With the memory of Stephen Colbert's withering critique of President Bush and the complacent press corps at the 2006 White House Correspondents Dinner still fresh, the organizers have opted for a safer choice this year -- impressionist Rich Little.

The following is an advance transcript of the April 21, 2007, event. Parental discretion is advised.

Rich Little, dressed in a black tuxedo, approaches the dais. Bowing modestly, he acknowledges the applause and points to people he knows in the crowd.

Sitting a few feet away, Karl Rove gives him a thumbs-up. Rich Little smiles. He loves being surrounded by politicians and celebrities who want to be journalists and journalists who want to be celebrities. This is their night to shine.

The C-SPAN camera pans the crowd. Henry Kissinger is already asleep, so the camera lingers longer than necessary over tennis ace Anna Kournikova, who is discreetly applying makeup.

Mr. Little screws up his face into a Nixonian grimace while thrusting his arms into the air. His fingers form a peace sign.

The assorted media and political glitterati who sat on their hands during Stephen Colbert's routine the previous year laugh hysterically.

This is in keeping with the consensus that making fun of unpopular dead presidents is acceptable. Only living presidents of both parties that can expect excessive deference.

Mr. Little puckers his lips and folds his arms across his chest, relaxing his Nixonian mask a bit. "And now, right here on our stage," he says affecting a nasally voice, "we have a really big shew for you tonight."

White House correspondents invested in protecting the status quo laugh uproariously. Making fun of dead celebrities like Ed Sullivan is funny.

"It's an honor to be here, ladies and gentlemen," Mr. Little says switching to a voice that sounds remarkably like that of President Bush's father.

"Not going to make fun of my son. Wouldn't be prudent. Heh-heh-heh!"

Half of the Washington press corps stands up and applauds like trained seals. Actor Bruce Willis stands and puts two fingers in his mouth to make a long, sustained whistle of appreciation. The Rev. Al Sharpton looks at his watch and again at the nearest exit.

Tears of joy roll down Fox News comedian Dennis Miller's cheeks. Dr. Phil glares at all the celebrities whose lifestyles he doesn't approve of.

Mr. Little smiles and makes the great leap from imitating the father to imitating the son: "Say, where are those WMDs?"

The audience laughs until its ribs hurt at Mr. Little's imitation of George W. Bush. "They have to be around here somewhere," he says, strolling from the podium to Condoleezza Rice's chair a few feet away.

"Do you know where the WMDs are, Condi?" The secretary of state is too weak from laughter to respond.

"How 'bout you, Karl? I gotta get my approval ratings up. Do you know where the weapons of mass destruction are? They gotta be around somewhere."

Karl Rove shakes his head and slaps his thighs like he's riding a horse. He falls out of his chair. It takes nearly a minute for the room to regain its composure.

Rich Little chuckles with self-satisfaction. He sees Colorado congressman Tom Tancredo taking pictures of people in the audience with his cell phone.

Summoning the voice of Howard Cosell, Mr. Little points to Antonio Villaraigosa, the mayor of Los Angeles.

"Hey, Tom Tancredo. The man you're looking for is over there trying to look American. Quick, check his papers. He looks foreign to me."

Columnist Ann Coulter has a stroke while laughing, falling face first into the single lettuce leaf she's been munching on all evening. Her date, Hermann Goering III, snarls at her weakness. George Clooney, sitting two tables away, smiles with approval.

The C-SPAN camera scans the room. Henry Kissinger is still asleep, but Vanity Fair columnist Christopher Hitchens has pulled a chair next to his table. He stares with undisguised revulsion at the snoring diplomat. He can't take his eyes from him. He orders another whiskey sour from a passing waiter.

Rich Little smacks his lips and pulls a cigar and a pair of round glasses from his jacket pocket. He smooths his hair back and balances the cigar between the index and middle fingers of his right hand in a spot-on imitation of George Burns.

"So, like I was telling George Bush the other day when he was praying to me. I said, 'Listen, George. Only one of us can be God. Please, let me be God today -- capisce?'"

The camera catches Ralph Nader sitting at a table by himself mouthing the words "I don't get it" while everyone laughs.

Tim Russert snorts maniacally. Wolf Blitzer, sitting at a nearby table, studies the way his rival laughs and makes a stab at it himself.

Anderson Cooper stands to stretch for a few seconds so that his lithe figure can be seen in profile from all angles.

Mr. Little ratchets up his impressions by going nuclear with his Steve "Wild and Crazy Guy" Martin routine before taking a lollipop out of his pocket to lick.

"Who loves you, baby?" Mr. Little says with a swagger, bringing the house down.

Traditionally, Rich Little's Telly Savalas as Kojak impression signals that he's about to embark on the semi-poignant part of the show.

Members of the audience straighten their chairs as coughing fits prompted by laughter begin to fade.

"Ever wonder why they sterilize needles for lethal injections?" Mr. Little asks, channeling "60 Minutes" commentator Andy Rooney.

Alex Trebek applauds loudly. Clay Aiken and John Negroponte slap their tables in agreement. Indianapolis Colts quarterback Peyton Manning, still basking in the glow of his team's masterful Super Bowl victory over the Chicago Bears, autographs a stack of photographs for the Washington elite while only half listening to the comedian.

