"Has anyone seen John?" Hillary wondered while greedily guzzling a Diet Coke in the lunch room.
Obama was meticulously slathering mayo on his turkey sandwich. "Edwards or McCain?"
"And my water… where is my bottle of Evian?" Hillary continued. "Now I’m forced to go back to Diet Coke again and you know these aren’t good in the long run. They make me so bloated and I have enough trouble getting to sleep at night as it is." She knocked a bag of Sun Chips off the table amid her frantic searching. With a frown and sweeping brush of the hand (to remove crumbs from her Diane Von Furstenberg blouse), she finally turned and said, "Well – I don’t know, Barack, where are either of them?"
"You know, I have the greatest respect and admiration for Senator McCain," Romney was saying. "But if he’s trying to weasel secret information out of Vice President Cheney, then that is just unacceptable. I’m going to go check on him. "
"I don’t believe in playing the gossip game, Hillary," Obama said dryly, straightening his tie. "But I will tell you this – sometimes a man faces two great challenges in this world: achieving his innermost ambitions… and meeting the demands of his wife – who, you know, is only human as well, and…"
"He’s on a bus back to Carolina, isn’t he?" Hillary interrupted, digging through her purse in search of her assortment of water bottles. Barack was sure to get the advantage over her in class today if she couldn’t stock up on her daily allotment of water! Perhaps she could counter with some Vitamin B and Q10.
"You know, John does what he feels he needs to do. I can’t speak for John. Some people lose hope in the political process, Hill, and… you know, they’re bitter, and they cling to their wives… to what they know…"
"Well I sure as hell ain’t clinging to Bill," Hillary forced a laugh. "He’s riding MY coat tails now! I need to get back to my room to work on this assignment about drumming up party support at fundraisers."
"Me too. It should be easy… I believe we can restore faith in the Democratic party by evoking the power of change. Remember… YES WE CAN!"
Hillary nodded and sauntered away, scribbling "Yes We WILL" down on her notepad.
McCain fastened his helmet buckle and hunkered down in his underground mud bunker. He peered through an extended periscope, where he could see the backs of the Ron Paul supporters as they gathered around Cheney’s window. "Phase one is to disperse this gaggle-march by means of tear gas," he said to himself, checking over his list. "Phase two will be to activate the ray gun to ensure at least 100 feet of space. Phase three involves escorting the vice president from the building into the ambulance. In Phase four, we’ll deploy the lawn darts if necessary… if I can get ahold of Rummy to issue me clearance. Gosh, I really hope it doesn’t come to that. My Independent voters aren’t going to like that."
McCain walked down the tunnel-like hall and hiked up a small mound of fresh dirt that led to the surface. He popped out of a hole like a gopher and put his binoculars up to his eyes. Much to his surprise, Mitt Romney was bravely charging down the green with his long legs and dashing good looks. McCain suddenly felt a pang of jealousy. On one hand, he was so brave to face those Ron Paul supporters like that. But on the other hand, that cheese eater was going to get himself killed! They’d surely tear him to shreds! "I’m the true American Patriot…" McCain thought aloud. "That’s what I’ve based my whole campaign on. If I don’t save him, how will the American public view me? I suppose I could always give it to ‘em straight on the Straight Talk Express…"
Mitt marched right past the mob with a megaphone, pushed a kid in a Che Guevara t-shirt away from a white podium and took his post. The group of supporters cranked their heads and began anxiously moving forward, waiting for one of the leaders to make the first move. A deafening squeal came out of the megaphone as Mitt tried to click over, causing his brow to furrow and his eyes to squint. Nevertheless, he tried again: "Listen, all you Ron Paul supporters. GO HOME. Libertarianism is all a farce. It’s just Anarchy for the Rich, privileged elites. You’ve all been duped. Real freedom is staying at home and not voting at all. Why bother supporting the government?"
The rabble rouse was silent for a moment. McCain felt a trickle of wet sweat trail from the back of his neck all the way down his right pant leg.
