(Donald Rumsfeld and Dick Cheney are having drinks in a top secret strip club located in the very bowels of---you guessed it!---the Pentagon. The ghost of Aaron Burr is sitting next to Cheney. Rumsfeld is on his third whiskey and Dick is sipping a Diet Sprite. Nine Inch Nail's Closer is playing, just as it has played in every strip club across this great nation since its release.)

GAB: (to himself) These wenches are fascinating! (Snaps his finger like a debonair...well, ghost.)

Dick: Don, I don't know what to tell you. Last night he was working algorithms and then he finished a whole week's worth of New York Times crosswords. He no longer does that sound it out thing when he reads. He even understood the Daily Show. He’ll want to start calling the shots soon, Don.

Don: Yeah, I know that you fucking moron. (Finishes drink, slamming down glass. He smacks a waitress's ass) I need another drink, honey. (He watches her ass as she walks away, then addresses Dick.) Listen here, you fat louse: You fucked this up like you fucked up your first job interview with me.

Dick: Well, now, Don, I---

Don: Don't “well now Don” me. I'll rip that pacemaker right out of your chest with my bare hands and shove it so far up your ass, your colon will start mass producing electrical shit goo that I'll sell to some third world country as a natural resource. And you can be damn sure I'll get away with it, you waste of medical technology. (Dick gulps, taking a drink. The waitress brings another whiskey. Don slaps her ass and downs it, indicating he wants another.) Here’s a thing you haven't thought of: What if that lightning strike made him smart and compassionate. So far, the only possibility you have presented me with is that it made him a goddamn genius, which is bad enough.

GAB: You should challenge him to a duel. (Dick shushes GAB. Don narrows his eyes, lowering his voice.)

Don: Are you shushing me? What in the fuck! are you shushing me for?

Dick: No, Don, I, uh...sneezed. It's dusty down here.

Don: I think your third arm’s dusty, Dick. You need to flex the old appendage every so often. That's what we keep these beautiful kitties down here for. (He pulls his glasses down as one of the strippers leans over to shove her breasts in his face.) I'm an ass man, honey. (She turns, swaying slightly). That's better. Meooooow. You bring the lube. (He pinches her butt and slips her a piece of paper. She walks away. He turns to Dick) About an hour ago, I received word from Condi Cat that George has requested a meeting with a yoga teacher and is wearing a pair of Birkenstocks. (Dick sighs) Don't sigh, fatso. This is not a time for sighing. This is a time for solutions. Call Papa Bush and tell him he's needed at the Big House. Money's on the line.

Dick: What about Clinton? Those two are joined at the bi-partisan hip.

Don: Under no circumstances do I want him around the President! He’ll run straight to Hillary with any info and she'll tell Oprah. No, we have got to keep those bitches out of the loop. It can’t be any harder than keeping you out of the Ivy League. (smirks)

GAB: (floating above table and in front of Dick) I do not like this man. He has the arrogance of Thomas Jefferson, but his hair is not nearly as nice.

Dick: What about Condi?

Don: You know, Janet loaned me the film of her and the drag queen. (shudders) That was one ungodly sight.

Dick: Yes, drag queens are a bit disconcerting, Don.

Don: No, I meant Condi. She slobbers when she cums. Anyway, I know you want her out of the way to set up our future replacements and to insure you get more money than her when our term “ends” (makes finger quotation marks)but she has been a valuable asset and she will help us get the President back to his chimp-like state. She likes money just as much as we do, so don't try to manipulate things with your usual drop-out idiocy, you walking heart attack. Once George is a moron again, you two can battle it out like cold war allies for who will be hero or who will get more money or who is King of the Prom or whatever it is you're fighting about this week. I don't give a shit. I've got to go get some ass. (drinks) But there's one more thing I want to set you straight on: Operation Wal-Mart Nugent Nuts or whatever you are calling it---I’m all for rallying the youth. But in no way do I want to hear about Ted drilling any of my oil gushers---especially not the Twins. You got it?

