Potus interrupted excitedly, "Whoa, mama, Iran's got nukes? Those Israel nutcases must be going ape shit."
"No sir," corrected Secretary of Defence patiently. "Iran could” (extra emphasis) “have nuclear capabilities in a few years. Israel is officially willing to wait for a diplomatic solution for now."
"That's crazy," said Potus, "we should go bomb the shit out of those freaks right now. Where are my nukes? I'll show them. Where's my thingee, whatsit, the briefcase with the codes in it? The football?"
Secretary of Defence tried to calm Potus down. "Sir, that's fiction. It doesn't work that way. There are no 'codes in a briefcase' anymore. There is no 'football' in the physical sense.We use biometric data to ascertain your identity and we interpret your orders for, uh, execution.”
“Kind of like fly by wire?” Potus asked, rubbing his hands gleefully. “I love video games.”
“Maybe,” said Secretary of Defence hesitantly.
“Well, let’s get on that now,” said Potus. “I need football privileges!”
“I would love to ‘bomb the shit out of those Iranian freaks’ (your words), and believe me, we've tried. But you have to build a consensus, talk to the United Nations," Secretary of Defence waived his hands in front of himself. "It's a whole thing."
“It’s the goddamned Europeans, isn’t it?” Potus asked. “They don’t like our word football. It reminds them of that stupid kickball game, soccer.”
“I don’t think that’s it at all,” said Secretary of Defence.
Potus shook his head sadly. "Tell me about these UN assholes. They live rent free in their own little country on Manhattan Island and we foot the bill for all that?"
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