Potus, Press Conference Part I

They boarded Marine One and she lifted from the ground and flew away.  The Chief of Staff and the U.N. Ambassador sat on the grass together, arms around eacho other's waists and watched the magnificent bird take off.
"What will he do?" asked the U.N. Ambassador with a husky voice.
"What he always does," said the the Chief of Staff. "He'll save the world and curse his way through a press conference."
"Genius," said the U.N. Ambassador.
July 6
Meanwhile in the press briefing room, Potus was introduced to the domestic and foreign press by the Press Secretary.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the press," the Press Secretary began, "we have called this emergency meeting to provide some information on the recent events at Camp David while the President was on vacation there celebrating the holiday.  He'll give a brief speech and then we'll take questions and answer as many as we can.  We've chosen the order of the questions based on a random draw.  You've been assigned your order numbers before you got here.   Please hold your applause and questions until the end, thank you."
Potus stepped forward, smoothed out his papers on the dais.
"Dear my fellow Americans," Potus said and someone guffawed in the right front of the press room.  "Goddamn it," Potus said.  "I hate whoever keeps putting that in my speeches.  Don't think I won't find out who it is."
Someone on the left back side of the room giggled uncomfortably.  Potus jerked his head.  "Was that you?" he snapped.
The silence in the close room was punctuated by coughs clicking camera flashes and pens scratching on paper.
"I'm going to find you and kick your ass," Potus said finally.  The Chief of Staff walked to the President's side and whispered in his ear.  Then he handed Potus a new set of papers and took the others away.  Potus smoothed out his sheets of paper.
"Dear my fellow world citizens, goddman it to hell motherfuckers," Potus said.  He threw the sheets of paper behind him.  There was a great deal of laughter in the press room.  "All right, very funy, very funny," he said.  "No more laughter, this is a serious topic."
The room quieted down after a while.  Potus continued, "As you have heard from the unsubstantiated rumours, I regret to say that our beloved friend and ally, the British Prime Minister has died."  Gasps and the clicks of cameras were heard around the room.  "The British Prime Minister, God save his soul, was taken into our Lord's arms near my Presidential retreat by a carefully orchestrated attack by unknown parties."
"Mr. President," said someone from the front of the room.
Potus waved his hands and ignored the reporter.  "Approximately 10:30pm Eastern Daylight Savings time, an unknown assailant was seen throwing a firebomb at the Prime Minister and he perished in flaming death.  His security detail and our special forces were unable to prevent the attack because he had been intoxicated with a variety of over-the-counter cold medicines."
"Mr. President," sang out a chorus of reporters.  Potus ignored them.
"I personally called the Queen, God save her, as soon as I learned of the incident very early on the next morning.  She was bitterly grieved and expressed great anguish over this fine gentleman's death.  They'll likely make a saint out of him, God bless him.  I," here Potus' voice cracked and everyone who witnessed the speech agreed it was genuine and heartfelt, "I believe that he defeneded himself valiantly and we should all take a moment of silence for this hero."
"Mr. President, Mr. President," yelled the reporters as the cameras clicked.
"Shut the fuck up," Potus demanded.  "A moment of fucking silence, dickheads."
The room was silent for a few moments.
Potus said, "Now, I'll take some questions.  Who was first?"
A reporter in the middle row raised his hand and cleared his voice.  "Sir, there are reports coming out of the coroner's office that state the British Prime Minister may have been burned to death with some accelerant, like alcohol.  A contact inside the office said that he was also wrapped in some kind of 'kindling', his words, and also that a very flamable material that was sticky and black was found covering part of his ashes.  What do you say about those statements?"
"The coroner does not have a lot of good information and that information should not have been leaked in any case.  I believe that it just shows how crafty and vicious these Mossad agents are and how well prepared they were to execute such a crime against humanity and democracy.  You, there," said Potus, calling the next reporter.  There was a loud stirring and murmer among the reporters.
"Sir, you mentioned the Mossad just now, are you implying," the reporter started but Potus interrupted him.
