As witnessed by Gonzo Journalist First Dog Bo:
We were somewhere inside the Oval Office when the drug of power began to take hold. b. Hussein sat slumped behind his great English mahogany-oak Resolute Desk, inebriated, his head balanced sideways on wads of cash stacked all around him, drooling long beads of satiated saliva on the silk-Kevlar desk blotter, a nearby neon sign flickering on and off:
The World Is Mine … The World Is Mine … The World Is Mine.
All around him, strewn on couches, lounging on chairs, balled like vipers into tight little rolls of writhing socialism were various members of his gang. They had unsavory names, one and all, like "Tax-Cheat" Timothy Geithner and Hilary “The Bitch” Clinton and Joe “Sixpack” Biden” and Rahm “Rahmbo” Emanuel and Janet “Top Cop” Napolitano and Robert “Ahhh!” “Gibbsy” Gibbs. Teleprompter stood off in the corner, alone and brooding, his power relay recharging. I sat silently at the president’s side, as I’d been instructed in obedience school, exercising every ounce of puppy restraint not to jump up and bite off the big ear jutting into the air like the Superdome.
It was the day after the Tea Party craze, when those loony Right-Wing Extremist Conservatives and Libertarians and Constitutionalists and Fed-the-Fuck-Up Americans, all 12 of them, if you believed CNN, shamelessly holding 2-year-old babies as props, screamed and foamed at the mouth and pleaded for their futile voices to be heard, loud and clear, as far away as about two blocks, again, if you believed CNN, about uncontrollable government spending and high taxation and general dickheadness toward freedom-loving people not smart enough to embrace the utopia of b. Husseinism.
The president, picking up his head, licked his lips: "Can somebody get me another straw? I need to do another line of this shredded cash?"
Gibbsy, uncoiling himself from the closest chair, hissed and handed the president a straw and tried to speak: "Ahhhh….ahhhh….ahhhhh."
b. Hussein: "That’s okay, Gibbsy, don’t strain yourself. Hey, Geithener. This is good shit! Too bad the American people can’t keep it in their wallets anymore, what with me stealing it and giving it to the poor and all!"
The Bitch: "Bring in the Fembots!"
Before making her announcement, she’d picked her head up from the lap of Biden, whose pants were crumpled down around his ankles.
b. Hussein: "Hilary! For crying out loud. Quit clowning around. Will you be serious for once?"
Sixpack: "Yeah, and hell! You didn’t even finish!"
b. Hussein: "Joe! You, too. We have serious work to do."
Sixpack: "Ja, mein Führer."
b. Hussein: "Rahmbo, what’s the SITREP" ... giggles … "I just LOVE this new lingo they have here" .... giggles some more … "What’s the SITREP on that Tea Party business from yesterday."
Rahmbo: "Well, Mr. President. Our people on the ground, the news media, are telling us anywhere from 60,000 to 120,000 ‘people,’ and I use that term as if I am unclean, attended more than 750 rallies in 50 states."
b. Hussein: "So…that means…no one rallied in the other 7 states?!!!! That’s GOOD! Rahmbo. They still like me there!!!!"
Rahmbo: "Ah…yeah…Mr. President. That’s…umm… what it means. But, if I could continue, when you consider the various right-wing news sources, and bloggers, of course, well, the figure may have been somewhere closer to 250,000…or more."
b. Hussein: "Tim? What’s that mean, like 2,000 people in every state?"
Tax-Cheat: "Huh? Hey, don’t ask me, man. I don’t do math, man. Um…can you pass that straw and those rolling papers? I wanna show you something I saw in a Cheech and Chong movie once, man."
b. Hussein: "Ooookah! Well, Janet…it couldn’t be that bad, could it?"
Top-Cop: "Well, sir, by our calculations, and this is based solely on conjecture, you know, the entire basis of that fabrication we put out to all the police departments called Rightwing Extremism: Current Economic and Political Climate Fueling Resurgence in Radicalization and Recruitment, I would recommend you reconsider closing Gitmo. We’re going to need somewhere to put all these domestic terrorists, well, after you release the current Gitmo residents to suburban America, of course."
b. Hussein: "The Tea Party people?"
