How do you think this will go? Can we get a conversation, or small skit to sum up Black's chances.
On the phone.
*****
Conrad:
Hello George. Pardon me.
President-to-go:
What? You fart?
Thursday, December 11, 2008
The watch continues. This is the duty we set before us. Conrad Black languishes in a country estate Florida prison. George W. Bush prepares to exit into history. Tis the season for the wait, by Black and other connected ner-do-wells. Black remains clutched in hope for a pardon.
How do you think this will go? Can we get a conversation, or small skit to sum up Black's chances.
On the phone.
*****
Conrad:
President-to-go:
What? You fart?
How do you think this will go? Can we get a conversation, or small skit to sum up Black's chances.
On the phone.
*****
Conrad:
President-to-go:
What? You fart?
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Overheard telephone conversation, leaked by the Department of Homeland Security:
Conrad: Hey Dubya! You remember me, you old cowpoke? I'm the one who owned all those newspapers and if you'll recall, every newspaper I owned just spontaneously, without any direction from me, the owner/publisher, wholeheartedly supported your election, then your re-election. I helped you get where you are, Bud!
Say... I got this little favor to ask ya, buddy...
Dubya: Whozzis? What? I don't get it. WTF?
Conrad: Oh, excrement.
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