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Never Too Late
“Shhhh,” my long-time political consultant and frat buddy, Phil A. “Buster” Mignon, said as we paddled our two-man kayak toward the rambling estate on the Eastern Shore of Maryland recently vacated by Russian “diplomats.”
I knew stealth was essential for the mission, but I screamed bloody murder when a killer rabbit suddenly tried to board our kayak, dumping us in the water.
“It’s the same killer rabbit that almost got Carter in ’79,” Buster yelled, treading water. “Cost us the election. I recognize the little pink-eyed bastard.”
I took a swipe at the rabbit with my oar and missed, but it was enough to ward off his attack. He shot Buster the bird as he swam away, cackling maniacally like Mrs. Clinton fending off an unscripted question.
We swam ashore and were led to the main house by two pasty-faced big guys in black leather coats, Boris and Fyodor. A kindly babushka took our wet clothes and gave us matching white robes with a huge, red hammer and sickle logo on the back. She led us through the house and into a large office.
Buster and I had barely sat down when the plush leather chair behind the desk whirled around to reveal a grinning Barack “B.O.” Obama, the outgoing President.
My extensive military training kicked in. I shot out of my chair to stand at attention. I held my salute.
“At ease, soldier,” the great B.O. said, “and close your robe, if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” I took my seat.
“I’m ready for your report, Buster,” B.O. said.
“Uh, Mr. President,” I interrupted, “why are we meeting here?”
“That’s easy,” Buster answered. “The Russians installed the best computer and internet gear in North America. No one can hack it. It’s more secure than the White House system, Hillary’s server at Chappaqua, or even John Podesta’s e-mail.”
“Your report, Buster?” the President said, turning to watch himself strike a thoughtful pose in the mirrors on the credenza behind him.
“On the military front, we can re-take Grenada. It’ll take less than six days.”
“Eastwood did Grenada,” B.O. said. “What about Martinique?”
“Yes, sir,” Buster said, “we can take Martinique or any of the French West Indies islands in three days once we get there, but the logistics of moving…”
“Tell the Joint Chiefs we’re invading tomorrow. We’ll show those arrogant Israelis’ how fast we can win a war. Six days is nothing. Infrastructure projects?”
“I’ve consulted everyone in Transportation. They’re pretty sure we cannot build a new Interstate between here and Chicago by January 20, Mr. President.”
“They’ve got more than ten days! Come on. Not shovel ready?” B.O. asked. “I spent almost a billion on my stimulus plan in a week in 2009.”
“Yes, sir,” Buster said, “but almost all of it went to community organizers, teachers’ unions, and other Democrat constituencies. You only built one dirt road near Weehawken and a waste treatment facility in downtown Rancho Cucamonga.”
“Whatever. Be sure to have that white chick at Interior declare all of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina as wilderness areas. Tomorrow.”
“I thought you were giving those states to Black Lives Matter,” Buster said.
“Election’s over,” B.O. said. “Do it like we did the Bear Ears Monument in Utah. Tell the people at EPA I want regulations on my desk tomorrow establishing new mileage standards on all vehicles — 150 miles per gallon minimum — effective immediately. Have Lolo Lynch file suit to declare the Second Amendment unconstitutional. Tell Wildlife and Fisheries to declare mice an endangered species. Have NASA call Elon Muskrat and launch a manned flight to Mars on Saturday.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. I haven’t been able to reach Jack Loo at Treasury.”
“Loo and Yellen were here a few minutes ago. Interest rates are going up to 15 percent on Monday. We’ll see how Big D runs his economy on that. Now, get busy. Be back here in 24 hours with a status report.”
We cinched our robes and stood to leave.
“One more thing. Michelle and I are going to Hawaii one more time before January 20. We’ll take Air Force One and Two. She’s shopping on Rodeo Drive on the way back. Have LAX reroute all flights and tell Poncherello at CHiPs to close all roads.”
“Very good, sir,” Buster said. “Anything else?”
“Just this,” B.O. said, “don’t wait until the last minute to get all this done. We owe it to the next President to make his first days in office as smooth as possible.”
Copyright © 2017 Michael Henry
Published in Humor
Are you sure this belongs in the humor category? About half this stuff seems to be happening already, and the other half won’t surprise me.
This is ‘re-tire”, JM; reality-satire…Perfection, MH!
Do you have to give them more ideas they may not have thought of yet? Are you friend or foe?
I have finished your 3 books I bought last week @michaelhenry, yesterday on the 3rd. Since my entertainment budget is depleted for January will have to go to something more edifying, how about James H. Street on his Mississippi history? I could start on Oh, Promised Land. I already have Tap Roots.
@kayofmt Sorry, Kay, but I haven’t read James Street. I’ve only been a Mississippian for 20 years; a Louisianan before that. As far as Mississippi writers, I started William Faulkner’s The Sound And The Fury when I moved to Oxford, MS four-and-a-half years ago, and am on Chapter 3. Can’t seem to get past Benji’s screaming. I do live about three hundred yards from Faulkner’s home, Rowan Oak, though. Tks for reading my novels. MH
I can’t get past chapter 3 in any of Faulkner books. 20 years seems long enough to have picked up at least one James Street book. My mother’s paternal family from the Rev. War on, settled East Tenn, Miss, and Louisiana. I have files of documentation. These areas weren’t states yet. Her family is listed on the 1850 census in MS. I have a long letter from James Street, Jr. to my mother regarding his dad. Will share it in a post one of these days.
https://www.goodreads.com/author/list/81259.James_H_Street
Too soon, Michael, too soon. Hold these jokes until after the 20th. As @kayofmt said, let’s not give Obama any ideas.
You want to turn pages: read Greg Iles’ books.
You had me right from this… snortle… almost too real to be funny, but too funny not to be funny… thanks…
Now there is a blast from the past.
Would like to give him a try.