"This little war is costing us $2 billion a what? I forget, a day, a week, a minute? It's the kind of money I can't even imagine," Mr. Little says, refining his Andy Rooney imitation by the second. The intensity of the laughter drops precipitously.

Still speaking as Andy Rooney, Rich Little turns and points an accusatory finger at the guest of honor.

"President Bush should stand up here in front of us and on television and do the hardest thing of all for any president to do. Tell us the truth. He should say, 'My fellow Americans, there's something I have to tell you. You trusted me to be your leader and I thought I was doing the right thing when we went into Iraq.' "

The ballroom falls silent. Rich Little clears his throat and plows on with his Andy Rooney imitation.

" 'Well, I hate to admit it, but I was wrong. I'm sorry, but we never should have gone in and now we should get out.' "

Barack Obama stands and applauds, followed by Clooney and MSNBC's Keith Olbermann. They are the only ones to do so out of the hundreds gathered in the room.

Afraid she'd be outmaneuvered by her primary rival again, Hillary Rodham Clinton tries to join them, but her chief political strategist restrains her, forcing her back into her seat.

Convinced that he is losing the audience, Mr. Little tries to redeem the routine by making the swipes as Andy Rooney bipartisan:

"Well, I'm not holding my breath until President Bush says that because I've never heard him admit he was wrong about anything. It isn't something presidents do," he says, looking out over the audience.

"I don't recall hearing Bill Clinton or Jimmy Carter admitting they were wrong either."

There is a smattering of applause in the hall, most of it originating from the Fox News table. Appetites are beginning to wane.

Rich Little looks around nervously. He is desperate to recover his momentum. Hunching his shoulders, he sneers before shouting, "Hey, hockey pucks. Don't be so serious. It's only politics."

The audience is relieved to hear the voice of "Mr. Warmth," Don Rickles, coming from Mr. Little. Tepid applause quickly grows more enthusiastic.

"I see Barack Hussein Obama is in the audience. Good to see you, Osama. I'm especially glad to see your lovely African-American wife by your side," he says, pinching his face to look more like Rickles and making gang signs with his fingers.

"Just think, if you had married a white woman, you wouldn't be a Democratic front-runner. True, you'd be running from something -- especially in the South -- but you wouldn't be a front-runner. Know what I mean?"

Chris Matthews' laugh can be heard above everyone else's as the audience rebounds in its affection for Rich Little.

"And I see Gov. Bill Richardson, the Mexican-American presidential candidate is also here today," he says cackling.

"Now, I say this from the bottom of my heart: I'll vote for a woman with thick ankles and a black man with big ears before I vote for half a Mexican. Get out of the race, Bill. While you're at it, get out of my country."

The room erupts with laughter again. Rich Little is on a roll. Sean Hannity stands and bows as if to say "I'm not worthy." Morgan Fairchild mouths the words "I love you" to Mr. Little while blowing him a kiss.

"I see the stars and producers of '24' were able to make it tonight," Mr. Little as Rickles says. "Glad you're on our side in the war against terror. So far, you've managed to kill thousands of innocent people this season alone. You've also depicted torture as an effective interrogation tool. Keep this up and we'll have to get you a job with the Bush national security team."

Silence. From the back of the hall, a lone cricket can be heard. Rich Little swallows hard. David Beckham and Posh Spice stare down at their plates.

Members of the cast of "Grey's Anatomy" begin leaving, but they don't tell co-star Isaiah Washington, who has gone to the men's room to practice not insulting homosexuals.

Rich Little musses his hair and hastily applies a fake mustache so that he looks like one of Sacha Baron Cohen's characters.

"Good evening, my name is Borat," he says. "I've come to make sexy time with Washington power brokers and celebrities."

There are cheers and whoops of approval.

"It is my privilege to celebrate this president, 'cause we're not so different, he and I. We both get it. Guys like us, we're not some braniacs on the nerd patrol. We're not members of the 'factinista.' We go straight to the gut. Right, sir?" Rich Little says.

The guest of honor applauds. Everyone laughs.

"That's where the truth lies, right down here in the gut. Do you know you have more nerve endings in your gut than you have in your head" You can look it up. Now, I know some of you are going to say, 'I did look it up, and that's not true.' That's because you looked it up in a book. Next time, look it up in your gut. My gut tells me that's how our nervous system works."

The audience roars with laughter. Rich Little is emboldened by the reaction. "And that's what 'truthiness' is all about."

Rich Little waves to the audience and walks triumphantly back to his seat. He passes the commander in chief, who offers his hand. That's when Mr. Little gets a good look at him.

"Wait a minute," Mr. Little whispers to the man shaking hands with him. "You're not President Bush. You're that second-rate Bush impersonator Steve Bridges. You did the Bush twin routine with him last year. I can smell a fake from a hundred miles away."

Steve Bridges winks. "Unless you want to end up in Gitmo, let this be our little secret, Rich," he says. "It's a national security thing. Laura's real, though."

The headlines the next day spell out official Washington's verdict:

"Rich Little Much Funnier and More Relevant than Stephen Colbert."

"No Traces of Vicious Humor in Little's Affectionate Act."

"Singe-But-Don't-Burn Humor Returns to Press Dinner."

Tony Norman's column appears exclusively on post-gazette.com on Tuesdays and on Page 2 and the Web site on Fridays.

©2007 Pittsburgh Post-Gazette

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