Scene: The Oval office. We hear a baseball game playing in the background. The president is sitting on the floor, playing with a Slinky.
intercom: Mister President, Secretary Rumsfeld to see you
<Rumsfeld walks slowly into the room. He is unshaven, his tie is undone, and there are noticeable splotches on his eyeglasses.>
Bush: Come on in, Rummy, have a seat. You're not looking so hot today... What, did you have a long night in the war room?
Rumsfeld: Mister President, there's something we need...
Bush: Hold on. The Yanks have a man on third.
intercom: Mister President, Miss Rice is on her way in. I told her you were busy, but she wouldn't take no for an answer
<Condi enters, looking less than immaculate. One of her hairs is out of place.>
Bush: Condi! What's wrong? You look like you've been crying.
Condi: Bwaaah-ha. Ah-hoo hoo boo hoo hoo...
<George Tenet suddenly staggers into the room. He has lost a shoe, his zipper is open, and he is carrying an almost empty bottle of Chivas Regal.>
Rumsfeld: Little George! Are you drunk?
Tenet: Yessir Meister Rumster. Ya wanna make somethin... Ya... Ya wanna join me?
Rumsfeld: Heavens no!
intercom: Mister President, Mister Tenet is probably already in the room. Son of a bitch slipped right past me.
Bush <standing up, placing slinky on the desk>: What the heck, you guys? What's going on here? This has to be the wackiest moment of my entire administration.
Rumsfeld: Mister President, you need to know that the President has asked us all to resign.
Condi: Bwaaah-wah-wah. Ah-hoo hooga, aboo hoo hoo...
Bush: I didn't do any such thing. You guys are my best buddies.
Rumsfeld: No, sir. I'm talking about the real president.
Bush: Cheney? He could've at least told me...
Tenet: Nooo, Georgie-Peorgie, not you, President Gore. Done it. Done it. Done it.
Rumsfeld: Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.
Bush: You guys are a hoot! President Gore...
Rumsfeld: He told me that the country was at risk as long as I stayed on the job. And he called me a bad listener...
Rice: <sniff> He said... He said, I did a bad job. Bwaaah-hahoo hoogah hoogah boo hoo hoo....... Hoon hoo huh <sniff>
Rumsfeld: Cut your sniveling, you sniveler. He only gave you one line in his whole speech. Political correctness is the way I see it. He told me that the Army didn't like me. And dammit,. I know it's true. I should resign. I guess I haven't been much of a Secretary of Defense.
Bush: Oh, Rummy, you've been a fabulous Secretary of Defense. <looks confused, then walks over to give Rumsfeld a big hug. Then looks confused again.> Am I having a dream?
Rumsfeld: It depends on what you mean by 'dream', sir. It can certainly be said that you are leading a dreamlike existence.
Rice: <sniffle, sniffle, snort> He means no.
Bush: Then I'm not really president?
Rumsfeld: It depends on what you mean by 'really', sir. In many senses of the word, you most certainly are the president. In many ways. It can certainly be said that you occupy the role of president.
Bush: Don't tell me. I wasn't really elected, was I?
Rumsfeld: It depends on what you mean by 'elected', sir. In many senses...
Rice: Shut up, Rummy. He means no. Tell him, little George.
Tenet: <deciding that now is the time to finish the Chivas> Wellll... I feel like such a rat. A big fuggin hairy brown colored furry smelly rotten... <Rice walks over and slaps him> Jeez, thanks Condi, I needed that. Wellll... Al Gore was a friend of mine, and let me tell you, I'm no Al Gore.... He called me good and decent. I'm not good and decent. I'm a big old rat. <sobs>
Bush: Will someone please tell me what's going on here?
Tenet: The president has asked us to re-si-i-ign...<sobs>
Rumsfeld: I guess it's up to me, sir. I'm the one in charge here. I can't count on these two crybabies.
Rice <making mean face>: I am not a crybaby, you asswipe. And that's the last time I'll ever reveal any honest emotion in front of you. Old man.
Rice: One-foot-in-the-grave old man.
Rumsfeld <turning to Bush>: The fix was in, sir. Little George - no friend of yours - set it all up, and he just used Florida as a distraction.
Tenet: A ratttt... A squeaking, nasty <blurrrgghh>...
Bush: Good Lord. <into intercom> Can we get the cleaning crew in here?
intercom: Mister President, your father is here, and he's got a rather large stick. Should I notify the... Ouch!
George H. W. Bush <walking into the room with a big stick. A humongous stick, really. He bonks W over the head.> Your head sounds like a ripe watermelon, son. Sit down!
Rumsfeld: Mister president!
Rice: Mister president!
Bush Sr.: Pull it together there, hoss...
Bush Jr.: Dad!!!
Bush Sr.: Listen, son, this presidency of yours is going nowhere. I thought that I was...
intercom: Mister President, a Mark Hoback just barged in here. We had the secret service shoot him in the leg, but he's still walking.
Hoback <barging into the room>: Listen, all of you, this piece is going nowhere. I thought that I was...
©2004, Mark Hoback