"Make sure you don't fire the chef because we need to eat lunch."
Potus looked at the Secretary of State. "Madam Secretary," he said. You've drooled on yourself again." She looked down at her shoulder and tried to brush at it. "Never mind that now," Potus continued. "How are you going to help trim our budget in your department?"
The Secretary of State slipped her hand absently into the lap of the Chief of Staff who paled. "I've decide I can cut back on my staff and travel allowances. I've been planning on visiting the diplomatic offices at the Adironbacks and Camp David."
"Camp David?" asked Potus. "Isn't that where Number 43 was from?"
The Chief of Staff lept from his chair with a yelp, pushing away the Madam Secretary's hand from his knee.
The Secretary of State answered, "No, I think he was from New York; what with the whole 9/11 thing." She turned to the Chief of Staff and patted his chair. "Sit down you poor thing. I won't bite." She made her most inviting sneer face.
The Chief of Staff stood behind his chair. "I'll stand. Continue."
Potus became impatient. "Madam Secretary, cutting travel cost is a fine measure. We need some sort of reduction of staff as well. I'm sacrificing a lot of my staff budget who are working on very important tasks. How do you propose to cut your staffing levels?"
The Madam Secretary stared blankly. Potus waved his hands in the air to try to gain her attention.
"Oh, God, she's going to blow," said Potus, alarmed.
"She's stroked out!" shrieked the Chief of Staff.
Suddenly the Secretary of State moved her head. "Nonsense, boys," she purred. "I was just taking a nap. Where were we?"
Potus put his hands down. "Layoffs?" he prompted.
"Ah yes, layoffs. My favourite topic. When I was a young lady working under Number 40, we once had to..."
Potus raised his hands to stop her. "Ok, reduce staff by 60%. Got it. Someone write that down. What time is is?"
Everyone checked their watches and their phones.
"12:45," said one.
"12:40," said another in quick succession.
"1:30," said a third down the table.
"Close enough," said Potus. "Time for lunch!"
As they filed out, the room was empty except for the Secretary of State sitting alone. Her eyelids drooped precariously and a thin rope of drool hung down from the corner of her mouth, connecting to the wet stop on her blouse.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the Presidential Bedroom, Potus was getting into his silk pyjamas. He looked over at the pillows exposed by the drawn-down bedspread. He grabbed one and padded thoughtfully out to the sitting room. He nodded to Johnson and a younger agent guarding the door.
Johnson raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sir, will there be any incidents tonight?"
Potus furrowed his brow. "Incidents?"
"You know," hinted Johnson. "Problems with the missus?"
Potus smiled, suddenly understanding. "Ah, you mean unpleasantries in the boudoir. No, there shall be no such activities tonight." He paused. "But I have been bad today," he muttered.
"Sir?" asked Johnson.
"Nothing," Potus said. He made a gesture with the opened chocoate mint and took a bite. "Where's the staff person that left this?" he asked. "I thought we had, you know. You know at the layoffs meeting today?" asked Potus.
Johnson answered. "Well, sir, we had a snag with one of the, uh, the credentials for some staff. They were marked as non-revoke."
"Non revoke?" wondered Potus. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? When I say fire people, we need to get them fired." Here Johnson got a strange look on his face and tried to shake his head discretely. Potus continued, "We need to remove the riff-raff and chiff-chaff. Cut the fat and the muscle. Chop to the bone!" Johnson made chopping motions at his neck as subtly as he could.
"Merry Christmas, motherfucker!" shouted Shaniqua, appearing behind Potus.
"Ah, Shaniqua," said Potus, whirling around, nearly dropping his half-eaten morsel of chocolate. "How pleasant to see you again, I was just saying how wonderful it is that you survived the layoffs during this difficult time." Potus pretended to be incredibly interested in his chocolate wrapper.
"Oh no you didn't Mr. Potus Presidential Whosit," railed Shaniqua. "We had a deal about my employment and your station in the office." Using her incredibly long fingernaill, Shaniqua drew a big long vertical zig zag down the height of the space between them. "You don't fuck with me and I won't be fucking with you. But you done and tried to fuck with me didn't you?"
"No?" asked Potus as his voice cracked.
"That's right. That's right. You can have your chocolate, but you can't have none of this," Shaniqua exclaimed, turning three quarters profile and displaying all that not available to Potus.
"Good night, Mrs. Shaniqua," Potus stammered, and turned on his heel to leave.
"You better run away, you coward white boy," Shaniqua exclaimed after him. "Ain't nobody gonna fire me from this place!"
