"What was that?" Potus wondered. "Dinghy or a raft? I guess a raft."
The Chief of Staff walked over next to Potus and whispered in his ear. The Chief's clipboard shielded their faces, but Potus was well mic'ed so the conversation was broadcast in clear stage whispers.
"What's that?" asked the closer, louder whisper.
"I think he said 'liberals eat my ass.'" said the other fainter whisper.
"That makes no sense. 'Fibbers steal a gas?'"
"No, Sir, 'liberals.'"
"Why would liberals steal gas?"
"No," said the fainter whisper voice. "'Eat my ass.'"
"I will not..." said Potus, his voice becoming quite loud.
"No, no no, shh shh..." hushed the Chief of Staff retreating behind light, shielding himself with his clipboard.
"Sheesh," said Potus. "That is some pretty weak-ass shit with the stupid boats question."
The director waved his hand in a frantic neck cutting motion to the board operator.
"What have we here?" continued Potus. "Illinois, you're on the Potus live network."
"Mr. President," said an affable woman from the display monitor. "What are you going to do to address the income gap between men and women in the workforce?"
Potus smiled and cracked his knuckles outward, smiling like a pleased cat. "Finally, a serious topic for discussion. I hate to break it to you lady, but we can't do anything about that. You see, if we tried to make laws that forced companies to pay equal wages, they'll just do the same thing the Americans with Disabilities Act did for the unabled. Unchallenged. Challenged. Whatever. You get the point. If companies are forced to hire more women or pay them the same as men, they'll actually hire less women because they can now hire men for an artificially lower price. And if we sue them out of existence for not having enough women then there won't be any jobs for anyone. That is great news for the communists and the undisabled challengers or whatever, but not for the common everyperson. The same common everyperson that I'm talking to now."
Still pleased with himself, Potus read the next city name, "Citizens in Roanoke, what say you?"
A young man with an obvious twang said, "Who's your favourite baseball player and why?"
"Ah, a discerning young man with a fondness of America's pastime. I appreciate the artistry, the physicality of the ball dance. The white man's game, well, besides golf of course. I'd say that for his honesty and integrity in the game, I like Pete Rose. Or maybe because of his athleticism, Mark McGwire. Either of those guys. Maybe Barry Bonds. Any of them."
Potus reached for his glass of water and found none. "That's it for tonight," he said. "Let's say good night and let the Congress people have their say in the rebuttal section. Good night and God bless."
Potus sat for a long while to let the director cue the Potus graphics and signal the end. Finally receiving the signal, he stood and put his hands behind his hips, stretching his back. "Oof," he said, gripping the edge of his desk and bending forward. The distinct sound of a deep-note kettle whistle could be heard. "Aah," cried Potus, stamping his feet. He gripped the edge of the desk more tightly and let another lengthy one rip. The Chief of Staff who had approached waved his clipboard to fan his face with a grimace.
"Still rolling," called a technician from somewhere behind the lights.
"With sound?" asked another.
"Negative," the first answered. "But I think it's obvious."
"Cut the feed, cut the feed," cried the director.
"Excellent job," exclaimed the Chief of Staff kneeling to get to face level with Potus.
"Yes, yes," said Potus talking to the floor. "We have given the common everyperson what they want. An honest assessment of the state of affairs of the nation."
"I think we should stand now," said the Staff Chief.
"In a minute," growled Potus.
The First Lady arrived and rushed to her husband's side, massaging his lower back. "How's my Potus-poo," she called, then grunted with effort on one vertebrate.
Potus cried out in pain but raised himself erect, rubbing back.
"Much better," he said, hobbling out supported by the First Lady.
The Chief of Staff walked over next to Potus and whispered in his ear. The Chief's clipboard shielded their faces, but Potus was well mic'ed so the conversation was broadcast in clear stage whispers.
"What's that?" asked the closer, louder whisper.
"I think he said 'liberals eat my ass.'" said the other fainter whisper.
"That makes no sense. 'Fibbers steal a gas?'"
"No, Sir, 'liberals.'"
"Why would liberals steal gas?"
"No," said the fainter whisper voice. "'Eat my ass.'"
"I will not..." said Potus, his voice becoming quite loud.
"No, no no, shh shh..." hushed the Chief of Staff retreating behind light, shielding himself with his clipboard.
"Sheesh," said Potus. "That is some pretty weak-ass shit with the stupid boats question."
The director waved his hand in a frantic neck cutting motion to the board operator.
"What have we here?" continued Potus. "Illinois, you're on the Potus live network."
"Mr. President," said an affable woman from the display monitor. "What are you going to do to address the income gap between men and women in the workforce?"
Potus smiled and cracked his knuckles outward, smiling like a pleased cat. "Finally, a serious topic for discussion. I hate to break it to you lady, but we can't do anything about that. You see, if we tried to make laws that forced companies to pay equal wages, they'll just do the same thing the Americans with Disabilities Act did for the unabled. Unchallenged. Challenged. Whatever. You get the point. If companies are forced to hire more women or pay them the same as men, they'll actually hire less women because they can now hire men for an artificially lower price. And if we sue them out of existence for not having enough women then there won't be any jobs for anyone. That is great news for the communists and the undisabled challengers or whatever, but not for the common everyperson. The same common everyperson that I'm talking to now."
Still pleased with himself, Potus read the next city name, "Citizens in Roanoke, what say you?"
A young man with an obvious twang said, "Who's your favourite baseball player and why?"
"Ah, a discerning young man with a fondness of America's pastime. I appreciate the artistry, the physicality of the ball dance. The white man's game, well, besides golf of course. I'd say that for his honesty and integrity in the game, I like Pete Rose. Or maybe because of his athleticism, Mark McGwire. Either of those guys. Maybe Barry Bonds. Any of them."
Potus reached for his glass of water and found none. "That's it for tonight," he said. "Let's say good night and let the Congress people have their say in the rebuttal section. Good night and God bless."
Potus sat for a long while to let the director cue the Potus graphics and signal the end. Finally receiving the signal, he stood and put his hands behind his hips, stretching his back. "Oof," he said, gripping the edge of his desk and bending forward. The distinct sound of a deep-note kettle whistle could be heard. "Aah," cried Potus, stamping his feet. He gripped the edge of the desk more tightly and let another lengthy one rip. The Chief of Staff who had approached waved his clipboard to fan his face with a grimace.
"Still rolling," called a technician from somewhere behind the lights.
"With sound?" asked another.
"Negative," the first answered. "But I think it's obvious."
"Cut the feed, cut the feed," cried the director.
"Excellent job," exclaimed the Chief of Staff kneeling to get to face level with Potus.
"Yes, yes," said Potus talking to the floor. "We have given the common everyperson what they want. An honest assessment of the state of affairs of the nation."
"I think we should stand now," said the Staff Chief.
"In a minute," growled Potus.
The First Lady arrived and rushed to her husband's side, massaging his lower back. "How's my Potus-poo," she called, then grunted with effort on one vertebrate.
Potus cried out in pain but raised himself erect, rubbing back.
"Much better," he said, hobbling out supported by the First Lady.
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