Not all beer & skittles at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
It was one of those morning when the Bamster was getting numb, it was barely eleven o’clock and he was feeling a bit green around the edges. From his arrival in the Oval Office at 7:30 until now it had been slow boring drudgery. The day had begun fine and clear, sunny and not a single middle of the night phone call to tell him of natural disaster, an assassination, a riot or other outrage, or an unexpected bad day on the Tokyo Stock Exchange. Then he had breakfast with his girls, they were chatty and a ate their scrambled eggs with winks and giggles and good cheer. HIs breakfast was just what he liked, half a papaya he had squeezed a lime over and dusted with fresh black pepper, a poached egg and two pieces of dry toast with a tart and yet slightly sweet orange marmalade sent over by the Danish Ambassador. He liked Denmark, nice little country that didn’t make trouble or demands for money. He had a list of the nice little countries: Coasta Rica, Chile, New Zealand, Portugal, and Bulgaria. They didn’t invade their neighbors, make political or economic demands, lock up and torture political prisoners or put up posters of him looking like the Joker in the last Batman movie. Unfortunately, it was a short list.
After breakfast with a spring in his step the Bamster our super hero and President walked to the Oval Office dressed in one of his favorite gray suits, he liked gray suits. He went downstairs and then out on the colonnade for a walk to the Oval office. The Marine Guards open the doors and gave him a sharp salute, he like the Marines, friendly athletic young men who never asked for anything and were always happy when he visited their gym to shoot a few hoops and loosen up. They watched ESPN and didn’t make trouble. He made a few calls from the list Rahm had sent over then went into his National Security Briefing. His stomach always gave a growl and often got worse as the half hour tour of the world went on. Russia was making trouble, the Russians were always like the big guy at the end of the bar who was just drunk enough to threaten trouble and just waiting to be dis’d. Then their were the Chinese, always amiable and helpful and looking out for number one with their world wide deals and counter deals. They were the perfect “fren’emies” and you had to keep your eye on them. Of course there were various thug dictators up to no good on every continent, African despots who fed their opponents to the crocodiles, Hugo Chavez who was always mouthing off like a school yard bully, and then there was the Middle East. Over there it never ended or got better without getting worse at the same time. In Iran the Revolutionary Guards were now raping coeds arrested brought in for Treason before they were hanged or shot. It seems Islamic law forbid the execution of virgins, so these savages raped them before they killed them. They also said awful things about him. Still he made nice nice and had low level talks with them that never went anywhere.
Thoroughly depressed he said good by to the National Security team and stretched before his Economics guys came in. While these guys didn’t tighten his stomach or give him much heartburn, they confused the Hell out him. Everyday the nerdy and the suave economists painted a picture that was hopeless but not serious, some days serious but not hopeless. They had numbers for everything and he tried to look alert and knowing. It wasn’t easy, some mornings they could have been talking Lithuanian for all the sense it made. He always felt he knew less after half an hour of numbers and more numbers than he had when he walked into the room.
Feeling mildly numbed by an hour of depressing news, he would walk back to the oval office and his ten minutes with his trusty Chief of Staff. This always revved him up, Rahm the nine fingered was full of news, moves and counter moves, great up beat ideas. He would also toss in some salacious gossip about this or that Senator or Congressman and a lobbyist or staffer. He also shared bad things, lots of bad things about the guys he disliked.
So, perked up, the Bamster gamely was ready for his pre lunch chores. He signed a pile of proclamations for National Flower Day, National Camp Fire Day, the centennials of the first this that and the other thing. Then he signed letters congratulating people for living a long time, winning the national slow pitch championship and a flowery note to be read at the Gala final appearance of an older opera diva.
The Vice President’s Office called and he invited himself to the special luncheon today for all his Czars. That’s all he needed, the Bamster thought. He buzzed Rahm’s office and told him to find a funeral or festival or something to get the VP out of town next week.
At 12:15 he walked into the State Dinning Room and there we all the Czars he had appointed. There were tall ones and short ones, Czars in their white Jackets and Czarinas in their tiaras. Old and young, fat and thin, cheerful Czars and gloomy Czars. His eye caught sight of the Czarina for women’s sports -- she looked tanned and fit and she showed a lot of cleavage. Most of the other Czarina’s looked like nerdy tenured professors of English Lit and organic Chemistry from good but not great universities.
At the podium was the Vice President, “Lets give him a big hand folks,” he said in that expansive cheerful way he had. Then he returned to the awful joke he had started, “You see folks, the three Congressmen walk into a bar and the Republican says to the two Democrats . . .” The Bamster sat and put on his best political fake smile. It was that kind of day.
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