Potus looked at the Secretary of State. "Madam Secretary," he said. You've drooled on yourself again." She looked down at her shoulder and tried to brush at it. "Never mind that now," Potus continued. "How are you going to help trim our budget in your department?"
The Secretary of State slipped her hand absently into the lap of the Chief of Staff who paled. "I've decide I can cut back on my staff and travel allowances. I've been planning on visiting the diplomatic offices at the Adironbacks and Camp David."
"Camp David?" asked Potus. "Isn't that where Number 43 was from?"
The Chief of Staff lept from his chair with a yelp, pushing away the Madam Secretary's hand from his knee.
The Secretary of State answered, "No, I think he was from New York; what with the whole 9/11 thing." She turned to the Chief of Staff and patted his chair. "Sit down you poor thing. I won't bite." She made her most inviting sneer face.
The Chief of Staff stood behind his chair. "I'll stand. Continue."
Potus became impatient. "Madam Secretary, cutting travel cost is a fine measure. We need some sort of reduction of staff as well. I'm sacrificing a lot of my staff budget who are working on very important tasks. How do you propose to cut your staffing levels?"
The Madam Secretary stared blankly. Potus waved his hands in the air to try to gain her attention.
"Oh, God, she's going to blow," said Potus, alarmed.
"She's stroked out!" shrieked the Chief of Staff.
Suddenly the Secretary of State moved her head. "Nonsense, boys," she purred. "I was just taking a nap. Where were we?"
Potus put his hands down. "Layoffs?" he prompted.
"Ah yes, layoffs. My favourite topic. When I was a young lady working under Number 40, we once had to..."
Potus raised his hands to stop her. "Ok, reduce staff by 60%. Got it. Someone write that down. What time is is?"
Everyone checked their watches and their phones.
"12:45," said one.
"12:40," said another in quick succession.
"1:30," said a third down the table.
"Close enough," said Potus. "Time for lunch!"
As they filed out, the room was empty except for the Secretary of State sitting alone. Her eyelids drooped precariously and a thin rope of drool hung down from the corner of her mouth, connecting to the wet stop on her blouse.
Meanwhile, upstairs in the Presidential Bedroom, Potus was getting into his silk pyjamas. He looked over at the pillows exposed by the drawn-down bedspread. He grabbed one and padded thoughtfully out to the sitting room. He nodded to Johnson and a younger agent guarding the door.
Johnson raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Sir, will there be any incidents tonight?"
Potus furrowed his brow. "Incidents?"
"You know," hinted Johnson. "Problems with the missus?"
Potus smiled, suddenly understanding. "Ah, you mean unpleasantries in the boudoir. No, there shall be no such activities tonight." He paused. "But I have been bad today," he muttered.
"Sir?" asked Johnson.
"Nothing," Potus said. He made a gesture with the opened chocoate mint and took a bite. "Where's the staff person that left this?" he asked. "I thought we had, you know. You know at the layoffs meeting today?" asked Potus.
Johnson answered. "Well, sir, we had a snag with one of the, uh, the credentials for some staff. They were marked as non-revoke."
"Non revoke?" wondered Potus. "What the hell's that supposed to mean? When I say fire people, we need to get them fired." Here Johnson got a strange look on his face and tried to shake his head discretely. Potus continued, "We need to remove the riff-raff and chiff-chaff. Cut the fat and the muscle. Chop to the bone!" Johnson made chopping motions at his neck as subtly as he could.
"Merry Christmas, motherfucker!" shouted Shaniqua, appearing behind Potus.
"Ah, Shaniqua," said Potus, whirling around, nearly dropping his half-eaten morsel of chocolate. "How pleasant to see you again, I was just saying how wonderful it is that you survived the layoffs during this difficult time." Potus pretended to be incredibly interested in his chocolate wrapper.
"Oh no you didn't Mr. Potus Presidential Whosit," railed Shaniqua. "We had a deal about my employment and your station in the office." Using her incredibly long fingernaill, Shaniqua drew a big long vertical zig zag down the height of the space between them. "You don't fuck with me and I won't be fucking with you. But you done and tried to fuck with me didn't you?"
"No?" asked Potus as his voice cracked.
"That's right. That's right. You can have your chocolate, but you can't have none of this," Shaniqua exclaimed, turning three quarters profile and displaying all that not available to Potus.
"Good night, Mrs. Shaniqua," Potus stammered, and turned on his heel to leave.
"You better run away, you coward white boy," Shaniqua exclaimed after him. "Ain't nobody gonna fire me from this place!"
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