Cold Cocked!

I was trimming the rhododendrons yesterday near the east side of the White House when Donald Rumsfeld came up to me and said, "Hey Lenny! You wanna play a game?"

"Sure, Mr. Donald."

"It's called "Cold Cock the Gardener.'"

When I woke up a couple hours later, I was lying flat on top of the smallest rhododendron. A 2x4 piece of wood was lying next to me, and it had blood and some of the hair from the top of my head on it. I don't like that game. Maybe one of these days I'll teach Mr. Donald how to play a game called "Cold Cock the Secretary of Defense." Maybe I just will.