At NRO, Robert Ferrigno imagines a post-election meeting between Mahmoud Ahmadinejad and Lance:
Ahmadinejad held up a fist. "We currently have eight thousand centrifuges producing weapons-grade plutonium, and that's not counting the ones I can't tell you about." He raised one finger. "We train Hezbollah, which has killed thousands of Americans and Israelis." He raised another finger. "We supply upgraded IEDs to Iraqi freedom fighters to kill your countrymen." He raised a third finger. "We've promised to wipe Israel off the map." A fourth finger. "And Obama considers us no threat? How dare he?"
"I never thought of it that way. He's totally disrespecting you, dude."
"You understand, Lance. Try telling that to the Grand Ayatollah, see where that gets you."
"Someplace bad I bet, right?"
"Your new president is a creation of the CIA," said Ahmadinejad, expansive now. He stretched out his slippered feet, tugged at his wispy beard. "Obama pretends to be the naïf with the glittering smile, the schoolmarm asking children not to run in the hall: Let's talk things over. Let's turn the thermostat down. Let's share your toys. Let's be friends."
"Won't you be my neighbor?" sing-songed Lance.
Def worth reading the whole thing.