Can two pampered party animals fit into a land more wasted then their Dad's brain.
Let's join them on the Road to Fallujah in an armor-plated BMW. In this case BMW stands for Brats Making Whoopee.
So now it's time to enter the torture chamber.
Barb: Yeah, no matter how drunk we got, we always have a ride home. How did
Dad do it back when he had a pulse?
Jenna: And these Moron's are sworn to secrecy. Just yell, evildoer and they are in
your lap. And their weapons never discharge prematurely. Look at all that sand,
we can have a great beach volleyball game.
Barb: What am I on a trip with Uncle Neal? You would actually need water to
have a beach.
Jenna: Up yours Beaitch, I'm not going to be your partner.
Barb: Ooh, I'm so hurt. You couldn't win if you had Diebold keeping score.
Jenna: Wow, look at all that rubble, is this where Tunisia hit
Barb: You really are stupid enough to be President, You would need an ocean to
have a Tunisia. That is Fallujah.
Jenna: Oh yeah, there's a sign. Welcome to Fallujah, the graveyard of Democracy.
Ooh, there will be a lot of vacationers.
Barb: Well it's better then Crawford. Where does Mapquest say we should be
going.
Jenna: At the fifth crater take a left.
Barb: Now how am I supposed to know what's a crater and what's a bunker. Oh
yeah, if they are alive it's a bunker. I bet we'll get free drinks when we tell them
we talked Daddy out of using the Bunker Busters.
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