“Hey, Tony?”

“Good morning Mr. President”

“You know that account I opened for you in the Cayman Islands to make it easier on you to join us in our war on terror? Well how would like another ten mil in there?”

“What do you want this time?”

“Hey! Nothing much. Just a few more radars and to stick missile bases all over your fine country”

“I don’t know Mr. President. Remember the trouble we had with the cruise missile bases a while back?”

“OK, then. Twenty mil. And just go on about the terror threat. That’ll scare your people.”

“But if you start shooting down nuclear missiles over our country, we’ll suffer from apalling radiation fallout.”

“Naw. My guys tell me that with the speed of the missiles, the shit will travel a bit before it hits the ground. It’ll land in that country beside you.”

“You mean Ireland?”

“Yeah. That’s the place. I knew it started with IR. Any country who’s name starts with IR is a terrorist treat. Iraq. Iran. Ireland. They’re all the same. Serve the bastards right for bitching about our rendition flights through Shannon. And that leader of theirs is a right motherf*cker. He thinks that by giving me a bowl full of weed on Paddy’s Day that we’ll all be pals. F*ck him.”

“I don’t know, Mr. President. The people here are getting a bit upset about the war. We are even having to send a prince over there because we are running out of troops. The Queen is not happy, and she is giving me a lot of grief.”

“Thirty mil and a photo of you on the steps of Air Force One?”

“It’s a deal. Mr President.”