POTUS Feb14

February 14

Meanwhile, somewhere underground, it was a long interminable meeting with the Cabinet.  Potus hated CoS’s careful manner, the way he polished his glasses so carefully when he was considering an answer.

CoS was going over the day’s agenda, “Today, House Speaker HSp would like to talk with you.  I’ve taken the liberty of arranging...”

Potus interrupted him.  “I’m not interested in meeting those assholes.  Pardon my French, but they’re not interesting to me.”

CoS winced carefullly.  “Sir, you’re going to have to meet them eventually and they’re terribly interested in working closely with you.”

Potus sighed.  “Tell them this is the executive branch and theirs is the legislative branch.”  He made a hand cleaning motion like wiping dirt off his hands in the air.  “Never the ‘twain shall meet!”

CoS paused, not quite used to the abrupt manner Potus used.  He often wondered how Potus could have been elected in any office, much less Governor of Kansas.  He sighed and took off his glasses, unconsciously polishing them with the kerchief from his shirt pocket.  He began slowly, “Potus, Sir, this town operates on a sort of ‘give and take’ if you will.”  He raised his shoulders as a sign of defeat, making air quotes that could not be argued.  “Your predecessor,” and here Potus winced because CoS had a habit of overemphasising the “PRE” in predecessor, “met regularly with both the House and Senate to discuss matters of importance to all parties...”

“Goddamn it,” Potus interrupted rudely.  He felt badly about interrupting but not as badly as he felt when CoS was allowed to ramble on forever.  “Tell those guys to fuck themselves.  I’m busy with everything else and I don’t have time for those legislators to come begging for favours.”

CoS stared silently for a long time, unconsciously polishing his glasses.  Potus thought he might cry.  Everyone at the table cringed and looked awkwardly away.  CoS spoke up in a tired voice, “Sir, when you say, ‘Fuck themselves...’”

Potus smiled broadly.  He liked CoS’s resilience.  “Yes.  It’s a verb that describes a sexual act in which they participate alone and autonomously.”  There were some nervous laughter around the table.  Emboldened, he continued, “It can also be a noun, but that is not the use here.”

CoS stopped polishing his glasses.  He put them on carefully, then he took them off again to polish them.  “When I physically type the memo, should I use the actual word ‘fuck’ or perhaps some other verb that can describe what they will do?”

Potus and others laughed.  He had an idea.  “How many people report to you again?”

CoS frowned and answered uncertainly, “Around 800, sir.”

“Good!” Potus pounced.  “Get a few dozen people on a task force.  No, not a task force, a focus group.  We need to find out what the best phrasing for the term ‘Go fuck yourself’ is.  We need to find out what, exactly, is the best way to phrase the term that means, ‘Go into that room where you do some private business and there in that room you should execute a manoeuvre that twelve of your reasonable peers would consider fucking yourself.’”

There was a lot of laughter, including from the recorder clerk.  CoS did not laugh, but he seemed amused.  “Yes sir, on it.  A dozen people, yes.”

“Good,” Potus slapped the table.  “What’s next?”