PART FOUR


Almost one hundred years ago a gang of British ruffians rode into Washington D.C. and torched the new Presidential Palace. Since then the Colonials had gussied it up a bit with a coat of white paint, some bunkers in the basement and a bit of old French furniture.

A TV in the Oval Office was tuned to Fox News. The sound was turned down low. The picture showed angry protestors waving anti-war signs just outside the gates of the White House. A long row of riot police marched toward them brandishing shields and batons. As they broke through the line of protestors, some fought back, others turned and fled in fear. The police chased after them beating those they caught and trampling others beneath the hooves of large dark horses.

"I still think we should just shoot a few of them!" President Jerry Shrub said. He scratched one of his large ears and put his feet up on the priceless mahogany coffee table. The Oval Office was a beehive of activity. Television lights around the President's official desk threw hard ominous shadows against the wall, where a picture of George Washington scowled down on the assembled shenanigans.

The Secretary of State leaned over the President. "We tried killing them off in Iraq, remember Jerry. Look where that got us!"

Jerry Shrub fumed in silence, unable to think of a reply.

"Now Jerry don't go getting yourself all worked up," First Lady Laura Lee said. She sat beside him on the couch, eating a bag of bacon bits dropping pieces all over her large pendulous breasts. Her rather generous hips forced the President to the corner of the small couch. Laura Lee's Horoscope in the Washington Post that day had said to indulge her carnal desires. She planned on doing just that. She looked over at the Secretary of State and smiled lasciviously.

"Just study your script and think about talking to the people of America," Laura Lee told her husband. "Remember, you're keeping them free so they can keep driving their cars and buying stuff, without terrorist blowing them up. That's what the American people want."

"Say did I tell you I asked God last night if this was the right thing to do and He didn't say no."

"That sure tells you something doesn't it dear," Laura Lee crooned as she opened another bag of bacon bits.

"Gimme some of those," Jerry said reaching for the bag. Laura Lee pulled back and bared her teeth, then smiled.

"You got to go on TV in a couple of minutes. You don't want bits of food stuck between your teeth do you?"

"Ah shucks," the President said and leaned back to read his script. His face was scrunched up in a pout.

"Wrinkles, wrinkles," Laura Lee chirped. "We don't want the people of America to see their leader with wrinkles now do we Shruby. Come on give me a big smile. Bigger. Bigger. That's my little man. Now you compose yourself for the TV."

Laura Lee grinned at the Secretary of State.

"Two minutes until air time," The Secretary told The President.

On TV the police were dragging protesters to a big windowless bus, clubbing and kicking them if they resisted. Some of the more youthful and buxom females had their tops torn by over eager rookies, as they threw them to the ground and handcuffed them.

A newspaper reporter held out his press credentials while two of Washington's finest smashed his camera and beat him to the pavement.

Jerry took his script and moved over to the desk. The hot lights began melting his makeup. The make-up technician powdered his face and brushed the dandruff off his shoulders.

"How you doing sugar?" the President asked as he tried to slip his hand up her skirt. She smiled and smacked him hard on the back of the head with the brush.