“Are you watching what the Politburo is doing in North Carolina?”
Fauntleroy paused, “Vader, you have to be more careful. Here in America, don’t refer to our political brothers as the Politburo. We are playing down the Russian connection. You know that I declined an invitation to the Victory Day Parade in Red Square, in Moscow. Comrade, we must be careful.”
Fauntleroy changed the subject. “What are you doing about the inauguration? I understand top performers do not wish to take part. You offered them ambassadorships like I told you? What am I going to do about all those ambassadorships? There are baskets full of them."
Vader waited for a pause, “My President, there has been talk of just using iTunes for the inauguration and place some remote wireless speakers around the room. Then we were going to broadcast an older rock performance on large LCD screens. We are sure no one will notice. And we don’t have to pay any money. You know how we like to save money.”
Fauntleroy took the camouflage phone from his sock. “Putt-baby, do you have any Russian rock stars you can loan me? They have to be known worldwide. Do you have anyone like that?” He hung up the phone.
“What about Elton John? Can we get Elton John?”
Vader waved his hands back and forth like he was waving off a jet from landing on his aircraft carrier. Vader swallowed hard, “My President, will I be the acting President when you are at the deposition concerning your lawsuit against that chef?”
“No Vader, you are never going to be acting President? My daughter likes you, but I don’t like you? And I said, Sous Chef, not sue chef! Why isn’t everyone smart like me? On another subject, you are in charge of getting the horses.”
“Horses, My President?”
“Yes, horses, we are going to have to reinstate the Calvary, we are going to have to move Indians off our land to get to our oil that we have saved there. Bring back those blue double breasted uniforms. I liked those."
"There is a press release of our plan to privatize the land.”
“Privatized, nothing! That is, U.S. government land. We will auction it off to our friends.”
“Sir, you don’t want another Wounded Knee.”
Fauntleroy gave him a blank look.
Vader made a note. “Do you want to put out a statement disavowing the news regarding your new Tweetocracy?”
Fauntleroy threw the red phone across the room. It smashed on impact. He frowned. “Get me a replacement for that.”
Vader made a note.
“I’m tired. That’s all.”
“Sir, I want to talk to you about the Chinese stealing a U.S. unmanned underwater vehicle.”
Fauntleroy gave him a blank look.
“It was covered in the daily briefings.”
“Handle it; I’m tired.”
Vader started to leave.
“Did you pass on my threats to the members of the Electoral College?”
“Yes, My President. Is there a statement regarding the concern in Sweden, that Russia is staged to invade their country?”
Fauntleroy sat down in a huge easy chair, shaking his head.
Fauntleroy signed on to his Tweeter account with his camouflage phone. “VADER!!! VADER!!! Get in here.
Vader rushed back into the room. “CALL THE F.B.I., GET THE C.I.A., here. GET HOLD OF THE HEAD OF NATIONAL SECURITY. WHO ELSE DO WE HAVE? NSA!! YES. CALL THE SENATE INTO SESSION; I WANT A FULL INVESTIGATION. Reach out to the Intelligence and Security Command. MY TWEETER ACCOUNT HAS BEEN HACKED!!!!” Fauntleroy, red-faced, “THIS is serious.”
That night in the bedroom of the residence Fauntleroy lay next to Flossy. “I have been working on my inauguration speech. Just the opening, do you want to hear it?”
Flossy stifled a yawn, as wives do when asked such a question by mere husbands. “Yes, darling.” She closed her eyes.
“My fellow Americans and of course our guest residents. And I have been asked by the Border Patrol to play this song here.”
The Como Mamas - Meet Me At the River
Then when the song ends, I’ll continue.”
“My fellow Rumericans, I am not going to be making many speeches to you during my four, eight, twelve years, to sixteen years here. I will be tinkering, under the hood, as it were, with the way this country has been working. All those terrible programs that are dragging us away from our supremacy …”
He looked over at Flossy, who had fallen asleep. He picked up his phone and began to tweet.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or elected, or selected, or rejected, is not intended and therefore pronounced coincidental. No disrespect is intended, amended, or pretended. The characters are too absurd to be anything other than the figments, fragments, and laments of the fictitious author.
If your thoughts turned suicidal, eyes can't focus, in a spiral, forget all that and just go primal, remember that nothing’s final. Search the garage, and find the vinyl, it's important to survival.
By reading this, the user consents to full body x-ray’s at all U.S. airports, (they will be posted on Youtube), you grant permission for listening device-surveillance in your home, office, and automobiles. Concede to drone monitoring of your city, state, and country. But, you can also, carry a fully automatic AK-47 in the Walmart nearest you (check your local ordinance); just like the folks in Mogadishu. You give your government permission, banning the use of the words, global warming in all government documents. And if you prescribe to the idea that climate change has anything to do with oil, your name will go on a list kept at the highest levels.
If you are allergic to Fauntleroy and Flossy, stop using and grab your Yoga mat, find your Groupon, assume folding Marichyasana position to calm the mind, strengthen your spine and give your internal organs a healthy squeeze.