"I said no such thing," said Potus.  "I'm sure what I said was an accident.  We are not saying the Israeli special forces had anything to do with this.  That is pure speculation and we won't address the issue until all the facts are out.  I think I was saying something about the mustard agents, like some kind of gas used in World War Two.  Next question," Potus said.  He winked at the Chief of Staff who gave Potus the "thumbs up" sign.
"Sir," said a reporter from the back row.  "There are further reports from some of the other guests in attendance at your fireworks show that there was some sort of strange drug-filled ritual involving hallucinogens and dancing and orgies."
Potus was annoyed.  "I don't know how you can make those stories up.  There was no dancing, or maybe a little bit.  Speaking of fireworks, we're still investigating if this was merely a horrible tragedy with the fireworks.  Maybe some embers fell on the Prime Minister and this is all some sort of freak accident.  I'll have my people on that," Potus said turning to his staff and gesturing frantically.  The Chief of Staff nodded and started scribbling in his notepad.  The Press Secretary began typing into his phone.
The next reporter jostled for attention and was able to wrestle control of a microphone.  "Sir, some tabloid reporters near the scene were said to snap photographs that were subsequently stolen from their cameras by men who drove black silent vans and wore black suits with dark sunglasses at midnight.  Were these agents federal men and will the government release this information to the public?"
"No," said Potus.
There was a long pause while cameras whirred and clicked.
"Sir?" asked the reporter.
"I said, 'no'," said Potus.  "Next question."
"Sir, the First and Fourth Amendments to the Constitution," began the reporter.
"No, don't give me that Constitutional bullshit," interrupted Potus.  "The federal government has jurisdiction over the grounds at Camp David where I perform my private rest after all my great and tiring service to this nation.  My men may or may not have seized valuable evidence that will help solve this case and that evidence will likely never see the light of day.  Those reporters are lucky to be alive.  I was about to authorise a mind-wipe on the tabloid muckrackers but have decided against it.  It is better for the nation that we don't resort to such drastic measures on our citizens."
"Mr. President," said the next reporter above the hubbub.  "I'd like to address the reports of drug use once agian.  I have similar sources who say that there was a lot of illegal substances consumed and that they were dispensed by a Native American-Indian shaman who is currently missing.  His wife and children have been trying to find him.  They have signed affadavits that he was visiting your compound at Camp David and hasn't been seen since."
"Shows what you know," said Potus.  "The great chief is alive and well.  We've been keeping him safe since the possibility of attacks was feared.  I spoke with him a few hours ago.  He can vouch for the fact that there were no drugs and that in fact, he was a licensed natural healer who was trying to help treat the Prime Minister, God save his burnt soul.  The chief had a minor incident where he fell and he has some bumps and bruises, but he's being treated well and will be released from our doctors' care shortly."
The same reporter continued, "Sir, the reports I have from sources say the chief was shot with a gun and that as many as twenty-six shots were fired."
Potus chuckled.  "Those were the fireworks.  Not a gun.  I think you've been reading Isaac Asimov again.  No guns.  Just some bruises and welts from his minor fall.
"Mr. President, Mr. President," said one reporter who fought the rest for the microphone.  "Was there any danger to yourself or others in attendance at the fireworks show on the fourth?"
"No, no," said Potus proudly.  "The Office of the President is guarded by the most advanced and well-trained bodyguard units in the world.  Even if the man who is acting as President could be harmed, the Office of the President never could be harmed.  I was never in any danger whatsoever, nor any of those in the immediate vicinity that were covered by my detail.  It is unfortunate that the Brits were unable to care for their own, but they seem to be having a stiff upper lip about the whole thing."
"Sir, Sir, Mr. President," called another reporter with an English accent.  "The British press is reporting that the Queen spoke with you in an informal setting and that you were not in proper attire for the meeting.  She has made a statement that she wishes to speak to you again when you are ready to peform a formal royal and proper interview."