Dick:(remembering Ted’s hot tub tryst with the Twins) Yes, Don. (Don stands and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a small elephant tusk carving of a navy fighter pilot and smiles, squeezing his palm around it. He walks off, straightening his tie and adjusting his balls. Dick hangs his head in defeat. He grabs the globe pillow that is under his ass, grimacing. He can't get comfortable. His grip is slipping. Wow---I didn't hit you over the head with that one, did I?)

GAB: They don't realize he won't be dumb again. This is an unfathomable situation. I wonder what they are saying above. Dear. Tsk tsk. You better have an umbrella handy. Nixon cries big acid filled tears at the drop of a --- (pause) Oh, my!---a man wearing a top hat and cape. I haven’t seen that since my return.

Dick: (Raising head slightly to see a dapper gentleman stuffing bills into a dancer's cleavage) That's not a man; that’s Janet Reno in disguise. None of the other strip clubs in town will let her in.

***
(Condoleezza walks into the President's private gym. George is seated in a child’s pose, palms face-up. His jack-in-the box is no where to be seen. Candles are lit and Enya annoys I mean plays softly in the background)

Condoleezza: Sir, I had someone call the yogi's number, but it seems his cell phone is off. Perhaps he has been unavoidably detained…or stuck in a pose.

George: (smiles) Quite alright. There’s no hurry. Please, let’s join hands. (He holds up his outstretched arms in a welcoming gesture. Condi gulps, sitting on the floor across from him. They hold hands and he smiles at her contently for a full minute before speaking.) How has your day been?

Condoleezza: (sweating) Fine, sir.

George: Condoleezza, I want to speak to you about that. There is no need to call me “sir”. Only a buffoon would insist on being addressed by a title that signifies superiority. And tell me---am I a buffoon? (He laughs heartily. Condoleezza hesitates, then joins in.) But seriously, Condoleezza---and that is such a lovely name, I must say---I feel a great discord amongst my staff. I feel as if our loyalties to the people are being torn by betrayals amongst ourselves. This cannot continue.

Condoleezza: I am not sure I understand, sir. (He feigns disapproval and wags his finger. She smiles.) Sorry---it is a hard habit to break.

George: Don’t fret. You’ll adjust. (reaches into pocket)Would you like some honey glazed tree bark? (Condoleezza shakes her head as he takes a bite) Condoleezza, I understand things that I never understood before and acceptance is one of them. I want you to accept me as a man of renewed vision. That vision shows me that we must actually serve the citizens. I read the Constitution for the first time last night and I must say, it is a fascinating document. It states that I don’t actually rule this land like a king, which is something of which I was totally unaware. Can you imagine how the people must think we have let them down? And yet they keep voting us in, poor misguided souls. It is our duty to help them, the poverty stricken and those stuck in the middle. Accept them. (sighs) Oh, the middle class. They never seem to make the leap, those average sons-of-bitches. (pause.) I want to hold a meeting with everyone to discuss how we are going to initiate change in the Middle East and improve our domestic policies.

Condoleeza: (mouth agape) Well, uh…I…

George: Aren’t you excited about the possibilities? It’s a brand new day! Let’s greet it with a Sun Salutation! (Condoleezza’s face is strained as she reaches toward the Heavens. Above them, Jesus smiles as he dips a pita into hummus and sips some wine.)

***

(Bill Clinton is sitting with Papa Bush at a Press Corps Dinner honoring Pat O’Brien. Yeah, I know, but it's funny, isn't it?)

Papa Bush:...and so then Dick called me and told me that George got hit by lightning and he's smarter. If I thought that really worked, I'd tie Jeb to a kite. (Clinton laughs) That was a good one, huh? But I am awfully suspicious. I think little George may be in danger. I guess he wants to take over our funds, which means everyone is in trouble.

Bill (sensing an opportunity to pass info to Oprah): Papa, there's no doubt about it: We should visit them tomorrow.

(Just then, the Not- So-Mysterious-Blond-Woman appears in front of them. Secret Service agents crowd around her, but Papa Bush waves them aside.)

Papa Bush: My God---Ann Coulter! (Boooyyy, I bet my readers are surprised it’s her!) You're as thin as ever!

