“May I introduce the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, the Right Honorable Gordon Brown and Her Ladyship Sarah Brown!”
The words echoed around the empty entry foyer of the White House. The White House Usher, retired Coast Guard Admiral Stephen Rochon cleared his throat and announced again abet much louder “The Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, the Right Honorable Gordon Brown and Her Ladyship Sarah Brown!”
President Obama stepped into the foyer and flicked a live cigarette butt into the corner. “I heard you the first time Stevie, now go finish polishing the silver!” he spat disdainfully. Bowing and scraping the Admiral took his leave, then Obama turned to the Prime Minister “Ain’t no right honorable nuttin here Gordo, it’s all left with us. You down with that?”
Caught off guard Mr. Brown sputtered “Uh, er, um, uh, yes Mr. Obama. Left it is.” and awkwardly bumped knuckles with the president. Behind the President Mr. Brown noticed a blond haired man walking at a deep bow skitter crab like through the foyer. The man snatched up the cigarette butt Barak tossed in the corner, popped it in his mouth, looked around nervously, then scuttled off
“That’s cool, and this is The Missus?”
“I’m honored to meet you Mister President.”
“I’m sure you are,” said Obama, “What did you bring me.”
“Ah, em yes.” Mr Brown nervously gestured behind him and several aids laden with gifts stepped forward. “As a symbol of our solidarity as brother nations the People of the United Kingdom would like to present you with this original copy of the Declaration of Independence, this exact copy was presented to King George III, as you can see it’s exquisitely framed in a hand crafted frame taken from the timbers of the HMS Victory herself…
“That’ll look ok in Shasha’s bedroom… next to her Chris Rock poster, I guess.” mumbled an obviously unimpressed Obama.
“And the hand bound collection of books authored and autographed by Winston Chuchhill himself…”
“More f____ing reading to do, I don’t have time for that. Here, we got goods for you too.” Obama put two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. The bent blond man scampered in and dropped a canvas Whole Foods bag next to Obama then scurried off, weeping in joy just to be near his idol. “Stevie! What did we get our guests?” Shouted Obama.
From another room the voice of Admiral Stephen Rochon boomed “A complete collection of Sylvester Stallone’s greatest hits! Including Rocky! Demolition Man! and that unforgetable classic Stop Or My Mom Will Shoot! But that’s not all! A years supply of Turtle Wax! Turtle Wax beautifies as it protects! And RRRRRICE A RONI! The San Francisco Treat!”
Obama pointed to the bag. “Them disks are blu ray too.”
Gordon and Sarah looked at each other in shock then noticed that Obama was leaving the foyer and they dashed to keep up with him. They were soon sweating profusely in the sweltering heat of the White House. “Problems with the furnace Mr. President?”
“Yeah, can’t get it hot enough,” he muttered, then pulled out a Marlboro, and lit it with a solid gold zippo lighter. He tossed the lighter asside like a spent match. “Gonna get a f____ing coal furnice and a gang of stokers if we can’t keep this crib warm enough.” He bumped knuckles with Barry White as they passed in the hallway “My man!” they both muttered.
“But, uh… global warming! Shouldn’t you be setting an example?”
Obama stopped and whirled on Brown. “Look, we’re making good money on this global warming horse s__t, the morons are gobbling it up like crazy. You want a piece of my pie? Huh? well DO YA?” Just then Bill Ayers stood out from a shadow and opened his jacket to show a vest of dynamite.
“Uh, I suppose not,” sputtered Brown.
“Besides, I AM setting an example.”
“What example is that.”
Obama sneared and turned “It’s good to be da king.” He left the room and the Browns hustled to keep up. Before long they were seated in the white house kitchen dining area. While Sarah looked around at the staff obviously preparing a large state dinner the Prime Minister asked “Didn’t I just see Barry White? Isn’t he dead?”
Obama just shook his head. “Silly brit. Yah, he was dead, but I got a party to night with my homies and being dead isn’t going to get him out of this gig. You’d be amaized at what you can get accomplished with enough money and a few busted caps.” He gestured for the Browns to sit down at the staff dining table.
All about them the staff was preparing wagyu beef, Nantucket scallops with glazed red carrots, portobello mushrooms and roasted sunchokes, and huckleberry cobbler. “MMMM-m! My homies are gonna eat good tonight! Don’t you worry, we’ll do good by England too. Sit!”
The Browns sat down and the stooped blond man appeared with three bags from Burger King and placed one in front of each then scampered to a corner where Obama tossed him another cigarette butt. Obama rubbed his hands together and withdrew a Whopper from his bag. “Bee Kay! Betcha don’t get that in… in… where’s that place you’re from?”
“London,” said Sarah Brown darkly.
Obama leaned conspiratorially to Gordon. “Guess you don’t teach women their place properly in that London place.”
Desperate to change the subject Gordon noticed a mirror and a razor blade at each place setting. “And this is for…?”
“Dessert.” said Obama. Just then Rhom Emanuael pirouetted into the room and handed Obama a gold plated blackberry. “It’s Her Highness” he said in a voice and facial expression that brought forth images of Lerch from the Addams Family.
With a sigh Obama held the phone up to his ear. “Yes dear… yes dear… yes dear. No dear… no dear… no dear… What ever you want dear… anything…. I mean it… no, we got plenty of money… who cares how it gets paid for… yes you can buy that… and that… and that… Yes dear… no it’s not too much, get two or three… ok, luv you too, bye.” and he tossed the blackberry over his shoulder where it shattered against the wall. The blond man began sweeping up the debris weeping with joy.
“Umm… Mrs Obama on a shopping trip?”
“Nah, that was Nancy Pelosi, she’s working up another stimulus bill.” muttered Obama, then he broke into a grin “Stimulus bill! Get it? Riot!” He elbowed Gordon in the ribs. “We’ll be whipping our asses with the constitution in a matter of months, THEN we’ll show them just who the real socialists are!”
Feeling nauseous and desperate to change the subject Gordon gestured to the filthy blond man in the corner eating his own boogers. “Who is that wretch?”
“Chris Matthews. He’s ok as long as he doesn’t soil himself too often. He’s still useful even though the election is over.”
“And where is his friend, that Olberman fellow?”
“You didn’t see the lawn jockey?”