Potus waved his hands and said "No, the Queen can go pound sand.  No one interviews the President.  We don't have royalty in America and we dislike all other forms of governments except democracies.  I had just woken up to be briefed on the incident and wanted to talk to her right away due to the time differences.  In fact, if we had one single timezone on the earth, the whole incident could have been avoided and I would have worn some more formal attire."
"No more questions," Potus said and left the stage as the reporters shouted.

Potus, Camp David, Part IX

The CIA director said, "I believe we're causing an international incident."
"Pssh," said Potus.  "I'll clear everything up with a speech.  I'm excellent at speeches."
"We can arrange a press conference soon," said the CIA director.  "But you, Sir, need to uh, you know, get dressed."
"Yes, of course," said Potus slapping his knees.  He stood up.  "Shaniqua, let's go, I need to get ready."
"Why me?" complained Shaniqua loudly.
"I need to give you back your 'pants'," Potus said pulling at the back of his thong and stretching the band.
"Oh no, Potus, you can keep that nasty old thing," Shaniqua said holding her nose.
Meanwhile, outside Johnson awoke and got up on one elbow.  He felt for his side arm and realised it was missing.  He noticed 9mm shell casing laying around in the grass and started picking them up hurriedly to hide the evidence.
The First Lady saw him from her bed on the ground and called him.  "Johnson, please help me up, dear," she said.
"Yes ma'am," he said putting the casings in his shorts pocket and trotting over.
"Where's Potus?" she asked.
"He's, um, well, that's classified ma'am," Johnson said.
"Ok, let's go find him and I'm going to kick his ass personally," said the First Lady.
"I can't let you do that, ma'am," said Johnson helping the First Lady to her feet.
"You don't have to look," she said.  "I'll take care of it in private."
The loud roar of a helicopter interrupted them and they stopped to look up as Marine One landed in a field nearby.  Potus strode out, dressed in a suit.  He waved happily at the First Lady and Johnson.
"Let's go, let's go," said Potus rubbing his hands with glee.  "We're off to avert an international crisis."
"Yes Sir," said Johnson.
"Potus, come here so I can beat your..." said the First Lady chasing after Potus.  He ran toward Marine One.
"You'll never catch me," Potus said as he saluted the marines on either side of the step ladder leading inside Marine One.

Potus, Camp David part VIII

The CIA director said, "Good idea, we'll blame the Israelis.  They've been itching to get a crack at the Brits for a long time.  Is it any coincidence that the Israeli Prime Minister, a former Mossad agent, is here on 'vacation' and is now missing, presumably flying back to Zion?"
"Exactly what I was thinking," said the man from the NSA.  "The Mossad cleverly architected a surgical hit directly inside the Camp David compound.  Thank God the President was never in any harm's way."
"Yes," said Potus proudly.
The CIA director continued, "We're already sending out messages and counter-intelligence to our allies and enemies.  We've taken care to slightly alter the story in each case so that the contradictory information will seem more believable."
"Excellent," said Potus.  "What about England?  They won't like that we've killed their leader."
The CIA director chuckled.  "No, their leader is the Queen.  Imagine the nuclear holocaust we'd be sitting in right now if she were killed during a Ghost Dance marshmallow incident?  No, no, other than some headlines in the press they won't notice."
"Oh, good," said Potus.
The man from the NSA said, "We should inform them directly as quickly as possible.  It's getting late in the afternoon their time and you need to apologise directly to the Queen before she learns about it on the internet."
"Me apologise?" asked Potus.
"Well, you know," said the man from the NSA.  "You just appear as if you are very concerned and apologetic.  You say, 'Ma'am (as in ham) I'm very sorry for your loss.  We wish you the best.  So on and so forth.'"
"Ma'am as in ham," said Potus.  "Got it."
"Good," said the CIA director.  We've got the video conference equipment setup with our offices in West Hampshire.  We have a stand-in who is fully briefed and she'll practice with you before you talk to the Queen so you can practice what you are going to say."
"Right," said Potus.
"Let's pull up West Hampshire," said the man from the NSA.
