Under the Covers, Conservative-Style

Two new books for the kiddies are hitting stores-one that will help get them laid, and another to turn those one-night-stand spawn into good little conservatives.

First up is the long-awaited The O'Reilly Factor for Kids. Those with strong visual imaginations will doubtless be pleased to learn that O'Reilly (as he frequently refers to himself) didn't get laid until he was twenty.

But it's about the children, and O'Reilly gives spin-free lessons about teenage sex, drugs, and what kind of junior high school girls turns him on. The Long Island native spills the beans on where to find some promising prospects. "At a very upscale high school near my house, girls are teased mercilessly if they haven't had sex." Where's the map, man?

Unfortunately, he's a bit shy on what exactly to do with these girls once you've found them. "No matter how often you have sex right now, no matter how ingeniously you position yourselves, you are years away from realizing your true emotions in this area." We skimmed all 196 pages? no pictures of those ingenious positions.

But we did learn what turns on O'Reilly: "When I was in junior high, we thought girls looked sexy in pink mohair sweaters, long tight skirts and little white ankle socks." Us too.

On drugs, he preaches moderation: "Like a brain surgeon who drinks a martini when he's not on call, the successful kids in your school may smoke pot on occasion, but they're not stoners." As to stoners, O'Reilly's got the answer. "Most kids who smoke marijuana say they can stop anytime. Really? Stop right now." Any questions?

After getting stoned and picking up the easy girls near the O'Reilly house, you and your favorite little accident will no doubt be in need of Help! Mom! There are Liberals Under My Bed!

Here's the story: Two brothers, who (just like us) "said their prayers at bedtime-sometimes a little fast if they were extra tired," hatch a plan to make money (just like us) to buy an expensive swing set (us too!).

With a portrait of the Gipper looking down on them, the boys' mom points to a lemon tree, whose lucrative lemons are in full bloom. The boys decide to sell lemonade, and even set aside money to help kids with no shoes, because nobody knows the pain of life without Air Jordans better than white boys in the suburbs.

The boys set up a lemonade stand somewhere in Liberaland, home of K-Marx, Spendbucks Coffee, Dean's Cream, the law firm of Duey Taxim and Howe, LLP, and, of course, the Ninth Circuit. Driving down the filth-ridden street is a limousine.

In case this doesn't get the point across, typical newspaper headlines in Liberaland read, "Sneeze and Gas Tax Extended" and "Toe Nail Sculpture Replaces Nativity."

The market for the young lemonade purveyors is tough. But with each cup selling for 25 cents, who can resist?

Once they start making some real money, though, the liberals come.

A red-cheeked Mayor Leach explains that taxes are "where you give the government half of your money so we can spend it better [because] we liberals know what is best for our shoeless children." He then makes off with a bag full of dough. Later, he brags on TV that he's purchased "three million, yes THREE MILLION dustpans for our shoeless children." Evidently lemonade sales had been brisk, indeed. The boys are confused, though: why would the mayor buy dustpans for shoeless children?

Because that's what liberals do, damnit.

Despite high tax rates, our heroes persevere. In fact, they're so thankful for the beautiful lemon tree that God had provided them that that they hang a picture of Jesus atop their stand. Right on!

Enter Mr. Fussman, a LCLU lawyer wearing an Abraham Lincoln-style top hat that doubtless conceals his devilish Jew horns. He's there to replace the offending son of God with a picture of a big toe, which "According to our research? is one of only two things that do not offend anyone." Want to know what the other is? (DeBrecht promises we'll find out in the sequel.) Jewboy-excuse me, Fussman-then grabs his "I [heart] Activist Judges" briefcase and heads off, gold watch chain and all, to a press conference, warning the boys "No praying here, either."

Just when it seems the liberals have done their worst, enter Congresswoman Clunkton, who pounds her fist and demands that two pieces of broccoli be sold with each cup, and then passes a law guaranteeing it. "'Be glad it's not lima beans, son,' the liberal glared at Tommy." Then the Senator from Taxachussetts legislates that only one spoon of sugar may be used per pitcher.

Higher taxes, more broccoli, less sugar and no Jesus. You know what this means. Lemonade is now $5. Customers are gone. A homeless man sleeps on the decaying stand. A spider sits in the lemonade pitcher, which is leaking mysterious green ooze. Dustpans are strewn everywhere. Broccoli is rotting on the sidewalk. And Jimmy Carter stands on a soap box, extending his arms in triumph, giving Liberaland a toothy grin.

Don't reach for the Kleenex yet. To quote Biggie Smalls, "It was all a dream." The boys wake up in their shared bedroom, safe under a cross and a picture of the Statue of Liberty.

"And off they went to start squeezing lemons, like the good little conservatives they were." Phew!

Doubtless children exposed to this book will grow up to be good conservatives, and not crazed, parent-hating nihilists.

While Katharine DeBrecht may be only a pen name, I do want to acknowledge World Ahead Publishing, and their fine printers in China.