Monday, March 01, 2010



Copyright © 2007 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.

A Rough Day at the Office: The White House—A Fictional Blog

Scene Fifteen of the Serialization of "The Walls Have Ears:
A Novel of America"

Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language, political
correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend your
sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're a minor
(but by no means limited to the aforementioned), please do
not read this novel.It's not for you...

Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here
are imaginary: the settings, events, locales and characters are
fictitious, and/or are the product of the author's imagination
or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

President Adolf S. Steinhart

Geez, what a helluva day. My secretary said the phones
were ringing off their cradles all day. I reminded her that
that’s what she gets for following me to the White House.
All in a day’s work. Her eyes were propped up like a couple
of daggers about ready to lodge themselves between
yours truly’s ribs.

As my thoughts meandered about like ping pong balls
ricocheting off a basement wall, I arrived home a minute or
two after departing the Oval Office. I saluted the Marine
guard and shook the hand of the Secret Service agent who
provided a valuable service: keeping me alive for the
remainder of my tenure at the White House.

As the oak door with its sparkling brass hinges opened,
I said, “Thank you, gentlemen. Keep up the good work.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” they said in unison, as the Marine
raised his rifle chest high, snapping his heels together

“At ease gentlemen…,” I said, closing the door behind me.

With her glamorous smile and electric eyes, the First
Lady says, “Good evening, Mr. President.”

“For a couple of more years, then it’s back to the homestead.”

The First Lady said, “Yes, that’s true, dear. And that’s
where you belong, don’t you think?”

Smitten with awe, I quipped, “In Paraguay…?”

“So you’ve heard those rumors too, huh? Whether it’s
Paraguay, or back to the ranch, that’s where you really
belong, and you know it, don’t you?” Her beaming eyes
brightened even more, as my dearest began reading my
mind…as always.

With my customary smirk and a smooch, I said, “Well,
considering I’ve spent more time at the farm than I’ve
spent here at our second home—you’re probably right.”

“Probably right…?”

“Okay, don’t rub it in… It’s not like I’m not reminded
of this fact on a daily basis.”

The lady of my dreams says, “Now, that’s my husband.
Not at all like the description of him I’ve seen in the tabloids
and elsewhere. If I were to take those folks seriously, I’d
think I was married to a moron who resembles a chimp. And
a stubborn chimp at that. Or is the First Lady somehow able
to penetrate the veneer of this sensitive man who stands
before her, that she knows is really a pussycat?”

“I won’t answer that. Okay…? Today’s been another bitch
of a day.”

“Care to enlighten me? Or is everything a secret as I’ve
been led to believe by the tabloids…and rumor mills?”

My boss sat next to me on the couch as I grabbed the
remote and flicked the channel to my favorite news source.
The commentator looked like a fox in sheep’s clothing with
his spectacles perched on the tip of his nose, and says,
“President Steinhart has put the final nail in the country’s coffin—“

Outraged, I shouted, “That’s a goddamn lie…!”

Before I could finish, my dearest pulled me back to the
couch, and said, “Don’t take it so personally. I’ve told you
this a thousand times. When are you going to take my advice?
You have no control over what other people say. That’s their right…”

Fuming, I said, “Watch me…!”

“I have… And I don’t like what I’ve seen.”

Demoralized, I couldn’t listen to more criticism.

As I started to regain my composure, the commentator
says, “What’s the final nail in the coffin? President Steinhart
has deliberately defied a measure placed into law forbidding
the U.S. Postal Service from opening your mail without a
warrant. Yes, that’s right, the president has endorsed another
signing statement allowing federal authorities to open Americans
mail without a warrant. With the enactment of the Military
Commissions Act, we are officially a bona fide fascist police

“For Christ sake, I’ll have that bastard behind bars…so help
me God!”

“Care for some dinner? Your favorite: chicken and dumplings.”

I turned and stared at this magnificent creature that
I’ve always adored, and said, “You always know when to
change the subject, don’t you?”

With her head laid back on the soft pastel cushion of the
couch, she says, “Are you going to read my mail, too?”

“Well, of course… Actually, that’s why I signed the statement
so I could intercept your mail.”

“Are you that jealous of my activities, you’d violate the

“Listen dear; it’s just a goddamn piece of paper…”

“And our marriage certificate…?” she said, wrapping her
arms around the neck of her impervious man.

“Good point… What about it?”

Seeing the moisture in her eyes, I leaned forward kissing
her on the forehead.

“Sorry, my dear. I was just being playful. Don’t be upset, I
should have thought twice before opening my mouth.”

With an almost instinctive rebuttal, my dearest says, “And
the Iraq war…and the nearly two-thirds of a million dead souls?
Shouldn’t you have thought twice before disobeying the most
sacred vow of any Christian?”

Astonished, I was spellbound. “And what’s that…?”

“Thou shall not kill, or have you forgotten?”

Ashamed and humbled by my most treasured critic and
confidant, I was rendered speechless: almost that is… But I
had a confession to make…or rather a pronouncement to make.
With my sweaty palms, and thin lips parted, I said, “You don’t
happen to have a few trillion bucks in your purse, do you,
my dear?”

“Now that you mention it, I do… Would 4.5 trillion be alright?”

Her eyes twinkled with a joy abounding in them that
reminded me of the early days of our marriage. It seemed
like the First Lady was being playful, and I said, “Care to
enlighten your, President? I mean: Who are your sources?
Or better said: resources, my dear?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you: Your second in command, and
what's his name from Treasury, are coming for dinner. And
they're bringing along a friend, an ambassador, I think. Or
did they mention a famous missionary? Sorry. Not sure,
my dear."

Shocked, I nearly collapsed. Terror shivered throughout
my cold veins making the frog in my throat throb with
anxiety. How’d she know about the impending economic
and potential political crisis?! Shaking my head in disbelief,
my mind was fixated on: How'd she know...?

With a shy smile, and deceitful but appetizing eyes—almost
childlike—the First Lady says, “Just kiddin’ dear. I know
how you hate to mix work and pleasure.”

She doesn’t know…?! Thank God for small favors, and
indeed I will thank the Lord before the night's over. My day
had been ruined by those two already, I sure as hell didn’t
need to bring my problems at work to the damn dinner table.
How'd she know about the ambassador, or did she? Perhaps,
it's a coincidence. Maybe she meant missionary, but wasn't
sure. But my old man didn't believe in: coincidence. Oh well,
never second guess the wife. I've been burnt before, or
roasted...is more like it, for trying to penetrate the female
mind--which is off limits. I should know better, but nobody ever
said I was a fast learner...

Before I could reply to the good news that I’d be having a
romantic dinner with my one and only, there was a ring at the
door. My boss says, “It’s time to eat…!”

Seeing her raised brow and reassuring smile, I said,
“Sure. Dinner it is.”

With the lights dimmed, I reflected on those insightful
Christian words of admonishment, and in turn, gazed at
the image of the lovely Christian author of the advice.
Incredible! I thought. Such a woman…is all I could think
of at a time like this. As the candle’s light reflected off the
silhouette of the First Lady, I promised myself to consider
those words of wisdom, and what it means to be a Born Again
Christian. But, in the meantime, my hormones were revving
themselves up. Glory be to God…!



Late Night Political Jokes - Late Night Jokes Updated Daily