"Crapping our pants with musketballs of joy"

Jesus, please just let me post this before I crap my own pants with musketballs of jocularity:

Mitt Romney: That jaw! Those FAA-approved shoulders! So tall! So presidential-looking! And thank goodness someone's willing to stand up to the arrogant, know-it-all truth and insist that Saddam rejected IAEA inspectors. Can we double Guantanamo now, daddy?

Rudy Giuliani: Tough! Steely! Take-charge hero of 9/11! He'd be a great hunter if he hunted! Messy divorces? Bernie Kerik? Megalomania? Water under the bridge. And if you make Lieberman your veep we may crap our pants with musketballs of joy. Now, tell us more about Iran nuke plans, daddy!

John McCain: Maverick's hittin' his stride? Straight Talk Express back on the tracks? Answer to immigration question at last debate puts him in driver's seat? Even nuke-ier on Iran than the cross-dresser? New slogan---"Iraq 4evuh, my friends"---has edgy, youthful ring to it. Can we sit on your lap and do pony rides, Granddad?

Sam Brownback: A sweet man who's simply getting overshadowed by his wealthier rivals. But he's a shoe-in to head the new Department of Womb Management. ("Ya keeps the baby or ya gets the lash!")

Mike Huckabee: Started off strong by scaring the fur off the Great Orange Satan's hindquarters, and had us in stitches by attributing 110lb weight loss to a stay at "a concentration camp held by the Democrat Party of Arkansas." Then, to nation's horror, turned heretic by forgetting Ronald Reagan's birthday. No more funds, governor, 'til you make Simi Valley pilgrimage and atone.

Tommy Thompson: Hate to break it to ya, son, but if you can’t control your bowels, you can't control the country.

Fred Thompson: Christ is risen.