The President looked over at his wife as the early morning light pierced the first family’s bedroom. He then glanced at the chest of drawers that contained her Voodoo dolls. The President gently nudged her to wake up. She turned and smiled, “Yes honey.” The President sheepishly asked “Michelle, you weren’t fooling around with those dolls again were you?” She responded with “no of course not, I’m a good Christian girl, you know that.” “Well some funny things have been happening and, well I was just wondering.” “Listen honey I stopped doing that years ago, you know that.”
He got up and headed for the bathroom to get ready for the big 4th of July BBQ and a couple of briefings he had scheduled prior to the feast. He remembered the last time he looked into that chest of drawers. He couldn’t forget finding the doll of himself that had pin holes in the crotch from that little thing with Vera Baker back in the early ‘90s. Michelle was quite upset about that little misstep and he hasn’t pissed right since. The President was OK with the whole thing as long as the pins weren’t headed in his doll's direction.
Rahm was getting ready for a quick flight to Chicago to discuss the Blagojevich trial and his involvement in the selling of the President’s Senatorial seat when he got a call from Stripper, his info man on the Deepwater Horizon sinking. Stripper directed Rahm to another vacant parking lot and seemed nervous about the whole thing. Rahm thought that was out of character for this stealthy cool ass spook.
They pulled up next to each other, as they did the last time, and rolled their windows down. Stripper looked rattled and started talking fast, real fast, almost as though his life depended on it. “Listen, Rahm we’re all in danger.” “Who’s in danger, me, the President, who,” Rahm strained? “I found out why the Deepwater Horizon was sunk and who did it, I mean who really did it, and you’ll never guess why, it has nothing to do with oil. It has to do with…..”
Then it happened, the explosion of brain matter and blood all over his face, clothes, everything. The only thing Rahm heard was a sound similar to an object hitting a melon at 2,000 miles per hour. That was it, the head and face he was talking to a second ago was gone, completely gone. Stripper’s car lunged forward since he failed to put the car in park and had his foot on the brake. The car was now headed towards the railing of the 10th floor of this open corporate parking lot. Rahm could hardly see anything for all of the blood in his eyes, but he could hear the smash of the now headless Stripper’s car hitting the barrier and eventually exploding 100 feet below.
"Shit, shit," Rahm kept screaming as he tore off the top floor and headed down the seemingly endless ramp, scraping both sides of his mid-size government car. He finally reached the street level and floored it as he put as much distance as possible between himself and Stripper's now headless and burning body as the 520th day of the Obama Presidency screamed down 95 at 95 miles per hour.
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