The President Has Left the Building

by BJ Gale

email: bjgale@ameritech.net

Thursday, January 20, 2050

Dear Diary,

Well, today was inauguration day. That was pretty cool. I don't know why they couldn't have scheduled it for later in the day, though. I was TOTALLY hung over. Oh, well, I guess now that I'm President, I can make sure none of the meetings start before noon, right?

Okay, I know I haven't written in a while, and you're probably thinking: Hey, V, what's up with this "President"stuff? Last I heard, you were doing the horizontal two-step on some island south of St. Bart's with a pair of native beauties! (What can I say? I'm quite a dancer!) Yeah, that's true, but apparently my idiot older brother who was SUPPOSED to be President this time skipped the planet or something, leaving me a sitting duck. One minute I'm sipping Margaritas on the seashore (yep, they were both named Margarita...that's my kind of love triangle!) and the next thing I know I'm getting stuck with a needle longer than my ... you know ... and getting declared the genetic successor to the Presidency.

I was totally pissed, and called up Grandpa W right away, but he was No Help At All. He went on and on about how it was my duty as the next in line after seven successive Presidents from our family, blah, blah, blah, but on a plus note, he said that

#1 - I don't really have to even do anything. The Vice President - Carl someone - is really running things anyway, and

B - If I can keep my nose clean and produce an heir in the next 8 years he'll buy me France. I didn't even know it was for sale! (Again, I mean.)

V.

Monday, January 24, 2050

Dear Diary,

So I figured that I wouldn't have to start work until Monday. I mean, geez, I just moved in on Thursday for crying out loud. Can't a guy have a nice long weekend if he's, I don't know, PRESIDENT?!? Apparently not. I get this call from the Vice President on Friday and he wants me to swing on over and see these new cabinet additions he's picked out. And I'm thinking:

A - What a total square, and

#2 - Yeah, great. Glad you're redecorating already. Doesn't this White House place come with enough cabinets? Can you at least give me a chance to UNPACK before we have to start remodeling projects?

But no. He insists that I have to show up right away, and then it turns out that this "cabinet"is a bunch of people. Secretary of this, secretary of that. Alright, fine, it always goes better when the help likes you, but really, if I want something done, aren't I going to want to meet with the person in charge? Not the secretary! I honestly don't know how this Carl guy ever managed to get to be a Vice President.

V.

Friday, January 28, 2050

Dear Diary,

Remember that totally obnoxious dweeb from college? Brian something? The one who told the University Provost on us after that little incident at the frat house with the ethyl alcohol and the beaver? Well, he's HERE! Well, not here, like in my bedroom (ew!) but here, like in Washington! This totally sucks. Apparently, he's a Senator or something. And apparently not just any Senator. He's the minority LEADER. I didn't even know he was black.

V.

Thursday, February 17, 2050

Dear Diary,

Guess where I am. Wrong! (Imagine "gong"sound here.) Pennsylvania. My first business trip! Doubly exciting, since I've never been out west before.

The Chief of Staff, Dennis someone, set up this sweet deal for me where I get to fly around in this really cool plane and take tours and make speeches about jobs and imports and shit. (Don't worry. I just have to read them off of my retinal implants. Pretty cool!) Today they took me to see the Liberty Bell. The park rangers and all my idiot staff were going on and on about how cool it was, and I'm like: Hello! Morons! There's this huge CRACK in it! What are you, blind? I swear, these people were not hired for their powers of observation.

Oh yeah, that reminds me of another thing. Vice President Carl someone gives me this big talking to before we go about how we're going to a blue state, so I should be prepared. Okay, I don't know what he's been inhaling, but this state looks no different than any of the others I've seen.

V.

P.S. Wouldn't you think the Chief of Staff would supervise those secretaries I was telling you about? Me too! Turns out not, though. The secretaries are supposedly really important people with, like, trillion dollar departments, which is apparently still not enough money to buy them a decent job title!

P.P.S. Speaking of job titles, I'm thinking of getting new business cards with something different on them. Start thinking about what I should get, okay?

