Just As Soon As Valerie Plame Gets Back From her Covert Trip To Djbouti, I'm Going To Clear Up This Misunderstanding
By Karl Rove,
First of all, I just got off the phone with Bob Novak. Now he knows he's not coming over to my house anymore. And speaking of phones, it's a good thing I have caller ID, or I'd be a 24-7 landline midwife for that rotund Matt Cooper, who keeps calling my house like I'm sitting a pound of aromatic Costa-Rican chronic or something.
It feels good to finally be off the legal hook. Now, I have to somehow muster the internal fortitude to approach the Whitehouse lawn with president Bush yet still resist the overwhelming urge to find Helen Thomas and have her reassigned to accosting billy goats from under a bridge. I understand she may have eaten another reporter in a fit of angst when it was announced I would not be indicted. I also understand that her epiglottis may have shredded Terry Moran in to mulch. This is all speculation, of course, and I won't know for sure until the DNA comes back.
What's most important here is to remember that Valerie Plame is a secret agent whose name should forvever be cloaked in obscurity. However her non-covert, seditious junket came about, I feel personally bad that she was forced to pose for Vanity Fair like that. That must have been grueling for her and Joe, and I can feel the very weight of the world evaporating off the page every time I see that picture.
That's why she's getting a hug from me, the moment she steps off flight 765 from Djbouti in conclusion of her latest secret mission. She needs to know we still love her. I know I do.
Mr. Right has more here, with a little help from Don McClean