The bedroom in the personal quarters of the White House. Michelle Obama, dressed in a $3,000 Versace nightgown, is doing curls with 45-pound dumbbells. The president enters from the bathroom, vigorously brushing his teeth.
POTUS: Wha?…Cmoon, Misha, geh eddy!
FLOTUS: Ninety eight…ninety-nine…one hundred. Whew! Did you say something Barack?
POTUS: Hew hur me!
FLOTUS: Look, B, you want to talk to me, take that toothbrush outta your mouth.
POTUS: I said get ready! Air Force One is leaving in an hour for that summit meeting in California. You know what a big deal it is. I need to make nice with China’s leader, Xi Jinping, and you need to do your bit by entertaining his wife, Peng Liyuan.
FLOTUS: [Cleans and jerks a 200-pound barbell over her head] I’m not going.
POTUS: What do you mean, you’re not going? Of course you’re going! Now, put that thing down.
FLOTUS: [Angrily tosses the barbell on the four-poster bed, which collapses] Listen to me, bean-pole! I. Am. Not. Going.
POTUS: But, baby, you know how important this trip is.
FLOTUS: To you, maybe.
POTUS: And to the whole country.
FLOTUS: Who cares about them?
POTUS: Well, I do, sorta. At least, I have to look like I do. So, why don’t you want to go?
FLOTUS: Have you seen the dude’s wife – Ping Pong or whatever her name is?
POTUS: Her name is Peng Liyuan.
FLOTUS: Well, like I say, whatever. B, the woman is positively petite! Delicate, and oh so feminine.
POTUS: Aw, honey, you’re… er…you’re feminine, and…and…
FLOTUS: [Gives the president “the look”]
POTUS: And..uh…petite - speaking broadly, of course…I mean…
FLOTUS: [Picks up a medicine ball and pumps it at the president]
FLOTUS: [Plops down on a stool in front of her vanity, absentmindedly bends a curling iron into a ‘U’ shape, and bursts into tears] Oh, Barack! That woman is so charming and graceful…next to her I’d look like a…like a…
FLOTUS: Come again?
POTUS: Er, I said “not in the least”.
FLOTUS: “Not in the least” what?
POTUS: You don’t look in the least like a wildebeest.
FLOTUS: Who said anything about wildebeests?
POTUS: Didn’t you? Never mind. We’re getting wildly off topic. Look, sure Peng Liyuang is graceful, and delicate and feminine… [the president’s facial expression suddenly becomes wistful]… and beautiful and sweet-natured and kind and glamorous, with soft eyes and silky black hair and that petite little body that’s nonetheless deliciously curvaceous, and arms that don’t resemble the pistons in the engine of a passenger ship, and a mouth that doesn’t look anything at all like a bear trap, and you sure couldn’t hide an ax handle behind those hips…Owwww!!!!
* * * * * * * * * * *
A staff office in the west wing of the White House. An obviously agitated man sits at a desk, making a telephone call to the site of the summit meeting in California.
Man: Hello? Ah, yes, good morning. This is Herman Blustercock, chief of protocol for the White House. Listen, I deeply regret to have to inform you that the president will be unable to attend the summit meeting. He’s hoping to reschedule at a later date. Yes, I know, it’s most unfortunate but it can’t be helped. What’s that? The reason? He, ah, sprained his ankle. Actually, it might be fractured. Oh, yes, he’s in a lot of pain. All right then. I’ll follow up with you later. Thanks.
Secretary: [Opens the door and peeps in] So, what did you tell them?
C of P: That the president hurt his ankle.
Secretary: Hurt his ankle? That sounds kind of lame.
C of P: What was I supposed to tell them? The truth? I couldn’t very well announce that the President of the United States was at Bethesda Naval Hospital having the First Lady’s curling iron removed from his rectum, now, could I?