Friday, February 18, 2050

Dear Diary,

Well, today didn't go as well (understatement!). I had to give this speech about blah, blah, blah at this convention center, and first of all, the place was full of common people. Who invited them?! So, anyway, I walk up to the mike after they play my theme song, and all of a sudden, a bunch of long-haired freaks stand up, link arms and start chanting about bringing back moats or some idiotic thing. Vice President Carl says they're called "protestors."Whatever. So the Secret Service guy who's been following me around rushes me out of there and when we get into the limo he says into his lapel "opey has left the building."Did you catch that?! Dopey! He's trying to tell me that that's code so the bad guys won't know what he's talking about, but I'm the President, for fuck's sake! I deserve some respect!

I made him change it to Blitzen.

V., Supreme Leader of Even the Common People (what do you think of that one for the business cards?)

Monday, February 21, 2050

Dear Diary,

Well, I was talking to the Vice President and one of the secretaries (interior? exterior? posterior?) about the trip and the whole thing about the moats and the Dopey/Blitzen controversy, and first of all, Secretary Al someone says it's vote, not moat, and I say: well, I'm going to have to change that in my diary, and he says What diary? And I explain, and they completely FLIP OUT on me. They were cursing and going on and on about national security and what if it gets in the snare of the enemy blah, blah, blah so I told them I'd stop writing (as if!). So instead I figured in case this ever does get in the hands of the enemy (as MORE if!) I should just use code names for people! You know, like Dopey and Blitzen! Genius, huh? Code names and secret cymbals are so much fun to play with! I think I might need a new decoder ring.

ANYway, so as I was saying, Vice President Grumpy and Secretary Prancer explained that those protestors wanted to bring back the VOTE which apparently is some ancient method of selecting the President, back before the DNA testing, back even before the Supreme Court just decided. Apparently, there's this whole confederacy of people in this movement based out of Albuquerque, of all places. Don't people in Mexico have their OWN Presidents to worry about?!?

V., Uber-Commander-At-Large

Wednesday, March 23, 2050

Dear Diary,

Great news! Happy is pregnant! Okay, as you know my dog's name isn't Happy (it's Princess), but I figure I care much more about whether she gets in the hands of the enemy than I care about Vice President Grumpy! Anyway, I hope it's twins. They run in my family, you know.

V., Lord of all He Surveys

Friday, April 1, 2050

Dear Diary,

I am really pissed at Chief of Staff Sneezy. He goes and sets up this meeting with the leader of the lesbians, and I'm all psyched to meet a real prime minister or something and work my charms, and it turns out that she's this HUGE FUCKING DYKE!!! Next April Fool's Day we'll see who's laughing when he goes to pee and there's Saran Wrap on the toilet. Teach him to mess with...

V., Head Texan in Charge

Thursday, April 21, 2050

Dear Diary,

I haven't been feeling well lately. Frankly, I think it's all these months of having to wake up at the crack of ass (let me tell you...being President gets you no respect around here). I'm sleepy ALL the time. Get this: The other day I was in the holo center working on this simulation I'm doing based on all the old classic tv shows...you know: Baywatch, Xena, etc. (Horny Amazon babes in bikinis!). Anyway, I got the girls bouncing up and down and shaking their maracas as they're playing this beach volleyball game and I FALL ASLEEP AND POUR HOT COFFEE ALL OVER MY CROTCH! The real stuff, too, not that nasty fake holo-coffee. I'm talking major potential scarrage here. So, I quick called up the Surgeon General's office and said I needed the general to come look at my dick and the chick who answered the phone HUNG UP ON ME! Somebody's panties were sure in a twist today! (Did I mention that being President gets you no respect around here?)

Well, apparently part of the problem is that the Surgeon General turns out to be the chi--, er, female person who answered the phone, and she thought I was some obscene caller or something. I explained that no, I'm the PRESIDENT, DAMMIT, and I'm lying here in serious pain and I needed her to look at my dick. I mean, okay, normally I only want the babes doing this in a non-professional capacity, but:

#A - she's gotta have seen some scary battle injuries in her time, right? I mean, she's a freaking general! And

3 - I'm remembering that if I can't produce an heir during this 8-year sentence, there goes the title to France! So I'm a little concerned about the status of the swimmers.

