(Oprah Winfrey, Hillary and Bill Clinton sip margaritas as they enjoy the sunshine aboard a yacht on Lake Michigan. Oprah’s best friend Gail flips burgers on a George Foreman grill. They all wear white linen.)

Oprah: So what you are saying is that George W. Bush is now a sympathetic genius? This is unbelievable. (Turns to the grill) Gail! Bring the burgers, bitch.

(Gail sighs heavily, loading the burgers onto a platter that she slams down on a table in front of them. She sneaks below deck to call Steadman)

Bill: Papa Bush told me that Bush wants to have a meeting to revise his Middle East policy. But it is not his usual meeting. It is some kind of camping and communing with nature retreat held on the grounds of Camp David. Senator Clinton here already got an invite. I mean, can you see Hillary pitchin’ a tent? (Laughs as Hillary sips her margarita, then turns and slaps him. Burger flies out of his mouth.)

Hillary: I am concerned that if we don’t get him to agree to some of our policies while he is in this state, they’ll figure out how to revert him to his normal state before we have a chance to get what we want. Everyone knows they have a serum. It’s just a matter of time until they come up with a solution to his new found intelligence.

Oprah: You know, Hillary, that kind of negativity may be what keeps you out of office. I choose to look at this as a God-given blessing for us to be able to control what goes on in Washington for years to come, if not forever. After I made the Forbes list the first time, I composed a list of things I want enacted in Washington. This event may just mean it happens sooner than I expected. If I get my picture taken as a participant in these peace meetings as well as gaining exclusive interviews with the other participants, it’s just a matter of time. You know how the public adores me--- I’m as popular as Jesus and the Beatles. Yes, this is what the Heavens want. (Swallows whole burger. Overhead, Jesus rolls his eyes as he turns up the volume on an episode of Jerry Springer.)

Hillary (jumps up, knocking over table): Goddamn it! I know you think you are going to be the first woman in office. I don’t care how many cars you give away--- you’ll never win! (Hillary grabs Oprah’s hair, yanking hard with both hands. Oprah leaps across the overturned table and both women fall to the ground, wrestling. Clinton lights a cigar. Hillary sits astride Oprah’s back, fish hooking her. Oprah beats her fists on the ground, pushing back against Hillary with all of her strength until Hillary falls off.)

Bill: Yeah...just like Girls Gone Wild...(Chomps down on cigar as grabs the burger platter, rubs some burger juice onto his palm, and eases his hand down the front of his pants.)

Oprah: (grunts, stands): You think you can take my audience? They’re my divine right!

Hillary: This is bullshit! (She expels a giant breath that propels her to her feet. They move in a circle, each holding her fists in front of her face. Suddenly, Hillary lowers her fists slightly and Oprah swivels, kicking her right foot out to the side and up, connecting with Hillary’s chin. The pain reenergizes Hillary and she head butts Oprah all the way over to the rail, where each woman struggles furiously.)

Hillary: You don’tknow...(strains)...whom you’re fucking with...Whitewaaattteeer!

(They tumble over the railing, making two distinct splashes. Gail runs up from downstairs to see Clinton with his dick hanging out of the front of his pants.)

Bill: Gail, get some more burgers ‘cause the juice on these is all dried up. Or better yet, just crawl on over and---

Gail (punches him in the mouth.): ---Get your own burger, bitch!

***

(Evening at Camp David. It looks like Stevie Nicks threw-up on the grounds. Waiters dressed as Wiccans carry trays of food and drink. Condoleezza, Dick, and Don huddle around a fire, dressed in light flesh colored robes. George holds court, dressed in a mishmash of Kama Sutra mayhem. World leaders sit on the outskirts of the fire in their usual stiff business attire, looking very uncomfortable.)

