you hoped I'd come down with SARS and so I went to have lunch at a Chinese restaurnt in Toronto where I announced that contracting SARS was not nearly as dangerous as watching football and eating pretzels at the same time, and so you said we couldn't help reconstruct Iraq so I said I'd send the Royal Canadian Mounted Police in to restore order, and you said there was already too many hourses asses comming out of Canada and I said "Can you believe it, the French calling the Americans arrogant," and you said instead of real weapons, Canadians use Inuit carvings to protect themselves and I referred to you as Bush Lite, and you called me John the Cretin, and I said in Texas they called you "shrub" because you never messured up to a "Bush." and you said I was all bush, league that is, and I said you should introduce your mother Barbara to Jenny Craig, and you said I used the chemical weapon pepper spray on my own people, and i said you were the illegitimate son of Barry Goldwater produced by nuclear fission, and you said celine Dion sounds like Ethel Merman in great pain, and I said viva Las Lages, and you said Don Cherry was the only Canadian with a brain, and I said yeah, but unfortunately he's got yours, and you said the Leafs suck, and I said the Leafs suck, and at least we have that in common as well as being two leaders who don't have the vision of a myopic squid, and then you accused me of going off my meds, and I said I needed medication to continue living next door to you, and you keep denying that you ever used cocaine, so I'm going to legalize drugs.
How do you like them pommes, you pouffe?

P.S. I've asked my driver, who, as it turns out, is a CIA operative, to pass this note to you in gym class.

P.S.S. I'll say I'm sorry if you will.

-----------------------------------------
Origanaly from The Oxford Review Saturday, May 10, 2003
By William Thomas

[[PX] Nebuchadnezzar]

hey Bob, did you type that out yourself, or find it online somewhere?

[[PX]Kal Bob]

Typed, Word for Bloody Word

[[Fallen]Thanatos]

oh man i love pilitical jokes there great

[Ghost [PX]]

Good work Bob.

[Dempsey]

This was in the saturday sentinel review