The president and the first lady are dining in a luxuriously-appointed, very exclusive Chinese restaurant
Obama [pushing his chair back and undoing the buttons on his suit jacket]: Ahhhhh! That was excellent!
Michelle[reaching over to pat his hand]: I’m so glad you liked it, Barack! And it was good to get away from the White House for a relaxing, intimate dinner. You know, just the six of us: you, me, and the four Secret service guys.
Obama: You said it! I needed a break. That Paco guy is driving me crazy. He keeps popping up out of nowhere, trying to carry on a debate. I don’t have to talk to Republicans at all, particularly unknown ones.
Michelle: Calm down, baby. You’re absolutely right. Yes?
Waiter: I crave your pardon for intruding, madam, but our esteemed proprietor especially wanted you to try our fortune cookies.
Michelle: Oh, that‘ll be fun! Here, honey, take one.
Obama: Ok. [Opens up fortune cookie and unrolls the long, thin paper contained therein. His smile is suddenly replaced by a look of horror]
Michelle: Barack! What’s the matter? You look ashen.
Obama: Listen to this! “What’s more important, Mr. President: insulting Paul Ryan or getting serious about the budget?” Open yours up. What does it say?
Michelle: It says, “All we need is for your husband to get attacked by a killer rabbit and the analogy is complete.”
Obama: Waiter! Where did you get these fortune cookies?
Waiter: Oh, we buy only from the best Asian food supply house in the eastern United States, Mr. President: the Pleasant Abode of Culinary Opulence.
Obama: Hmmm. Well, there’s something decidedly fishy going on, though I can’t quite put my finger on it. Come on, Michelle. Let’s get out of here.
Waiter [bowing]: Good evening, Mr. President, Mrs. Obama. There will always be a table waiting for you here at Pok-Ho’s Restaurant!
Obama[stomping out, with Michelle and his squad of Secret Service agents]: Michelle, how did you hear about this place?
Michelle: Why, Gus suggested it. You know what a gourmand he is. He knows all the best places to eat.
Obama: Gus? My manservant? How can he afford to dine out in expensive restaurants? I’ll have to have a chat with him.
Michelle: Well, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow. Don’t you remember? He has the night off.
A half hour later, a tall, distinguished man of African descent walks into Pok-Ho’s Restaurant. He is dressed impeccably in a gray, pinstriped suit, double-breasted black cashmere overcoat and dove-gray Homburg hat. A smiling hostess takes his hat, gloves and walking stick, and he is instantly recognized by the maître d’.
Maître d’: Ah, it is a pleasure to see you again, Mr. D’Orleans! Your usual table?
Gus: But of course, Monsieur Chang! And you will not be forgetting ze fortune cookies?
Maître d’: The very special ones containing the crisp new… prognostications… straight from the U.S. mint? No, sir, I will not forget. Our gracious proprietor made his wishes known with complete clarity on that point.