Poker at Mushy's
 

Rush:   Any change?

Buchanan: No change - he just sits there and drools.

Helms: He drools more than I do...

Rush:   Is he responsive at all?

Buchanan: Well, he just says "Indian," but we don't know if
                "Indian" means "yes" or "no." We have to learn more.

Rush:   That's all he can say?

Helms: The doctor said his brain was damaged.
           The doctor says he's got the brain of Tori Spelling.

Rush:   How badly was he hurt?

Buchanan: Well, his brain was without blood for ten minutes.

Quayle:  I've had that.

Helms: They drilled holes in his brain to let it swell.

Quayle:  I've had that, too.

Rush:   So, what's the bottom line?

Helms: People with those injuries often lose their mind.

Quayle:

Rush: So, what do we do about Ralph Reed?
         Should we report this to the police?

Quayle: Nooooo! I'm a-scared.
           What if Mister Reed finds out?

Rush: But it's bound to come out.
         The doctors say D'Amato has the brain of Jim Inhofe. (R-Pissquick)
         People will notice.

Buchanan: How?

All:    (Laughs)

Buchanan: I'm serious. When D'Amato draws a blank on the floor
                of the Senate, nobody notices a thing.

Rush:   Fuck him, then.
           Blood under the bridge.
           Let's play poker.

D'Amato: ...Indian!

Quayle:  He talked!

Slappy: Danny, you're smarter than D'Amato right now.

Quayle: What?

Helms: Hey, Stymie, how about a song?

Slappy: Excuse me?

Helms: How 'bout you singing "Mammy" for us?

Slappy: Hey, Fuck You, Helms, you racist prick!

Helms: Ooooooh... Look at Quota-boy, getting his back up!

Slappy: Who you calling boy?

Helms: I'm calling YOU that, shit-for-brains.
           You think you got that job because you were qualified?
           Don't make me laugh!!

Slappy: This is a hi-tech lynching.

Helms: Hi-tech lynching?
           I said you had shit-for-brains.
           How is that hi-tech?

Rush:   We need to relieve the tension in this room.

Quayle: I got a joke! I got a joke!!

Rush:   Danny, your jokes always blow.

Quayle: I'll have you know I toured the comedy circuit.

Rush:   And you bombed out because your jokes aren't funny.

Quayle: This one is! This one is!

Buchanan: Let's give him another chance.

Quayle: OK, OK, ready?
            Are you ready for my funny joke?
            Are you ready?
            Are you ready?

Rush:   TELL us the goddamn joke, already.

Quayle: What joke?

Rush: You moron, the joke you said was so funny!

Quayle: Oh, THAT one, OK.
            What do you call a dog with steel balls and no back legs?

Slappy: We give up.

Quayle: Sparky!

All:      (groans)

Rush:   See?
           Your jokes are always terrible.

Slappy: I ain't cleaning this up.

Rush:   Someone's at the door.

D'Amato: Indian!!!! .....Indian!!!!

Rush:   Calm down, Fonz.
           He's afraid it's the Jesus Twins and Ralph Reed,
           coming back to beat his fucking brains in again.
           (peeking out)
           It's OK, it's just B-1 Bob.
 

All:     Howdy, Bob!

Dornan: Goddammit, I'm so fucking mad I could shit.

Buchanan: I heard that about you.
               What's with the parrot on your shoulder?

Dornan: That's why I'm so PISSED!

Slappy: You're pissed about a parrot on your shoulder?

Dornan: It's crazy - You won't believe it...
            Go ahead - ask the parrot a question about politics.

Helms:  What?

Dornan: Ask the goddamn parrot a question about politics.

Rush:   A question about politics?

Dornan: Yes, anything about politics.

Helms:  I have a question for the parrot.
            Will Dan Quayle run for President in the year 2000?

Parrot:  AwwwwwkkK! Quayle's a fucking moron - AwwwwwkkK!

All:    (Laughs)

Rush:   B-1, your parrot hates Spudboy? ..I..I mean Quayle?
           Why does he say that?

Dornan:  I'll be go-to-fucking-hell if I know.

Slappy:  Prettyboy, Prettyboy - I have a question:
            Will a black man ever be president of America?

Parrot:   AwwwwwkkK! Stupid nigger, dumb nigger. AwwwwwkK!

Rush:   Bob - you've got a problem, here. It's one thing
           to say that Dan Quayle's a fucking moron...

Quayle:  Why?

Rush:   But you can't have a parrot that uses the "N" word.

Dornan: It's not my fault. I just bought this parrot.
            The former owner said the parrot was a non-stop party!
            He said the parrot was the "perfect companion."

Buchanan: You just bought it, B-1?
                Who sold you that parrot?

