(Oprah marches into the Camp David kitchen. Hillary follows. Gail is not far behind, swatting Clinton’s hands away from her ass---Bill’s hands, that is.)

Oprah: Bill! Sit down and keep your hands off of Gail’s ass. Gail, get over here girl. I can’t believe we had to go through security, like we aren’t famous.(Takes compact out of purse and plays with her hair.) Stupid helmet---tell Steadman to bring me my extensions; I never should have let him borrow them! (tosses compact to Gail) Now, Bill: even though you act like an idiot within twenty feet of a vagina or anything fried, you are a brilliant statesman. The new genius George will appreciate that and will open up to me more if you work with me during the interview. Maybe we can do a little segment with the two of you. You play the sax---does he sing or tap dance or anything? (Bill stares at her blankly) Well, we’ll just have to ask. Can’t hurt. He’ll give me access to the other world leaders no matter what and once people see me at this level, they will subconsciously begin to think of me as Madame Pres---

Hillary (jumps up): Now, Oprah, Bill is going to make me look like a damn fool out there playing the sax while the President hula hoops or plays the spoons or whatever you think are good for your ratings. And I still say that I should be the first woman President, not y----

Oprah:Get your own talk show bitch; then people will want to listen to you. Until then, have lunch with Ricki Lake or sit down. (Hillary sits). I already explained to you that I should be the first women President because I am such a great television personality. I have my own magazine. These things count in today’s world. I will pave the way for you, but only after me. (Hillary rests her head in her hands and sighs. Oprah softens her tone.) Don’t worry, Hil. You might even be my running mate. (Gail’s gasps in disbelief; Oprah pats her hand.) Shhhh, my dear friend; don’t worry. There will be a place for you in the kitchen.

(They hear people approaching; Oprah jumps up.)

Oprah: I don’t want anyone to see me with my hair like this! Damn Steadman needs to get his own weave. (They all pile into the walk- in-pantry, keeping the door slightly cracked)

(Enter Condoleezza, Don, and a nervous looking Dick. Condoleezza reaches into a cabinet and pulls out a huge cauldron that she fills with water and places on the stove. Because this is a soap opera, that water is going to boil mighty fast. Also, I will insert the Ghost of Aaron Burr here, who nods politely at Dick.)

Condoleezza: Does everyone have the toy that we played with in earlier episodes? (She pulls out her model oil tanker; Dick pulls out his globe pillow ball and Don pulls out his small elephant tusk carving of a navy fighter pilot.) Here is George’s Jack-in-the Box. I never thought I would miss the sound of it.

Don: Well, don’t wind the little shit up now. I think we should smash it once we are through with this. (Stops speaking and looks at the Dick, who is wiping sweat off of his forehead)What’s the matter---blue balls making you sweat again?

Dick: No, no…I think that the hummus we ate at dinner made me sick.

Don: Yeah, what the fuck is with this faggotty food shit? Who eats hummus voluntarily, except for a bunch of detainees at Guatanamo and some fruitcake in dance class? Made my ass flair, I tell you---

Dick: (mumbling and looking at GAB, who motions for Dick to speak.) You know, I have it on good authority that Jesus eats hummus. (Pause. Suddenly, Don reaches out and slaps Dick across his head.)

Don: Did you eat that hummus or smoke it, Dick? Because it sounds like you are high, you Vice Presidential Shit Pile.

Dick: You didn’t have to hit me so hard, Don!

GAB: Such a pompous bastard, Dick. I could think of a thousand men I’d rather bottom for---even Hamilton. You have my sympathies for what is to come. (Floats over to the dining room table.)

Condoleezza: Please! Can we just concentrate on the matter at hand? Place your toys in this pot. We will say our spell and the energy released into the water will be put into the serum. Hopefully, the combination of the two will flood him with wasted energy, killing the new brain cells and returning him to his pre-lightning strike state of stupidity.

Don: Why do you have to explain everything? If the audience doesn’t get it, they can hike their asses back four episodes. Let’s just do it!

(Before they release their toys in the water, Dick takes a deep breath and plants a French kiss on Don. Cue your favorite sexy music here--- I suggest Rod Stewart’s Do You Think I’m Sexy?* Don struggles unable to break free. They begin to wrestle around the room.)

Don (gasping): My COCK—PIT… doesn’t fly …in that zone…

Dick: You don’t understand, Don….Jesus does eat hummus! Aaron Burr told me all about it. We got to all do each other in some kind of sex rite because the heavens are making us pay! But if we just do it, they’ll make it all better for us again. We can rule the country once more. George will be dumb and we’ll be in power. Condi has to join, too!

(Condoleezza hits Don over the head with a frying pan; he crumbles to the ground.)

Don: Damn! Now we won’t be able to finish the spell!

Condoleezza: I think as long as we have his toy, that is all we need.

Don: The way you went on and on about it before, I thought there had to be three of us.

Condoleezza: This is not Charmed. (Leans down and picks up his feet.) Help me move him to the pantry for now. It’s obvious he has been drinking or under the influence of drugs. I have noticed him getting more and more edgy with each new episode. We will have to call Betty Ford.

Don: She’s still alive?

Condoleezza: Only when she is drinking. (They pull him over to the pantry. Oprah, Gail, and the Clintons explode with laughter as Don opens the door,)

Hillary (exits pantry): I am surprised you two weaklings were able to pull him over here. Nice witch robe, Condi.

Condoleezza: It is Cond-o-leezza. There is no “i”. There also should not be a “u”, as in what are you doing here?

Oprah: (exits pantry with Gail) We have a right to be here. I am going to be the first female President.

Condoleezza: Oh, well… then it makes perfect sense that the first room you visit would be the kitchen. I am having you removed immediately.

Oprah: I am here to do interviews! I wouldn’t do anything that might tick me off, Cond-I. I still have lots of viewers. (Oprah turns back into the pantry; Clinton is eating a bag of pork rinds.) Bill, get out here! (He rolls the bag up and shoves it under his shirt, wiping the grease from his hands.)

Hillary: Oh, I see. You run when she calls.

Bill: You know, I have about had it with you bitches. You better be careful cause I’m still slick.

Oprah: ‘Bout as slick as that oil spill that came out of Cond-I. (Hillary high fives Oprah)

Condoleezza: I have had it! (Everyone but Gail breaks out into an argument, a totally uncontrived and original plot mechanism that allows Gail to move to the side of the action and stare quietly into space. Suddenly, her eyes widen at the man in a waistcoat and pointy shoes floating over the dining room table. He notices her and floats down, stopping short of her face.)

GAB: Can you see me?

Gail: See you? I love you! I have studied your portrait every since I was a little girl. You are one of my most cherished historical figures!(Waves hand through him) I must be psychic!

GAB: Or as George Washington would have said, crazy as a shit house rat, end quote. You must speak softly or the others will think you are crazy.

Gail: Can you get me away from Oprah? I never knew being her friend would involve paying her boyfriend an allowance...out of my own salary.

GAB: How do you feel about Democrats?

Gail: It depends on the fundraiser.

GAB: That is the truest answer I have heard in this whole wretched soap opera. Come! Let us journey to the foyer to discuss our takeover of daytime television and the White House. I am tired of dealing with this lunacy.

Gail: I am so honored to meet you.

GAB: And I too feel a great honor, even though I am used to seeing your kind in chains. My goodness! Times have changed, have they not?

Gail: Uh… (they exit)