Donald Rumsfield: Bed to Bed Donald Rumsfield drinks blood for breakfast.
Human blood, of course. Why do you think we need all this war?
He calls Transylvania for instructions on installing his dentures.
Then he steps out into his luxurious backyard, breathes in exhilarating karmic smog, and exhales noxious smoke.
He reaches into his pocket and extracts a machete, hacks down a maelstrom of vines, fashioning a path into his neighbor’s garden.
He reaches into his anus and extracts a rifle, shoots a mockingbird, licks its breasts, returns home.
He calls youth on the phone, calls it old, hopes it is incited so he doesn’t have to deal with it.
He calls old people and makes them go to war.
He cackles as they rush at guerillas with crutches.