Mister President... Mister President... Please come out and talk to me
Just go away... There's nobody home.
Oh, poo... I just don't know what to do...
Morning, Reese. What's up? Why the long face?
It's the president, Jambi. I think that he's becoming terribly depressed. He won't even open up his box and talk to me.
Oh, that's too bad. What seems to be the problem?
You know the answer to that, Jambi. He doesn't want to be a Genie, of course, and absolutely nobody will help him. Yesterday he appeared to Rush Limbaugh and the man was absolutely rude to him.
...you can talk about being the president until you're blue in the face for all I care, but just try popping up on my golf course one more time, and I'm going to have my security guys haul your ass out of here in a sling.
The day before that, he tried appearing before Pat Robertson. I just knew that was a bad idea.
Oh, Lord, it's a minion from hell, the blue visage of Beelzebub. Get thee behind me, Satan. Help, Lord, help, please smite this demon quickly...
He's even been to see Oprah
...and I just feel really awful about everything that's happened to you, Mister President. But my problem is, if you can only appear for thirty seconds at a time, how am I suppose to make interesting television out of that?
Hey guys, I just got a call from Pat Robertson, and he's claiming to have seen one of the signs of the apocalypse... I was wondering if we needed to move on down to our underground headquarters.
No, Mister Rove. He just saw the president, that's all. The poor, sad, lonely, heartbroken president.
Wah wah... Cue the violins.
That's not very nice...
Don't worry about it. I've got something that will cheer him up.

Hey big guy, open up. It's magic time.

Oh yeah, mister body thief? How about magically giving me some arms and legs?
Don't be silly, big guy, you wouldn't be able to fit in the box if you had arms and legs.
Drop dead.
Ooh, bad advice. If I did that you'd be stuck inside of there for eternity. So since I'm here and you're there, let's make the best of it. Anyway, you've been doing so well with your teleporting...
I just set a new personal best yesterday. Forty-three seconds. Once I work my way up to fifteen minutes, I'm going to be on Oprah, and I'll tell the whole world what you traitors have done to me.
Forty-three seconds? You're a real trooper, big guy. You'll probably take to this new trick in no time. I'm going to teach you to talk to the animals.
Like Doctor Dolittle?
Oh boy. That sounds like fun.
Fun, yes, but it's also an elementary form of mind control. You just need to look your subject in the eye and chant the following to yourself. 'Mekka honee feelso fine, speak directly to my mind'.
Mekka honee feelso fine, speak directly to my mind. Got it. Send in Barney and let me try it.
Hey boy, hey boy, calm down. It's me, your beloved master.
Are you concentrating? Okay, here we go. Mekka honee feelso fine, speak directly to...
Hey! Put me down! Bad dog! Bad dog! Help!
Hi, honey, sorry to interrupt, but I just saw Barney run out the back door with your new Genie.
Don't worry, Laura. I have it on good authority that Genies are pretty much indigestible.
I don't get it...


2006, Mark Hoback