President Donald Trump fired former FBI director James Comey. Picture / AP
Deep-cover surveillance from agents in the field confirm reports that the White House has been infiltrated by a great flaming pile of excrement.
It appears to spend much of its time blundering around the rooms looking for light switches. In the end, it gives up and flies to Florida for the weekend.
Agents are also investigating its links with Russia.
"It won't like us moseying around," said one of our operatives who I debriefed in the Oval Office on Sunday.
"It won't notice," I said, and lit a cigar.
"There's no smoking in the White House," said one of the agents.
"It won't notice," I said.
"It's not stupid. It's got a brain, you know."
I said, "Really? I hadn't noticed."
A cable from our agent in New Zealand confirms reports that its government really is locked in a court battle with rap entertainer Eminem.
It appears that government lawyers wearing long black gowns are quietly listening in court to songs including Justin Bieber's Where Are You Now, Summer Nights from Grease, Locked Out Of Heaven by Bruno Mars, and Mr Eminem's Lose Yourself.
The view of the agency is that the only song to have lasting merit is surely Summer Nights from the Grease soundtrack.
However, it appears our agent's need to maintain a low-profile has been compromised.
I said to her, "Did you really have to pose nude on top of a mountain?"
She said, "It was my way of showing respect to the Maori people of New Zealand, even though they are not indigenous."
"Well," I said, "with luck, no one will notice."
I was giving a pep talk to staff when someone handed me a letter with the seal of the great flaming pile of excrement. I opened it up, and it read, "You're terminated."
I laughed, and said, "That's a good prank!"
No one said anything.
"Okay," I said, "which one of you did this? Don't worry. I can take a joke."
No one said anything.
"You guys crack me up," I said.
Two armed military policemen arrived and escorted me out of the building.
"Love the outfits," I said, and winked.
They drove me to a swamp and threw me in it.
"Classic," I laughed.
Then they drained it, and I got sucked into a hose.
I travelled down its dark length until I bumped into something. A voice said, "Ow."
I said, "Who's that?"
"Former national security adviser Lt General Mike Flynn," he said. "And this is former acting deputy attorney general, Sally Yates."
"Hello," I said.
"We've been expecting you," Yates said.
"Classic," I laughed.
"This isn't much fun," I said.
"It gets better," said Flynn.
"There's always someone new," said Yates.
Acting FBI director Andrew G. McCabe appeared before a Senate Intelligence Committee hearing and said the agency would resist any attempt to influence or hobble its investigation into the great flaming pile of excrement's links with Russia.
"Simply put," he said, "you cannot stop the men and women of the FBI from doing the right thing."
Yates said, "Told you."
Flynn said, "You better make room."
Dominique Pelicot had already confessed to the crimes.