Potus uncrossed his legs and sat upright, folding his hands on the table.  A large image of the room and Potus with Shaniqua over his shoulder appeared on the screen.
"This is so you can see yourself and your posture, test your facial expressions and so forth," said the CIA director.
"Of course," said Potus, shifting and making faces at himself.  Shaniqua scowled.
An older, distinguished lady showed up in a box to the lower left.  Potus nodded.  "Let's test it."
The older lady and her regal surroundings popped up full screen and the Potus image shrunk to a small box.  "Nice setup," Potus said.
The older lady tilted her head and looked off-camera.  "We might be having audio troubles," said the CIA director.  "They chose a really good actress.  She really looks like the Queen."
"Hello Ma'am like ham," said Potus, giggling.  The woman frowned and looked at Potus.
Potus cleared his voice and tried to be serious.  "Hello Ma'am.  I'm Potus and I've got some urgent news for you."
"Yes, go ahead Potus," said the Queen actress.
"I'm afraid that your Prime Minister, who was a very good man by the way, has met an untimely ending.  We had a, um, a, um," Potus looked at the CIA director who mouthed a word.  Potus continued, "We've had a most unforunate incident in which the Prime Minister has met his death."
"Oh, dear," said the Queen actress.  She lifted a tea cup daintily and sipped it, pinkie extended.  She gently put down her tea cup in its saucer.
"Yes, Ma'am as in ham, I mean, just Ma'am," said Potus.  "We are gathering evidence, but we assume that he was assassinated by the Mossad and their killers, possibly with a marshmallow that was on fire.  I, of course, do not know anything about the incident personally and have no knowledge of the events surrounding his passing.  He was a very good man, a good leader, and heavy drinker."
"Oh, pish posh," said the Queen actress.  "He was not a very good man 'tall.  I don't speak ill of the dead, but Britain is better off without him.  I always did wish he hadn't been elected."
"Yes, Ma'am," said Potus raising his eyebrows.
"Ok, cut," said the CIA director.
The old lady looked surprised and looked off-camera.  "What's that?" she asked.  "I thought this was supposed to be a formal call from the United States.  He hasn't even got a shirt or any trousers on.  He's wearing bloody women's pants."
"I think this is real," whispered the large man from the NSA.
"No, it can't be," said the CIA director.
Shaniqua stuck out her tongue and made faces at the camera that could be seen in the small window-in-window view.  "Those aren't pants, those are my panties!" she yelled.
"Cut the feed, cut the feed," yelled Potus.  The view of the Queen clicked off and the view of Potus and Shaniqua filled the entire screen.
"That was bad," said the CIA director.
"I think so," said Potus.  "I didn't even straighten my tie."

Potus, Camp David part VII

"They are a bit snug," said Potus.
Shaniqua turned around.  "Those are mine," she said.
"Oh," said Potus, looking down.  "My cheeks are a bit cold, that could explain things."  Potus cupped his hands to cover up any dangling bits and turned to walk back to the house.
Potus waited for Shaniqua to open the door and she nodded as he walked by.  A young secret service agent just inside the door stood up from his stool at attention and said, "Sir!"
"At ease," said Potus.
They continued down a hallway and turned left to go to a situation room.  Potus stood before a door marked "SECURE" and waited patiently for Shaniqua to open the door.
"Hello CIA directory," Potus said to one of the men inside the conference room.
"Hello Sir," said the CIA director trying not to laugh.  He stood up and extended his arm to shake the President's.
They stood uncomfortably like that for a while until one of the other seated men spoke up.
"Sit down, Sir," said a large man.
Potus sat and asked, "Who are you?"
"I'm from the NSA," the man replied.  He motioned to the screen at one end of the room.  A projected image of the Presidential seal appeared.  "I have some interesting photos to show you, then we must discuss what to do next."
"Ok," said Potus, crossing his legs and rubbing his hands together to warm them.
"This first photograph is an apparent orgy with the First Lady, yourself, the Hopi Chief, your Chief of Staff and the U.N. Ambassador," he narrated.
"Those are hotdogs.  They're very American," Potus replied.