So she STILL doesn't want to come over, making these seriously lame excuses, so I tell her that she better waltz her pretty little ass over to me instantaneously. Otherwise, I'm going to post her to some war-torn nation she's never even heard of before. Maybe Trinidad and Tango or someplace like that! I mean, am I not the Commander in Chief of the freaking Armed Forces?! (I wonder what she's a general of, btw.) For some reason she thinks this is FUNNY, but she comes over anyway, and let me tell ya, she's a HOTTIE! Those holo-Amazons have NOTHING on her. Granted, Ephiny and Eponin could probably kick her ass and all, but General Vixen here's got ‘em beat in the boobage department.

So, I says to her: Doc, maybe after we're done here, you'd like to see some of MY bedside manner. (Bashful, I'm not.) She says no thanks, she's married. What's a little adultery among friends? I ask, but she doesn't go for it. The GOOD news, though, is that

B - she says not to worry about Mini V. He'll just be a little red for a while. (Better than yellow, right?) and

#4 - apparently there's another chick general who works here who's an attorney, and she's single. I may have to change her code name to General Cupid! J Must ask Chief of Staff Sneezy for an intro.

V.

P.S. I forgot to tell you. I got new business cards. Secretary of Defense Dasher suggested the title to me: Podex Perfectus. You like?? I think it sounds very regal. Anyway, Dasher says it's Latin. I'm pretty sure that's what they speak in Spain, because that's where the Latinos come from, right?

Friday, July 1, 2050

Dear Diary,

So, apparently Monday's this big holiday around here, so I'm thinking: Cool, 3-day weekend. I'm figuring I can go down east somewhere...do a little bass fishing. But no, I have to give more stupid speeches! I tell ya, this gig sucks. I'm glad I've already made it through 5 months of this stupidity. My first year is a third of the way through!

Sorry this is so short, but I gotta run and call my bookie and tell him to put me down for a million on Covetousness in the tenth. I got a hot tip from an e-mail I received. I really want to win big on this one. Cousin Jesse down in Texas won enough money on the horses to buy himself a bigger ranch – complete with house servants! He always did have all the cool stuff – including that wife of his, who is WAY too hot for him!

V.

Tuesday, July 5, 2050

Dear Diary,

That idiot moat/vote confederacy crashed my speeches. ALL of them. I swear, Chief of Staff Sneezy is trying to run me into the ground. I'm guessing he gets my job if I kick it or something, because he scheduled me for 15 freaking appearances in ONE DAY! Everything from photo ops at the Boy Scouts baseball game (I swear that catcher was looking at me in a way another male should not be looking at me!) to sound bites at the NRA convention. And at every goddamned one of them, those freakazoids appear out of NOWHERE with that asinine chant of theirs. This is getting on my last nerve. Sneezy's, too, I think. I caught him and Vice President Grumpy having a really heated discussion last night, and the next thing I know, they're trying to break it to me gently that they think I should go on some extended world tour or something, to take the heat off for a while. HAH! Best idea I've heard in years, but I made like I was really put out so they'd have to cave and let me take that cool plane I flew on when we went to Pennsylvania (it has a king sized bed in it!). This Presidency thing is turning me into a pretty slick negotiator, don't you think?

V.

Saturday, October 29, 2050

Dear Diary,

I'm home! Let the chimes of freedom ring!

Seriously, toward the end there, I was willing to find some local temple and do a prehistoric polka to appease whatever gods they had handy. I would have danced naked with a tambourine to the glory of their non-American Idols to GET ME THE HELL OUT OF THERE! Where (you ask)? WHEREVER!

This trip was SO not the native babe-fest I had been planning on. Like when they took me out to see the native belly dancers – that sounded good. Turns out they were stupid ballet dancers! I hate people with accents. The whole time I had to meet with all these quote unquote "world leaders."Like it's not bad enough I had to use the bathrooms in these places, they made me talk to a bunch of foreigners! And not even the babes, I mean. Remind me to murder whosever idea this was.

Oh, and the talking! Some of the more uppity alleged leaders pretended they didn't even speak English (I mean, they were obviously faking. Because, what? Did they flunk out of 6th grade or something?). I mentioned this to Secretary of State Swampgas, and she called me a Xenaphobe. Hello? Clearly she doesn't know anything about my tv viewing habits. Maybe she meant xylophone? Who knows. These people are all pretty stupid.

