Lunchtime in Harlem

Reports suggest Bill Clinton and Barack Obama will be meeting for lunch this week. Here’s how it might go down.

BC: So, now you come crawlin’, huh, son?
BO: It’s good to see you, Mr. President.
BC: Cut the crap, Barry. And I’m calling you Barry, so get used to it.
BO: I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me.
BC: You damn well better.
BO: I do.

"I need the Mick Jagger Bill Clinton. The ladies throwing their panties onstage Clinton."

BC: You’re in a world of shit, son.
BO: Can I speak candidly?
BC: Wish you would. Cheeseburger? Onion rings?
BO: No, thank you.
BC: Chicken? Meatball sub?
BO: No, sir. Thank you.
BC: What’s on your mind?
BO: I need the Clinton magic.
BC: Hillary’s out there right now, doin’ her thing for you.
BO: And I appreciate that, Mr. President, but I need you.
BC: How do you mean?
BO: You’ve got a way with the ladies. And they’re leaving me for Palin.
BC: Ain’t she somethin’? Damn! Ol’ John blindsided you, didn’t he?
BO: She’s a fake! A phony! A manufactured cardboard cutout!
BC: Who isn’t, Barry? You want some pizza? A taco?
BO: No, thank you.
BC: Pasta? Banana cream pie?
BO: I don’t have much of an appetite lately.
BC: You’re lookin’ pretty gaunt. And gay, to be honest.
BO: I’m on a tightrope. I can’t attack her, and I can’t keep letting her steal the thunder.
BC: Thunder’s done gone, son. But you’re right—tight spot. But you gotta stop lookin’ like a whiny bitch.
BO: Can you help me?
BC: What do you have in mind?
BO: I need the Mick Jagger Bill Clinton. The ladies throwing their panties onstage Clinton.
BC: Heh, heh, heh, heh. Think that’ll quiet down the Hockey Mama Drama?
BO: It can at least distract them. Do the lip bite. Do the eyes welling with tears thing. The voice crack.
BC: And you're prepared to offer me what in return?
BO: UN Ambassador? Secretary of State? What do you want?
BC: Supreme Court for Hillary. Ambassador to Switzerland for Chelsea.
BO: Done. What about you?
BC: I just wanna be buddies, Barry. I wanna hang out, go to barbecues together, watch some football, drink some beer, shoot some hoops. Just quit leavin’ me on the sidelines, man. I can help.
BO: Done, sir.
BC: I’ll head down South for you this weekend. Hit some county fairs and church suppers and get your mojo back. Salad?
BO: Yes, please. And thank you.


For those who enjoy coincidence, today is 9/9/8 - and this is post #998 on Where's My Jetpack?