Dornan: Why, I got it from Rep. Armey.

Rush:   Dick, the Foul-Mouthed Texan?
           No wonder.
           He's farther to the right than Senator Helms, here.

Helms: I'll have to agree. Dick Armey is so far to the right,
           at the IHOP he eats nothing but Luftwaffles.

D'Amato:  Indian!!!

Rush:   B-1, I think I should be frank with you...

Parrot:  AwwwwwkkK! Barney Frank, stupid fag, Barney fag.

Buchanan: B-1, ....you may want to have that parrot for dinner.

Dornan: Eat the parrot? That's not fair.
             It's not the parrot's fault.
             He....he came from a bad home!

All:     (laughs)

Dornan: The parrot only did what came naturally to him,
             because of the factors of his environment.
             It's not his fault!

Slappy:  How is the parrot with your wife and other women?

Parrot:  AwwkkK! Women bitch, stupid bitch... AawwwwkK!

Dornan:  ...not very well...
             You have a point, Rush.

Parrot:  AwwwkkK! Lying, Nazi Whore! Nazi Whore! AwwwkkK!

Rush:   That's one dead fucking bird.

Helms:  That racist parrot has to be executed.

Slappy: That sounds funny, coming from YOU, Caveman.

Helms:  Huh? You want some of me, boy?

Slappy: Who you calling "Boy," Grandpa?

Helms: Who YOU calling "Grandpa," boy?

Dornan: Can we get back to the parrot?
            What should I do?
            He's a cute and colorful son-of-a-bitch.
            ...and it's not his fault!

Rush:   Bob, look at your situation:
           You bought a parrot from Dick, the Foul-Mouthed Texan.
           If a reporter hears that bird talk, the Republican Party
           could undergo great harm.

Quayle: How?

Rush:   Shut up, Quayle. We don't need to hear from a moron.

Parrot:   AwwwwkkK! Quayle's a fucking moron! Quayle's a moron.

Quayle: I oughta kill that damn parrot.

Slappy: You up for a big fight like that, Danny?

Quayle: Oh, listen to Quota-boy... the "qualfied negro.."

Slappy: I'm smart enough to spell potato, white bread...

Quayle: I may be dumber than spoiled meat, but nobody has a picture
            of me in a bright red dress and a yellow sombrero with
            dingleballs hanging from it, Clarence!

All:      OOOooooooooohhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

Parrot:  AwwkkK! Dumb nigger, dumb nigger. AwwwwkkK!

Slappy:  I agree with the moron.
            That bird must die!

Dornan: It's not the bird's fault!
            Dick the Foul-Mouthed Texan is to blame!

Rush:    B-1, you sound like a liberal.

Parrot:  AwwwkkK! Liberal devils, destroy, destroy. AwwwwkkK!

Dornan: The parrot's crime is learning what he was taught?
             How can it be the parrot's fault?

Buchanan: As arguments go, that's very poor.

Parrot:   AwwwkkK! Fuck the poor! Fuck the poor! AwwkkK!

Rush:   That's it. The bird's gotta go.
           We're in enough trouble with women and minorities...

Dornan:  I'm the only military man in this goddamn room!!!
             All you other faggots were too yellow to fight!!!
            ...and you call yourselves Republicans?

Parrot:  AwwwkkK! Cowardly Yellow Republicans, AaaaakkK!

(suddenly)

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"

Quayle sees him first...

Quayle: Omigod, Omigod

Slappy: Danny, you're...
            Quayle's pissing in his chair!

Quayle: I'm a-scared!

D'Amato: Indian!! Indian!!

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"

Buchanan: What the hell is that?

Helms: Why.. It sounds like...
           What the -- .......
            Praise God and Jefferson Davis.

Odd, Echo-Voice: "~~~stop fighting~~" "~~stop fighting~~"

Rush: Is that what...
         Is that WHO I think it is?

Helms: It's him.

Buchanan: Is it...
                Is it.... ... you, Sir?

Nixon: "~~~Yes~~It's me~~~"

Rush: Raise my taxes!
         Raise 'em as fucking high as you want.
 
Buchanan: But...but... I..

Quayle: First time I ever saw Buchanan speechless.

Slappy: Spudboy, do you even know who that is?

Quayle: Sure, it's Richard Nixon.
            So what?

Parrot: AwwwkkK! Trickey Dick, crooked Dick AwwwkkkK!

Slappy: Nixon's dead, moron.

Quayle: ...and..?
            ...OH! OH! OH!
           That's creepy!
           That's creepy!
            I'm a-scared!

Buchanan: Sir, how.. wha.. why are you here?

Nixon: We've got work to do for 2000.
           I'm baaaaaaack!