I didn't score ONCE the entire trip. Which is probably why, when I was flipping the channels on the plane (it gets EVERYTHING!) I actually stopped on a news briefing because I was hot for one of the moat/vote chicks. How desperate is that?

V.

Thursday, November 17, 2050

Dear Diary,

Maybe it wasn't just desperation talking. That woman is HOT!

Apparently, everything went to hell in a handbasket while I was gone, because those moat/vote people are all over the tv. However, their leader is, as I mentioned, completely babe-licious. Okay, so she's obviously totally lawless, but she's also about six feet tall with these ice blue eyes, and she looks like she could squash my head like a grape! Maybe I should go over to the dark side. I'm sure I have many skills they could use. Okay, maybe at least a skill.

V.

Tuesday, December 6, 2050

Dear Diary,

I got to see the hottie on tv 17 times today. Vice President Grumpy is peeing his pants in pleasure that I've taken an interest in current events (yeah, right). However, every time I see a clip of her, she always seems to have this short, irritating blonde stuck to her like glue. I've thought about this problem extensively, though, and have decided I'm willing to do them both.

V.

Monday, December 19, 2050

Dear Diary,

What is this, a slow news day? Hottie and her cohorts have handcuffed themselves to the north gate of the building! As much as I like a good handcuffing now and again, this is SO not what I had in mind.

I offered to Vice President Grumpy that I'd go out there and "talk"to her, but get this – he says I CAN'T LEAVE! Apparently, the Supreme Court got a little loopy while I was gone and said that the Presidential genetic succession rule is uncool, and then the moat/vote people held a vote last month! They've elected some other poor schmuck as President, and they're basically blockading the building until I leave. V.P. Grumpy was pretty surprised that he had to tell me all this, seeing as how I've been glued to the news for weeks now, so I finally had to admit I was just watching for her with the sound off.

Anyway, now I'm stuck here (Gramps called from Texas to say he's on the case, and whatever I do, DON'T LEAVE) and I haven't even finished my Christmas shopping. Luckily, someone has set up really huge-ass speakers pointed toward the house to play Christmas music to entertain us during the siege. Some of the other morons around here are upset about the loud music playing 24 hours a day, but it helps keep me in the Christmas spirit. It's like having my very own timpani orchestra! "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening..."This rocks.

V.

Monday, January 16, 2051

Dear Diary,

Day Who-Knows-How-Many of the siege. I'm seriously starting to go bongos, because the Twinkies have run out. I had Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff Comet (who apparently has nothing to do with the "actual"Chief of Staff – go figure.) go check the old fallout shelters for more, but all he came up with was Spam. Personally, I think he kept them all for himself. Hey...do you think if I called up that attorney general chick to discuss bringing him up on theft charges, I could get in her pants??

Oh, in other news, my old college "buddy" remember him? Minority Leader Donner? – tries to tell me that today's Martin Luther King Day and I should go Alabama of all places and make a speech. Nice try, sucker. No one can hustle THIS hustler. I'm not leaving, not for all the Twinkies in China. How stupid does he think I am? I'm not even Lutheran! So, I fired him. But he says he doesn't work for me. What's up with THAT?!

V.

Friday, January 20, 2051

Dear Diary,

Everyone here is really cranky...not just me. Apparently, the entire administration has been hiding out here, too (which I guess is a relief to know, because I was seriously beginning to think everyone only had one suit and I'd just now noticed). Provisions are getting really low. Now the beef jerky is gone. Oh – hold on a second. Someone just slipped something under my door...

OH HAPPY DAY! You would NOT believe my luck. It's a flyer for ten-dollar beer night (tonight!) at some place called the Electoral College Pub (only fifty bucks for a pitcher!). I bet all the hot co-eds hang out there! Anyway, the address is 1602 Pennsylvania Avenue, so I think it's probably not too far away.

I WORSHIP whatever brave soul ran the blockade to get this to me. Now THAT is a true American patriot. Maybe I can give him some honor like a purple heart when I get back. Or maybe I can name an act after him or something. The Patriot Act has a nice ring to it, don't you think? I hope that name isn't already taken. Anyway, I'm just going to sneak out and pop over there and have a brewski or six. I'll be right back to tell you about the rest of my day...

The End

Total words from the list: 78

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