Finally one protester spoke up, "YEAH! Screw Libertarianism!" The kid with the scruffy beard, Grateful Dead shirt, brown glasses and Birkenstocks threw his sign down and walked off the lawn.
The girl with the dredlocks tossed her sign on top and said, "What a disappointment. I wanted a freakin’ revolution, man."
McCain clasped onto his binoculars, as his reddened face trembled. "RRRROMNEYYYYYYY!" he growled. How dare that pompous business savvy investor steal the show! As the protesters left in droves, he made several attempts to pull himself up out of his rabbit hole. He was so enraged, his efforts were futile, and the next thing he knew, Mitt was towering over him in his stupid blue suit with his stupid condescending grin.
"Well, hello there, Senator McCain," Mitt laughed, looking around to see if anyone was watching. "What are you doing down there?"
"J-Just shut up. You know damn well what I’m doing."
"Actually, Senator McCain, I really haven’t the slightest idea. We’ve got a Senate Tie-Breaking class in 30. I’ve always thought education is the investment our generation makes in the future, so you really shouldn’t take Mr. Cheney’s courses so lightly."
"Would you just shut up, you little Jerk?" McCain stormed away as quickly as he could hobble, refusing to even look at Mitt. He knew that there were much more important items on today’s agenda – notably uncovering the Ron Paul / Iran connection and checking on the status of Cheney’s health.
"Hi… Bill... it’s me, Hill… No, I can’t speak up… This is a secret, urgent call." Hillary was hiding beneath her bunk blanket, whispering into her cell phone. "I need some lines… NO, NOT COCAINE, YOU IDIOT…" she stopped herself as her volume rose. "Speech writing lines… regarding the Democratic base…"
In the next room over, Obama was on his cell phone. "Look, Reverend Wright, I was hoping for you to give me something I can use. I know the African American people are oppressed and that America is in damn rough shape, but America is a land of big dreamers and big hopes, so I think I’ve got to appeal to that." Barack was becoming increasingly frustrated at his pastor’s inconsistency. One moment he was marrying him and Michelle and baptizing his daughters… and the next minute he was suggesting that Barack dance while giving a presentation, start screaming about running for Jesus rather than the Oval Office and curse out America. "Thanks for your help, but uh, I gotta go."
He nearly dropped the phone when a knock on the door startled him. The door swung open just as he closed his cell and Condi walked in – sleek and slender as always, but looking a bit tired. He kept the image of Michelle’s disapproving glare in his mind to resist the realization that he and Condi were just feet away from one another in the privacy of his personal bunk.
"Mr. Cheney is going to have to reschedule the public speaking today, as he’s feeling under the weather," Condi recited.
"Give it to me straight – by ‘under the weather,’ you mean in the hospital undergoing another bypass, don’t you?" Barack quipped.
Condi’s red lips curled up and she shrugged in her subtle way. "Well, Mr. Cheney has been under a lot of stress lately…"
"I bet you have too…" Barack interrupted. "You know, focusing your life solely on the buck shows a poverty of ambition because it asks too little of yourself. And it will leave you unfulfilled…"
Condi’s eyebrow raised. She remembered watching the fine young senator make his speech at the 2004 Democratic National Convention. He was a star back then and it would be a pleasure to have him as the next VP – if not president – right now, she thought. She suddenly wondered how he felt about things like: meeting with Iran to discuss foreign policy, what sort of homeowners’ relief package they should put together, what color pant suit looked best on her and Bertucci’s Brick Oven Pizza. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"Am I interrupting something?" It was Hillary. "Barack, class is in 5."
"Oh, uh, I was just on my way to let you know regular class is cancelled today," Condi reported. "Instead, Mr. Cheney wanted you all to count the Mississippi mayoral votes in what he calls a ‘stuffing the ballot box’ drill. Mr. Cheney indicated to me that this is of utmost importance."
"Will we have the pleasure of you running our class, Ms. Rice?" Barack inquired.
Condi blushed. "No, I’m afraid Mr. Cheney’s sent a special guest lecturer for this task… although… I am available for pizza afterwards…"
