"The goddamn news is so depressing. Even Fox News is against me."

Leopold Smolinsky sighed heavily as he turned off the television using his remote. He turned to his valet standing in the corner of the Oval Office.

"You? Freddie, is it?"

"Ah… it's Frank, sir."

Smolinsky eyed the valet oddly. "Frank, Freddie, whoever the hell you are--get me another Bourbon on the rocks. Think you can do that? And none of the cheap stuff, either."

The President turned to his two closest advisors in the room, Chief of Staff "Rags" Donovan and his National Security Advisor, Izzy Pfeuhouser.

"Rags? Izzy? What're you havin'?"

"A Horse Jizz," replied Rags.

"Tapeworm Shot," said Izzy. "Extra shot of mayonnaise."

The valet nodded to the three clownish figures and started to leave the room.

"Hey! Extra mayo shot. You hear me?" Izzy shouted at him.

Rags turned to the President. "Don't forget, you got the Danish president and her wife coming tonight."

"Another fuckin' state dinner? Jesus! These things are bad enough without havin' to sit around all night making small talk with two lesbos. It's enough to drive a man to drink."

Izzy and Rags laughed at the Command-in-Chief's joke.

"Wanna cancel it?" asked Rags.

"Wha'da'ya think? Of course I do, numb nuts!" replied the overweight man as he sank back into his plush leather chair. Spread out on the desk were clippings of newspaper articles favorable to him from dozens of national and international newspapers.

"Your wish is my command, Your Excellency."

"Hey, I like the ring of that! Can I sign an Executive Order or somethin' to change my title to King?"

Rags scribbled a note to himself and replied, "Shouldn't be a problem."

"That it?"

"Naw. Just a couple more things, Boss." Izzy skipped through several pages in the Presidential Daily Briefing. "Let's see… Russia… nah… Ukraine… nah… Democratic party ban… lookin' good… Fed Chair embezzlement scandal… not so good… Here it is. The Diaoyu Islands."

"Where the fuck are they? The Caribbean?"

The skinny man with a weasel-like face replied, "No. Over by China. Apparently, them sneaky Chinks want to control the shipping lanes all up and down the South China Sea. They got beefs with Indonesia, Vietnam and the Philippines so they started building artificial islands or some such shit. Now the Chinese claim that they own the whole goddamn ocean."

"Fuck them," replied the President.

"Anyways, the Brits were sailing their ships through there yesterday--like they got nothin' better to do--and one of their destroyers got boarded by the Chink Navy. Things got ugly and some sailors were killed. Now the Brits are getting ready to declare war. They want us to join them."

Smolinsky shook his head in disgust. The jowls on his neck shook like Jell-o. "Tell me we don't gotta do it, right? I thought we pulled out of NATO last year."

"S'right, Boss. You did. And no, you don't gotta do shit unless you want to. Trust me--you Don't. Want. To. Remember your factories in Qingdao? You could take a real financial bath on this."

"Oh, yeah. Right. Can't let that happen."

The President picked up his phone, pushed a button, and spoke.

"Gimme Boris Johnson, sweetie."

A confused voice on the speakerphone replied, "Sir, Prime Minister Johnson, he's… he's… he passed away from COVID-19 last month. Remember?"

Smolinsky looked annoyed. "Course I remember, honey. Well then, gimme whoever the new guy is."

"Putting you through to Prime Minister Rahmanzhi's office now."

Smolinsky turned to Rags and Izzy and said in a quiet voice, "Prime Minister Ramen Noodles." The two snickered.

A moment later, the operator came back on the line. "Sir, they say the Prime Minister is in a meeting. They're asking if you would like his voice mail."

"Just tell'em 'no can do' on the 'war thing.' If 'Noodles' is too busy to take my call he can go fuck himself."

Smolinsky picked up the phone from the cradle and hung it up.

"The nerve of that raghead! Okay, that's settled. No war with China. What else we got?"

Just then, the President's valet entered with the men's drinks. Smolinsky accepted his Bourbon. Pfeuhouser and Donovan grabbed theirs. The President dismissed his valet with a wave of his hand as though he were some insignificant insect. Then he took a big swig of his Bourbon. A small portion spilled from the corner of his mouth, staining his shirt. Smolinsky was too hammered to notice. Raggs sensed it was now or never.

"Boss, I hate to bring this up again," he said. "But we gotta deal with… the 'thing.'"

The unspoken item at hand was the peaceful transition of power set to occur two weeks in the future. President-elect Elizabeth Chesterfield was scheduled to be sworn in, despite the fact that Smolinsky never conceded defeat. Smolinsky had suffered an overwhelming loss both in the popular vote as well as the Electoral College. Even so, the former organized crime figure from Clifton, New Jersey was not ready to leave the White House. He made it abundantly clear to his hand-picked Cabinet members that he had been robbed. He expected them to keep him in office at all costs.

Izzy and Rags waited for the expected flood of obscenities from the Chief Executive Officer, but Smolinsky was unusually calm.

"Yeah. I know. D-day is comin'. Izzy, you're security. What's the plan?"

Pfeuhouser nodded. He stood up, walked to one of the recessed doors to the Oval Office and opened it. In walked the Attorney General of the United States, "Shakes" Baggerley. Baggerley hailed from Murfreesboro, Tennessee, and had served as a member of the U.S. House Representative for ten years prior to his appointment as Attorney General. He was a ruthless politician and even more ruthless as the nation's chief law enforcement officer.

"Shakes, you son-of-a-gun, get over here!" The President warmly embraced him. "Drink?"

"No, thank you, sir."

After a few pleasantries, the Attorney General told Smolinsky, Pfeuhouser, and Donavan of his plan.

"…On the day before this so-called inauguration, we will escort the entire contingent of Secret Service agents off the White House grounds and replace them with my men."

"I like the sound of that. Who are they?"

"Members of my Customs and Border Protection Tactical Unit--BORTAC. All hand-picked. They're mean sons of bitches! Not your typical SWAT pussies."

There was a flicker of recognition on Smolinsky's face. "BORTAC? Oh! Those were the guys you had up in Portland and Boston, right?"

"The very same, Big Guy. They're ruthless, and they fight dirty. We keep'em on tight leashes and feed'em raw meat. BORTAC will hold the perimeter for as long as you need. They won't be using tear gas or pepper spray, either.

"In the meantime, I'm told the bunker down in your basement is impenetrable. You should be plenty safe. Yes sir, Mr. President, it'll be a cold day in Hell before Chesterfield sits her ass behind this desk." Baggerley rapped on the Resolute Desk with his knuckles.

"I like the sound of that, Shakes. You know, I might be needin' myself a new Vice President before this is all over with. Would you be interested in the job?"

"You bet I would!"

"Outstanding! Izzy--draft me another Executive Order. Shakes will be my new VP. Say, Izz--wanna be my Attorney General?"

---

Phillip Temples is still trying to make sense of it all. Writing and photography seem to help. He can be followed at https://temples.com or @PhilTemples on Twitter.