"This next photograph is you and your security detail snorting cocaine," said the NSA agent.
"That's merely ancestor ashes.  Nothing wrong with that.  Perfectly harmless," said Potus.
The large man peered at his notepad.  "It says here that it was described as 'Ancestor Clay'."
"Yes, same thing.  Nothing abnormal about that," said Potus.
"Here we have a photograph of you drinking an unknown liquid from a leather bag," said the large man.
"Oh no, that's just spirit juice.  Just juice.  From spirits," said Potus.
"Why does it have to be juice?" asked the large man.  "I have 'liquid' in my notes."
"Liquid sounds suspicious, juice is very wholesome," said Potus.
"I see.  On the next picture, we see you and your security detail and Cabinet eating Indian dope," said the large man.
"Oh, no," cried Potus.  "That Indian gave us marajuana?"
"No, Sir, Indian dope, or cactus crumbs, are peyote," said the large man from the NSA.
"Oh, that's bad too." said Potus.  "He called it vision bisuits.  Or cookies.  I can't remember."
"Yes, Sir," said the large man.
"And the spirit juice was Anhalonium," said Potus.
"That's mescaline," said the man.  "I looked it up."
"That was good shit," said Potus.
"I bet it was," said the man.  "Now let's discuss who's responsible.  Clearly, your security detail was negligent."
"Oh, no, no no," said Potus.  "Johnson was only following orders.  I ordered him to test the safety of all the psychoactive compounds for me."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"Yes, Johnson is not to blame for this.  He was keeping me safe, as his union contract and the Secret Service charter requires."
"Let's talk about sexual harassment," said Shaniqua abruptly.
"Oh, you're still sore about that?" asked Potus turning to face her.
"Uh huh," affirmed Shaniqua.
"We can take care of that pretty quickly if you'd like.  Last time I asked you didn't want to," said Potus.
The man raised his one eyebrow even more.
"I'm threatening you, stupid," said Shaniqua.
"Oh, well, in that case, I deny it," said Potus.  He turned to the large man from the NSA.  "I deny all of it emphatically," he repeated.
"Let's see the rest of the pictures, shall we?" asked the man.  "These pictures show a bunch of white idiots trying to dance in various states of undress," he said.  Several photographs slid by in sequence.
"Ghost dance.  Perfectly reasonable," said Potus.  "Drives away the evil spirits.  I mean, germs."
"This photograph shows the, um, Chief of Staff making out with the U.N. Ambassador," said the man.
"That's not very professional," said Potus.
"This picture shows the U.N. Ambasasdor undressed and she's not, um, a, um, she," said the man.
Potus screwed up his face.
"And this picture shows the Chief of Staff...  and her, him I mean..."
Potus shouted out, "I knew he was gay!"
The man from the NSA cleared his throat loudly.  "Here's a photograph of your security detail extending his weapon and firing at the Hopi Chief," the man said.
"Cowboys and Indians," mumbled Potus.  "Speaking of whom, where is the Indian Chief now?" he asked.
"He's in detention in a safe location," said the man.  "This photograph shows you swinging a lighted stick of 25 marshmallows like a light sabre," he said.
"That's normal.  Just good American, boyscout fun," Potus agreed.
"Here's a picture of the British Prime minister being burned alive inside his gin-soaked blanket," said the man from the NSA.
Potus covered his mouth in shock.  "That wasn't me, I can assure you," he said finally.
The CIA director pointed at the screen.  "Let me reassure you, Sir," he said.  "We support the United States and the Office of the President with full confidence.  We will not allow this information to leak out.  You were merely re-enacting the great revolution of 1776 in a drugged out murderous rampage."
Potus pointed at the screen as well.  "Let me assure you, fine sir who reports to me.  I did not have anything to do with an assassination.  In fact, I think it was probably you or your secret skunk works projects that perpetrated this great crime against our former Imperialists."
"Gentlemen," said the man from the NSA.  "This will not reflect well on our country or our leaders.  No, we must find a more suitable candidate."