Top-Cop: "Yes, sir. They believe in the Constitution. Constitution…baaaad! Socialism… gooood!!!!"
In unison, everyone in the room breaks into a chorus of zombie chanting not unlike the way voters mumbled “change you can believe in!” as they marched haphazardly, limbs and flesh and hair falling from their withered frames, toward the voting booths: Constitution…baaaad! Socialism…gooood!!!! Constitution…baaaad! Socialism… gooood!!!! Constitution…BAAAAD! Socialism…GOOOOD!!!!
Sixpack: "Hey. Anybody got a Budweiser? I’m thirsty as all hell."
b. Hussein: "Alllright, alllright. Let’s get back to work here. So…Gibbsy? What’s our response to the American people about these parties?"
Gibbsy: "Ahhh….Ahhhh….Ahhhh. Fidablkebunk!"
b. Hussein: "Gibbsy: One of these days, I’m going to have to buy you your own teleprompter. Yuck. Yuck. Yuck."
The rest of the gang in the room laughs politely, many forcing smiles so big they resemble House Speaker Nancy Pelosi…or the Joker.
Rahmbo: "Um, sir? If I might interject…I believe it’s time we start implementing, well, to coin a phrase, the hit squad."
b. Hussein: "The hit squad, Rahmbo? What in God’s name?…oh…I forgot…we don’t use that name here anymore…hey, wasn’t it pretty cool that no one in the mainstream media reported that we had Georgetown cover up Jesus when we did the speech there on Tuesday? What was I saying…oh…yeah…ahh…ahh…the hit squads. What on earth are you talking about, Rahmbo?"
Rahmbo: "Like moveon.org, sir. We need hit squads. To take down the tea partiers. Where they live. It’s only going to get worse, sir."
b. Hussein: "Couldn’t you just, you know, break another finger off in one of their eyes and send a message?"
Rahmbo: "Um…no sir. It’s that bad."
The Bitch: "Bring in the Fembots!"
b. Hussein picks up his straw and snorts two more lines of shredded cash and buries his head in his hands and says: "Oh, dear!"
Teleprompter, his power relay fully charged, suddenly awakens and shudders and starts to lurch across the room toward the president.
b. Hussein: "What in God’s name…DAMN!…I did it again!"
Teleprompter flashes words across his screen: "DANGER BARACK OBAMA! DANGER!"
Sixpack: "Hey! Anybody got that beer? I’m pretty dry over here. Hey! Hilary…get over here and finish, and bring me a beer!"
Teleprompter, excited to the point that his circuits start steaming, reaches the president and flashes this strange message, again and again and again:
b. Hussein: "What the…? Oh, dear." He finally understands.
sniaG nacilbupeR 0102
sesoL amabO 2102
sniaG nacilbupeR 0102
sesoL amabO 2102
!sniaG nacilbupeR 0102
!sesoL amabO 2102
Rahmbo, understanding too: "Shall I have them hit, sir?"
Geithner: "Dude! I saw that movie!"
Sixpack: "HerE’S, JOEY!"
Hilary: "You know, this reminds me of the time, back in Arkansas, when my husband first confided in me that it was okay to start telling everyone I was really a man….hahahahahahahahahahahaha!"
I left them there, ignoring the overwhelming desire to chomp on the president’s ear. I could still hear them, as the door closed behind me, cackling away, braying like ninnies, confused and befuddled and lost, as if they were trying to figure out an end to the recession, or what to order for dinner from the Chinese place down the street, the realization they’d awakened something genuine they couldn’t possibly stop warming me from the inside.
And still, in the background, I could hear:
b. Hussein: "Um…Sixpack…while we wait…you think you can show me how you do lines of shredded cash with your butt again? That’s the funniest damned thing I’ve ever seen! Except for Hilary naked!"
DISCLAIMER: No employees of Fox News, nor anyone affiliated with said cable television network, had anything to do with the writing of this satire. I'm Dr. Dave ADHD, and I approve this message.
Cross-posted 5/1/2009 at The American TEA Party.