When we last left the Republican Superfriends, the nefarious Dr. Baracko was about to journey to the Center of the Political Galaxy in an attempt to immunize himself from right-wing criticism! Now, with the abrupt selection of 18-month Governor of Alaska Sarah Palin to be Supersenator McMaverick's running-mate, the evil Liberal Legion, through its sinister Mega Stream Media allies, is piling onto the defenseless Palin with disgusting questions about the campaign's decision to select her, and about her "qualifications," "actual record," and "readiness for the presidency should she have to take the place of the 72-year-old McMaverick." What ever will our brave champions for cynical re-branding and maverick marketing do now???
"Damn it, we need more coal!" screamed McMaverick senior adviser Steve Schmidt, clutching an iron shovel in his veiny hands and wiping the sweat from his face with a rolled-up shirtsleeve. "The Smoke Machine of Outrage is slowing!"
The air around Superfriend Schmidt churned with thick, black, sooty steam, nearly obscuring his frantically red face. "I can still see actual facts and issues in here, Davis - send down more coal now!" he screamed, desperately heaping another shovelful into the Smoke Machine's hot, hungry, gaping maw.
All around him, hapless members of the vile Mega Stream Media hacked and gagged on the Smoke Machine's clouds of burning, acrid outrage, blindly stabbing their microphones and notepads into the chalky air. "But... but Mr. Schmidt..." choked one, finally landing a clawing hand on Schmidt's shoulder, "what has Governor Palin actually done that would show *cough* her ability to handle an international *cough* crisis?"
Schmidt recoiled with horror. "Davis!" he shrieked again, dropping his shovel to thrust a tube from the Smoke Machine into the reporter's face. The dirty tube belched an enormous clot of wet-hot outrage directly into the newsman's lungs.
"HWA-HACK-HUCK-HECK-KACK-HWA!" wretched the reporter, collapsing to the ground from the toxic blast of psychological pollution.
"More coal on the way!" cried Davis through an old-fashioned voice pipe descending from the ceiling. On cue, a frenzied phalanx of Oompa Loompas kicked in the factory double doors, pulling a heaping cart of faux incredulity behind them.
Barely visible through the dark, rolling plumes, another reporter managed to crawl up to Schmidt, seizing him by the pant leg. "Doesn't McMaverick's strange and sudden selection of Palin *kack* reveal a cynicism and recklessness *cough* in the way McMaverick makes important decisions?"
With tiger reflexes, Schmidt snatched a clump of righteous indignation from the Oompa Loompa cart and slammed it into the reporter's temple, knocking him out instantly.
"Davis!" Schmidt shouted once more as he picked his shovel up from the ground, "Will we have enough coal to generate outrage through October?"
"Our supply is limitless, Schmidt," replied the voice through the tube, nearly inaudible over the ramshackle clattering and hissing of the old-timey Smoke Machine. "Our false victimhood mines span for miles and miles underground - just keep feeding that machine no matter what anyone says or does!"