Chapter 9: "Breaking News"

I had just completed my one task for every day after my morning national security briefing: read and veto a Republican bill to dismantle Obamacare. So what else was there to do for the rest of the day? I was snoozing away on my antique French baroque sofa when Shaggy knocked on the door.

"Enter!" I shouted from the sofa. Shaggy marched in.

"A video of your encounter with Speaker Ryan has shown up on social media and Fox News has gotten wind of it. Several Fox News commentators have called you a raving lunatic communist who wants to redistribute wealth and destroy the economy."

"Aren't these the same people who called Obama a socialist?" I asked.

"I'm pretty sure they are."

"They're blithering idiots. Richard Nixon was more of a socialist than Obama. He wanted national health insurance for everybody back in 1971 and 1974."

"There are videos of the Fox commentators ranting and raving on YouTube. Why don't you have a look?"

I made the mistake of watching the Fox Business News commentator.

"Look at that vein in his forehead throb! He looks like he's about ready to have a stroke! Look at him waving his arms around like he's trying to flag down a taxi in New York City!"

"If you think that's bad, have a look at this blond bimbo ranting and raving about you being a communist."

What the hell, I clicked on the video of the Fox blond bimbo. She was very active onscreen.

"Did I just see a boob pop out? Oh, there'll be stills of that all over FaceBook!"

Shaggy was dancing around and jumping up and down like a homeless man with ants in his underwear.

"Wardrobe malfunction! Wardrobe malfunction! Wardrobe malfunction!" he chanted.

"Celebration over!" I shouted at Shaggy. "I need you to get some props for me. We're going to have a special response to Fox." I gave Shaggy a list I quickly scribbled. He made a face and saluted in the style of Max Klinger.

"Okay, boss! If this is what you want..."

The next day we were all set up at noon. Props erected in background and on top of my desk. Impersonator at ready. The Beatles playing in the background. Yup, we were ready. Roll cameras. I cued the disk jockey for the next Beatles song. "Back in the USSR" began to play.

"Good evening, fellow Americans," I said in my best smarmy Obama-style. "It has come to my attention that Fox News has been claiming that I am a Communist. Nothing could be further from the truth." The camera drew back to reveal the enormous gold hammer and sickle on a red cloth backdrop draped on the wall behind me.

"This administration has pursued a consistently realist public policy line. We're broke from all the wars, and the Republicans refuse to raise taxes to pay for anything." The camera zeroed in on the bottle of "Red Moscow" perfume sitting on the Oval Office desk.

"I pretty much can't do anything about domestic policy with the Republicans controlling the House of Representatives thanks to all their gerrymandered district maps in Republican-governed states. So I sleep all day. What the fuck else have I got to do?" The Putin-lookalike popped his head above the desk and fondled what little boobage I had. I slapped his hand and whispered just loud enough for the microphones to pick it up.

"Behave yourself or no booty for Pootie!" Cheshire hopped up on top of the desk and I began stroking his back compulsively. Cheshire looked straight at the camera and purred loudly. He knows how to put on a show.

"Even if I were a Communist, I can't do anything. Except bring the troops home from all the wars." I gave the camera my widest possible grin, and Cheshire faced the camera with an even bigger grin. The camera honed in on the portrait of East German dictator Erich Honecker on the wall next to the portrait of Washington.

"So in conclusion, the Fox hosts are all full of what comes out your backside after a meal at Taco Bell." I gave the signal for the cameras to fade to black, but of course, as per my instructions, the cameras did not fade to black.

"We're done!" I announced to no one in particular. The Putin imitator crawled out from under the desk and reset the CD player to repeat the Beatles' "Back in the USSR." As we jitterbugged to the Beatles, the Putin imitator suddenly looked straight at the cameras and put his fingertips to his open mouth. Pinky sticking straight up to the ceiling. Damn, he's good. I walked up to the cameras and looked straight into the lenses.

"Hey, are these cameras still running?"

End of Chapter 9