It’s no secret that I like dressing in women’s clothing. At least now it’s not. But you can’t wear a bra out in public if you’re a man, so on Memorial Day I put on normal clothes and went to the National Zoo with my girlfriend.

On the way there we got lost because I was navigating and I kept thinking about that cute little number I had seen in the new Macy’s catalog. So we were driving down a neighborhood street in D.C. and we pulled up to a group of people to ask for directions. Just as our vehicle passed in front of a black SUV, I noticed a familiar face: Donald Rumsfeld was standing in the driveway!*

In fact, we were so close to Donald Rumsfeld that if I hated him, and I knew he was going to be there at that exact instant, and I had a gun in the glovebox, I could’ve almost opened the glovebox before being killed instantly by his secret servicemen.

There was a woman in a sun dress and a man dressed in a black suit on the near side of the car, so we stopped and asked them how to get to the zoo. Because of the squiggly earpiece coming out of his head, I guessed that the man was probably a secret service agent; I was sure of it when he pulled out his nine-milli’ and pressed the weapon firmly to my skull. I listened intently while he gave us directions.

When he had put his gun away I thanked him for not painting my girlfriend with my brain, and we drove off.

Then we went to the zoo and the pandas didn’t have sex because either they were too scared since all the people were staring at them, or they didn’t like each other, or because there was no mood music playing in the background to instigate hot panda love.

*This actually was the real Donald Rumsfeld, not just a cardboard cut-out used as a decoy for terrorists.