“Mr. President I’m sorry to interrupt your lunch but I have Rahm here and he must see you immediately.” “Sure, let him in.” As the President motioned to Jimmy, his waiter of the day, “Jimmy boy” he said affectionately “could you please get Rahm a coffee, the way he likes it?” “Yes, Mr. President.” As the Presidents Chief of Staff quickly sat down opposite him, he did a flurry of head turns looking around as though someone might be listening. “Mr. President we have a big problem.” Oh great he thought, now what? What else could possibly happen, a nuclear attack on New York City? His lips tightened as his body prepared for the next body blow to his Presidency.
“Mr. President, my sources have informed me, that BP had underwater video cameras up and down the Deepwater Horizon platform and piping.” “No” the President blurted out. “Yes and the images were monitored and captured in their home office in real time in the U.K.” “Meaning, they have videos going back two months prior to the sinking of everything that went on down there, and I mean everything.” The President pulled in closer reaching halfway across the table and whispered “what the fuck do they have?” “It’s not good sir. I don’t think I should tell you specifically, if you know what I mean. It gets worse though, sir. The CIA knows about the videos and is attempting to get to them. “Holy shit Rahm, that fuck’n Soros fucked up, big time.” “How much exposure do we have at this point?” “Nothing, but this is moving fast with the Company now involved and you know how extreme they can be.” “I better schedule a very casual lunch with Panetta next week” the President mumbled.
God damn he thought, what next? “I got to leave Rahm. I’ve got Mabus in the office waiting.””OK, sir I’ll get back with you as this thing develops.”
The President ground through his meeting with the Secretary of the Navy who acted indifferent, since he found out his job was for sale after the Sestak confession last week. He kept thinking through the meeting why BP played ball if they knew. Am I being set up, he thought as sweat formed on his forehead?
Geithner is such a dweeb and half the things he says I can’t understand. I sure hope he and Ben know what the fuck they’re doing because I sure don’t. His meeting with his Secretary of the Treasury lasted only 45 minutes which gave him a chance to take a piss which was the only thing that felt good all day.
The President now moved on to his meeting with Hilary, his Secretary of State. God, he thought, she looks like hell. This traveling is sure beating her up. Good, he thought. The longer I keep her out of the country the less time she has to campaign. “Mr. President we have a problem.” Oh great, here we go again, what the hell’s going on around here, doesn’t anybody have anything good to say? “Karzai has signed a secret agreement with the Taliban to share all drug profits which we feel is a precursor to a pack to run the country after we leave. We are leaving right, Mr. President?” He hesitated to answer, remembering his conversation with Petraeus. As the President danced through the balance of his meeting refusing to answer most of her questions he was done, finished.
His busy day had finally worn him out and it was time to zone out with some mindless TV in the family’s private quarters of the White House. As he puffed on his first cigarette of the day in his padded cell, the Lincoln Bedroom, while watching a rerun of the Sopranos, he couldn’t help but feel a similarity between himself and Tony as the 503rd day of the Soprano, correction Obama Presidency came to a close.
“Mr. President, my sources have informed me, that BP had underwater video cameras up and down the Deepwater Horizon platform and piping.” “No” the President blurted out. “Yes and the images were monitored and captured in their home office in real time in the U.K.” “Meaning, they have videos going back two months prior to the sinking of everything that went on down there, and I mean everything.” The President pulled in closer reaching halfway across the table and whispered “what the fuck do they have?” “It’s not good sir. I don’t think I should tell you specifically, if you know what I mean. It gets worse though, sir. The CIA knows about the videos and is attempting to get to them. “Holy shit Rahm, that fuck’n Soros fucked up, big time.” “How much exposure do we have at this point?” “Nothing, but this is moving fast with the Company now involved and you know how extreme they can be.” “I better schedule a very casual lunch with Panetta next week” the President mumbled.
God damn he thought, what next? “I got to leave Rahm. I’ve got Mabus in the office waiting.””OK, sir I’ll get back with you as this thing develops.”
The President ground through his meeting with the Secretary of the Navy who acted indifferent, since he found out his job was for sale after the Sestak confession last week. He kept thinking through the meeting why BP played ball if they knew. Am I being set up, he thought as sweat formed on his forehead?
Geithner is such a dweeb and half the things he says I can’t understand. I sure hope he and Ben know what the fuck they’re doing because I sure don’t. His meeting with his Secretary of the Treasury lasted only 45 minutes which gave him a chance to take a piss which was the only thing that felt good all day.
The President now moved on to his meeting with Hilary, his Secretary of State. God, he thought, she looks like hell. This traveling is sure beating her up. Good, he thought. The longer I keep her out of the country the less time she has to campaign. “Mr. President we have a problem.” Oh great, here we go again, what the hell’s going on around here, doesn’t anybody have anything good to say? “Karzai has signed a secret agreement with the Taliban to share all drug profits which we feel is a precursor to a pack to run the country after we leave. We are leaving right, Mr. President?” He hesitated to answer, remembering his conversation with Petraeus. As the President danced through the balance of his meeting refusing to answer most of her questions he was done, finished.
His busy day had finally worn him out and it was time to zone out with some mindless TV in the family’s private quarters of the White House. As he puffed on his first cigarette of the day in his padded cell, the Lincoln Bedroom, while watching a rerun of the Sopranos, he couldn’t help but feel a similarity between himself and Tony as the 503rd day of the Soprano, correction Obama Presidency came to a close.
Special Note:
This is a fictitious story based on factual and fictitious events and individuals. It should not be considered factual in any way. We hope you enjoy this daily fictitious tongue-in-cheek story of the Obama Presidency.
Well written "non-fan" fiction.
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