@fourwude said:
can we just get bill Clinton in charge as king? I think the whole world would prefer that to this shit show you have going on right now....
Barack Obama sat alone in his luxurious office, feet propped on his massive oak desk, and sipped Henri IV Dudognon Heritage cognac from a fine etched crystal snifter. He had put in a long day of fucking up Obamacare's PR campaign throughout the nation, and he deserved a break. The building was mostly empty, save for some janitors and a few kiss-asses putting in extra hours in a vain attempt to be noticed when an executive position opened up. Monica, his eager and naive young secretary was one such ass kisser. "Maybe if she ever puts her mouth to better use than just answering the damn phones," he chuckled to himself.
The door to his top-floor office burst open suddenly and he nearly spilled his drink. Charging toward him was Bill Clinton, a veteran president working somewhere in Lewinski's office or some such nonsense. Barack was too busy driving the bus off the cliff to pay attention to what the passengers were doing.
Barack stood to meet his visitor, but before he could react, Bill had him by the throat. "You fucked up, Barack," he spat between gritted teeth. His breath reeked of cigarette smoke and rage. "Obamacare is a fucking mess. Insurance companies can't implement it right and the price is too goddamn high."
Barack wriggled beneath Bill's iron grip, sweat pouring down his brow. He managed a wry smile, attempting to show a confidence instantly betrayed by his trembling lips. "People w-will work a second job to--" Bill's free hand swept through the open air and connected with a smack across Barack's face, his wirey frame giving no indication of the strength within him. "No more bullshit, Barack."
Barack swallowed hard. Fire burned behind Bill's eyes, and Barack knew he meant business. "Bill," he choked, "you don't know people the way I do. They'll happily pay whatever price we set. We're the government, for fuck's sake. People trust us because people are idi--" Before he could close his mouth, Bill jammed the end of a pistol into it. "Be real fucking careful about the next words you speak."
He stared into the endless black of Bill's dilated pupils. The only sounds in the room were those of his heart pounding and his teeth chattering against the gun's muzzle. Bill was right to be angry and there was nothing he could say to fix what he had done. So he started to cry. Bill relaxed his grip and holstered his gun. "Get out of here," he said.
"You want me to leave my own office?" Barack asked, still sobbing.
Bill took the open bottle of cognac from Barack's desk and shot back a slug. "No Barack," he grinned, "I want you out of my office."
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