Our names are Boston and Chad and we're now officially orphans. We're going to the White House, woo-hoo. We  want to be with Sasha because she's really pretty. We had two gay dads, and boy let me tell you, one of them--we'll call him Dracula--he was sure mean; he was so mean he backed Proposition 8. He's a self-hater. Yeah, a real hater. Now that he did that our other gay dad kicked him out of the house and lost his job the same day. Since my mean gay dad had all the money, we're being put up for adoption. Yeah, our dad (the nice one) said we can sleep with the President and his wife in their big beds. Yeah, he's right and our mean dad told us to poop all over...no, he didn't say poop. He said shit all over the goddamn White House, the Oval office, in Malia's shoes-EVERYWHERE. He said we were even two gay dogs and that that would be a bad influence on other dogs. He said this while he was fixing our breakfast eggs fried in vinegar and tequila. He said that'd do the job faster. One day he just lookeed at us and said: "Yeah, that's right we do it just like you guys do it." He hurt our feelings real bad that day, cuz he told us that only one puppy was going home with the Obama's. Our sweet gay dad cries a lot now. He's lost his job, his ugly boyfriend that's our dad, and now we have to go to the White House. We remind him we'll go on Air Force One all the time and our mean dad says,"tear it up, bite the pilots." Yeah, Chad and I realize he's evil, an ugly troll, an urchin from hell, a stupid miscreant. We're happy. Our new Dad Mr.Obama is coming to pick us up on Monday after he visits that other guy. Yeah, so, we'll tell you how it goes. So long.

   Our names are Geneva and Montana. Our Mom used to belong to Leona Helmsely, but she never liked our Mom, she hid her in the basement. Yeah, that's cuz our Mom was onto Leona. Our Mom rocked. She caught Leona  staring at her gardener while holding that creature, that ugly dog she carried around like a sack of potatoes right up against those big ugly lips. What was her name? I don't know, but I know Leona had the stinkiest breath anyone could ever have. Yeah, that's right. Remember when we were born and she was cussing like she knew she'd lose her tongue the next day? Well she held me up and I could smell her breath; it was kinda like moldy cheese and a poopy bathroom. You've got a good memory. Remember how her titties used to sag and she'd use the ugly little dog to cover them up? Oh, gross. You know she kept our Mom--who rocks, God rest her soul-- in a basement cuz she didn't want to spend money extra money on food that she thought she'd have to buy if our Mom got her proper exercise. Anyway, we love Malia. But we realy love Mr.President, ooh aahh those tobacco stained lips. Yum Yum. Yeah, we can't wait to lick 'em. And guess what? YES WE CAN. Move over Leona, you ugly fart. Yeah, that's right. Oh, Montana I can't wait to howl 'Happy Birthday Mr. President'. Yeah, Maybe Mrs. Obama will lend you a bustier. Yeah, work it, work it baby.

From Boston, Chad, Geneva and Montana: "Please write to Mr. President. Please tell him not to break up our families. There's room in that big beautiful house for four loving puppies. Write him. Please. Write him now. And from Boston: "To my dumb ass mean dad: By the way I never liked your mother. "

In Unison: "Woof Woof.  First Puppies in da house."