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Previously
on Jambi... Hi
folks. I really wasn't planning on doing another recap for Jambi, but...
well, my scene got cut again in this episode, and I just feel the
need to keep my hand in the game, so here I am. Anyway, the last time we saw
the president, he was being tortured by Robin Williams in a North Korean
prison... |
 ...so
I'm telling Whoopi, what do you mean chocolate milk and Southern Comfort?
Don't you know that's exactly the mix that killed Janis Joplin. Oh lord,
won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz, I'm drunk as a skunk and I'm wearing
depends, I try PLOP! Janis Janis, speak to me girlfriend! And
Whoopi, whoaaa, she just looks at me blankly like duhhh and says, I don't
know man, I think it was the smack and then the crazy bitch smacks me.
Chocolate milk is coming out my nose... |
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I
sure wouldn't want to be in the president's shoes, that's for sure! And as
for the acting president, well, he's got Jambi under his thumb. Everything
is locked up tight and outta sight! |
 Condi,
you're on funeral duty. The vice-chancellor of Yemen recently lost his
cousin Vjeklavak. Pack your bags. Turd Blossom, take a couple weeks off.
Don, ship Reese and that pesky Peewee off to North Korea - the president
will never be able to deliver decent magic without them. |
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Those
two can drive a hard bargain. |
 Well,
I'm sorry Mister Dictator. I guess you'll just have to kill us, if that's
how you feel about it. I told you my going rate, and I'm not going to work
for one penny less. |
 Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!!!!
You have broken my spirit, American dogs. Fifteen mirrion dorrars it is. |
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Tonight's Episode: Deus ex Machina |
 ...to
think there’s any kind of comparison between the behavior of the United
States of America and the action of Islamic extremists who kill innocent
women and children to achieve an objective. The Supreme Court has, to krove,
from tsnow, subj funny genie joke. Remind you of anyone? This guy
walks into a pub one day along with a big blue guy, and he orders two
martinis. As the bartender watches, he pulls out a tiny piano and sets in on
the bar. Bartender doesn't say a thing, but... |
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Rove!!! |
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What
the fuck is going on? |
 Uh... uh...
uh... |
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...well,
he's my personal Genie, but between you and me, he's just a little bit
incompetent. So the bartender says 'Wow, do you think he could grant me a
wish?' The guy scratches his head and... |
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Uh, Tony
emailed me that joke this morning, and I guess it somehow got scanned into
the teleprompter notes. Mea culpa, Mister Cheney. |
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...so
the Genie winks, and all of a sudden the place is filled up with a million
squawking ducks. They're knocking over drinks, there's duck shit
everywhere... |
 This
isn't going to play well in the heartland. |
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It's
Rove's fault for not paying more attention to his work. Jambi is just doing
what I told him to do - just read whatever the hell the teleprompter says.
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...and
the guy says 'I know exactly what you mean. I never wished for a ten inch
pianist'. |
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 Just
call me Boy Genius! |
half a world away... Okay Mister President, we've been working on this for two weeks now. Are you ready to try for today's wish? |
 I
sure am, Peewee. I've been working real real hard on my concentration. I
just know I'm gonna get it right today. |
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Okay, then, here goes... I wish I had a pepperoni pizza. |
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Mmm...
little chant, okay? Mekka lekka what's to eatza, bring Peewee a slice of
pizza... Trying here. Concentrating real hard... Mmmm.... |
 =POOF= |
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Eww,
groady. What is that thing? |
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Hey,
give me a break here. That looks kind of like a pizza. |
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Does
not. |
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Come
on, it's got a crust and everything. |
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What
are we going to do, Peewee. We're going to get sued for breach of contract
if the president isn't able to produce pretty soon. |
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What?
You're getting paid to train me? I thought you were trying to get me ready
to take on Jambi. |
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We're
definitely here to help you, Mister President, but there's no reason we
can't get a decent payday out of it at the same time. |
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I
guess that's perfectly understandable. But do you... |
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Herro,
American dogs. Are you ready yet to do my bidding? |
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Oh,
hi Mister Jong... Lovely day, isn't it? |
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I
think it would be a rovery day for a wish, don't you agree? |
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I
ain't gonna give you an atomic bomb, no matter how hard you wish, ya big
creep. |
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I
arready have arr the atomic bombs I need. What I need is a NBA team. I
want the Rakers. |
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We're
kind of not ready for that yet, Mister Jong. We're working our way up to the
more difficult wishes, and a basketball team is out of our range at the
moment. |
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Would
you care for a slice of pizza? |
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Are
you trying to kirr me? That rooks rike crap. I give you 48 more hours to
furfirr your obrigations, or erse the horriber torture commences. |
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meanwhile in Cuba... mmpfff... mmpfff... |
 Hello,
Laura. My, you seem to have gotten yourself into quite a pickle. Here, let
me get that ball gag for you. |
 Thank
you, Jesus. |
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Don't
mention it. Usually I try not to get too involved in this sort of day to day
human affairs, but something big is going down - a Third Awakening. Serious
stuff, I'm afraid, and your husband is the only one that can help. |
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Ha.
George W Bush is a real son of a bitch. He went back on the bottle and back
on the blow and back to cheating on me and he sent me here to Guantanamo to
be tortured! |
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Listen
unto me, Laura, for you know not what is true. In reality, the man who you
thought was George W Bush was actually a six thousand year old Genie known
as Jambi who took over your husband's body with a Jambi Mind Meld. Now he is
in the services of the evil Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, who arranged
for you to be shipped to GITMO so you wouldn't be able to have Jambi
whacked. |
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Oh.
Now it all makes perfect sense. |
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Oh
no, not the Robin Williams room!