Ann: Thank you; I haven’t eaten in a week. (nods coldly) President Clinton. How are you?

Bill (rubbing chin): Didn't I see you outside of a Georgetown cigar shop the other day?

Ann (throws back her head in laughter): Silly! You must have me confused with someone you want to get to know better. I am much too busy belittling gays, feminists, abortion, welfare, the poor, immigrants, AIDS, socialized healthcare, soup kitchens, volunteers, famines, rape victims, runaways, drug users, the handicapped, transplant patients, birth control, being nice to animals, hugging little boys, anyone who is not a Christian, gun control freaks, death penalty opponents, environmentalists, wiccans, refusing to live in buildings with asbestos, innocent until proven guilty, anti-corporate corruption movements, Mother Teresa, PBS supporters... and you, Mr. Clinton. I don't have time to stand outside of cigar shops in tight t-shirts and point my finger at you like a gun. (smiles) Papa Bush, always a pleasure. (Bows and winks, tossing her hand in a little wave. As she makes her way to the bar, she looks back over her shoulder. Clinton is staring at her intently. She stops and turns completely to face him. It is as if all movement in the room has stopped. A good musical choice would be ELO’s Evil Woman along with a close up of her face, if we could stand it. She holds Clinton's gaze for a full minute and then turns. A cameo of Helen Thomas walks passes behind Ann, looking for shrimp eggrolls and a drink. She is mumbling something about Kennedy when sees Clinton and Papa Bush sitting together. She flips them off.)

Ann (to herself):I've got you now! No man can resist Acid Cunt when I set my goals on him. (walks on)

Bill (shaking head): Maaannn! That is one skinny bitch. Pass me a roll, Papa.

***

(It is evening in Laura Bush’s bedroom. She sits at her vanity, reading the instructions on a box of douche. There is a knock on her door.)

Laura: Come in!

(Condoleezza enters. Laura rushes to embrace her, letting out an animal groan; Condoleezza motions for her to be quiet. )

Condoleezza: We have to be quiet.

Laura (undressing): Ok, you can stuff my mouth with that ball gag thing again---

Condoleezza (pulls Laura close, whispers into her hair): Do what I tell you and keep your voice down.

Laura (licks the side of Condoleezza’s face): You bad girl, always want to do the stuff you see on Cinemax at Camp David. (Laura growls, smacking Condoleezza’s cheeks lightly)

Condoleezza: I am serious! We have a huge problem. The lightning made has made him a creature of compassion. (Laura gasps in horror) I know! He wants to redistribute the wealth among all of us and and and...

Laura: Yes?

Condoleezza:...give it to the poor.

(Laura takes a step back in stunned silence)

Condoleezza: Even worse, he wants to help the middle class, too. They have carried us for years! (pause, rubs hand over eyes) I am afraid blood may be shed.

Laura: Like in Iraq?

Condoleezza: Yes, but this is more serious. I am talking about our retirements! If he keeps sprouting this Liza Sabater Rhetoric, the next thing you know, he will be living on the Lower East Side and supporting the arts.

Laura: Oh, God! (They sit on the bed. Suddenly, The Nuge bursts out of the closet roaring, wearing a buffalo headdress. He’s totally nude and carrying an arrow. Condoleezza screams)

Laura: It's ok, honey, it's ok. We're going to play buffalo rapes the lone prairie virgin---

Condoleezza: (spins around, pointing at Laura) You are totally out of control! (runs toward door )

The Nuge: Tell me something, little lady. Do you know I’m gonna be the SECRETARY OF BLOWIN' SHIT UP?!?

Condoleezza: (stops, turning slowly, nostrils flared and jaws clinched): What...did you say? (She leaps across the room, pushing The Nuge down to his knees with great force. Laura squeals. Downstairs, George is meditating and his eyes fly open. He listens for a minute and smiles at what he thinks are the sounds of free love. He slowly closes his eyes and breathes deeply.)

George: Ahhhhhhhh. I love lesbians. (Enya plays on, much to my dismay.)

THE END

NOTES

Hope you enjoyed this week’s episode. I am tired. I need sleep. I move back to NYC in 4 days!!!

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