George (claps hands and smiles): Now that we have discussed why everyone should be on-board for the colon cleansing, I would like to suggest that we examine the basic set-up of the Security Council. Should we dismantle the permanent five-country membership? I am troubled---dismayed even---that it may be looked upon as some kind of monopoly to rule the world. I would like to purpose that we make all UN members equal by ridding ourselves of the Security Council. I feel that the five of us have an unfair advantage over the rest of the world.

Putin (takes off shoe): "Мы вас похороним!" (He beats the shoe against his forehead. One of his aides leans over and whispers something in his ear; he immediately begins beating shoe against the ground. Give me a break. It’s close enough.)

George: I want you to breathe easy, Vladamir. Breathe easy. In and out. That’s good…in and out...

(Condoleezza gestures for Dick and Don---not to be confused with Dick and Jane, simple though they are---to a secluded spot under some trees.)

Condoleezza: I found a cauldron in the kitchen. We’ll meet downstairs after everyone’s asleep and mix the potion.

Dick (remembering that the Ghost of Aaron Burr told him that nothing can reverse the change the lightning strike made.): I have a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should try another method. Put him in a coma until his term is over.

Don: I think your cholesterol fried your brain cells, Cheese Whiz. We can’t put the President in a coma without a major investigation. The potion is easier. We can just attribute this week of kindness to a lack of oxygen from choking on a pretzel and the liberal media.

Condoleezza: Enough! Can we just agree to meet at midnight? (Dick and Don nod in agreement. The three of them walk back towards the others. The ghost of Aaron Burr appears floating in the air and pulls Dick away from Condoleezza and Don.)

GAB: Why do Stephen Hadley or Alberto Gonzalez never attend these functions?

Dick (pause): Who?

GAB: Never mind! Listen, Jesus got drunk again. You know what this means?

Dick: More deflowered angels?

GAB: Henceforth, when I ask a question, do not answer. (Floats down, pulling the wrinkles from his trousers and coat.) No, it means that he spoke freely again about your little problem.

Dick: Listen, I told you about that in complete and utter confidence---

GAB: ---Egad! Not that misfortune. I mean he revealed a way out of this mess, a way that does not rely on the three of you mixing a potion in a cauldron, like some macabre play. However, the fruition of this solution proves quite unsettling.

Dick (rolls eyes): Just tell me what it is. Nothing could surprise me at this point.

GAB: You have to engage in what that Francophile Ben Franklin would refer to as a “ménage-a-trois” with Don and Condoleezza. (Dick gasps.) St. Peter reacted with that same despair. (Pauses to check his reflection in a passing goblet.) Apparently, it is the only way. You must do something self-sacrificing for all the riches you stand to make from his return to stupidity.

Dick: I...do I have to do anything with Don?

GAB: I am afraid total interaction between all participants is required. The Heavens relish merriment, too.

***

(Bill Clinton and Papa Bush are eating dinner together at the Capital Grille.)

Bill: Boy, I love the croutons here! They are the perfect mix, I tell you Papa.

Papa Bush: So you really busted your lip and got a black eye from a run-in with a death penalty opponent? I thought those people were non-violent.

Bill(averts eyes but laughs with ease): Well, you know, Papa. Any zealot can be aggressive, no matter the cause. Look at that Cindy what’s- her-name, showin’ up everywhere. I bet she hits hard, too.

Papa Bush: Yep. I guess the Secret Service protection ain’t what it used to be. Golf tomorrow?

Bill: Sure thing. (From the bar, a cameo of Al Franken flips them off as he throws a bowl of peanuts at them; it hits Bill Frist instead.)

Papa Bush: Excuse me. Gotta go water the garden. That’s double talk for (whispers) “I need to tinkle”. (He exits to the bathroom and makes a call from the stall. Nice rhyme.) It’s me... he lied. Oh, Hillary must know, yep. He looks like he did when he lied about who ate the last of those Little Debbie’s… I’d prepare for Oprah’s descent on Camp David at anytime…

The End

Next Monday…more bullshit!

Bookmark/Search this post with:

[2] | [3] | [4] | [5] | [6] | [7]