The
Final Word
The
Final Word
By Rob Reuter
The video opens with 4.2 seconds of white-snow static, snapping
suddenly into a color picture of what appears to be the desk at the Oval Office. The scene
is well lit, apparently by television lights. Visible on the desk surface are assorted
papers, two telephones, two "Star Wars" action figures, a bottle of what appears
to be George Dickel
Old Number 8 Tennessee Whiskey, and an apparently well-used navy blue and orange cardboard
Burger King crown.
6.7 seconds later, a male, medium build and height, graying hair enters frame right, apparently from behind the camera. He is wearing a burgundy bathrobe with multiple discolored stains of an unknown nature. He turns and sits heavily at the desk chair.
This figure is either the President of the United States or a remarkable look-alike on a detailed set. The President’s face is flushed. His eyes are rheumy and bloodshot, and he is breathing through his mouth. He looks vacantly around the desk’s surface for 6.2 seconds, focuses on the whiskey bottle and reaches for it, knocking it over, spilling the whiskey.
President: Shit.
The President erupts into irrational weeping, grinding his teeth, for 24.1 seconds. He appears to recover, picks up the action figures, which now can be identified as Han Solo and Darth Vader. The Darth Vader figure has a small newspaper cutout apparently taped or glued to its face. It appears to be a cutout of Kenneth Starr’s face.
The President has the action figures do imaginary battle for 42.1 seconds, muttering at different times: "Die, you evil bastard," and, "I’ll show you the damn Force." The President then opens the top drawer of his desk, removes a letter opener, and dismembers the Darth Vader figurine with 17 shoulder-height stabs. He takes a deep breath, and sweeps the action figures off the desk to the floor.
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"Why should I listen to an impeached, nearly disgraced president speak when with a simple click of the mouse, I can watch a very young woman get sodomized by a Shetland pony?" |
The President appears to compose himself for 7.6 seconds, takes a deep mouth-breath, then looks into the camera.
President: My fellow Americans. Please do not be alarmed by the fact that this address has not been announced and comes at such an odd time of night. This is to be a special speech, where we can dispense with the legal terminology and litigious posturing of the last several months, and I can speak plainly to my subjects. Lackeys. Peons…
The President stares into space for 11.9 seconds while giggling spastically, then looks back into the camera.
I wish I could reach more of you by using the White House’s satellite television uplink. However, I am addressing you with no technical assistance tonight, and I have been unable to activate the main communications array since I urinated on it thirty minutes ago. However, I do have some small knowledge of the Internet, mostly arising from my longstanding pornography habit. So I am pleased to appear via the information superhighway for the first time without wearing a leather mask and rubber diaper.
I’m sure most of you are saying to yourselves what I would be saying: "Why should I listen to an impeached, nearly disgraced president speak when with a simple click of the mouse I can watch a very young woman get sodomized by a Shetland pony?" I understand your impatience; but if you will give me your attention, I promise; I will e-mail you the horsey movie tomorrow.
The President cackles for 4.1 seconds, licks whiskey off the desktop for 18.5 seconds, then again faces the camera.
I understand that you have been disappointed by the events of the last thirteen months. I have heard and read the question literally thousands of times: What was I thinking? How could I do this? How could the President of your country and the leader of the free world, rut like a brain-damaged moose with such a blatantly hideous pig?
 |
Frankly, I understand your dismay. We all like to believe we live in the greatest nation on Earth, and as such, that our esteemed leader should be banging supermodels, or at least soap opera sirens. No one wants to believe that their president is willing to hook up with someone from whom it would under normally require closing time and at least fifteen beers to even remotely consider accepting even a hand job.
However, these were not normal circumstances. Please remember that a married president is expected to live up to a completely unrealistic standard of family values. He is forced by an unrelenting and unforgiving press to remain faithful to his wife and family and to be pure in thought and deed, even though the press knows full well that this will lead other foreign leaders to believe he is gay.
At this time, the President’s left ear begins to bleed. He does not appear to notice it.
So, in order to maintain the integrity of the presidency in the eyes of the world, I had to nail somebody. However, constant electronic media attention prevented me from publicly pursuing women. I went so far as to try placing personal ads under an alias, but for some reason my "Dick Biggins" ad attracted no callers.
It used to be just being president was enough to get the finest women. We all remember JFK and Marilyn Monroe, who many times frolicked naked in this very room. In fact, I often sniff this chair as a reminder of those cheap, lunatic thrills.
However, we also remember Gary Hart, who with a single photograph of a top-heavy blonde on his lap, went from heir apparent to the Camelot throne to swamping toilets in a Boulder Burger King. From what I hear, Gary’s still so far into debt over his 1988 campaign, if you got a quarter, he’ll play naked limbo for you.
My fellow Americans, I don’t
understand it either. We like to believe that our world leaders can get any piece of tail
they want, but at the same time, the press won’t allow it! Jerry Springer got kicked
off the Cincinnati City Council when the news found out he had written checks to pay
hookers. Why is that news? It’s not like the checks bounced! And do you think a
sleazy whorehouse has credit card machine in each room? Jesus, I usually have to use a
hammer to get even the "magic fingers" machine to work…
The President coughs for 8.2 seconds, then, with Zippo lighter, lights a crooked, unfiltered cigarette, possibly a Lucky Strike.
So, in short, I feel your pain. I understand that you wanted me to get laid, but that the media would not allow this to happen. That is the reason, and the only reason I allowed this finger, the finger that rests on the nuclear button, protecting you from the Nazis, to enter that…
The President coughs again for 12.1 seconds, inhales from the cigarette, holds his breath for 18.2 seconds, and then slowly exhales.
What the hell was I talking about? Oh, yeah; the media and nuclear weapons… nuclear weapons and the media…
The President opens his top left desk drawer, and removes a small black box with an antenna sticking out of one end, and a large red button in the center top.
Nukes… media… Oh, well; I’ll remember it later.
In conclusion; please understand that, in the eyes of the world, The President of the United States must have the wisdom of Solomon, the patience of Job, and the libido of Axl Rose on methamphetamine extract. That’s right; the president must live like a rock star if he wants to get respect from world leaders like The Pope and Jim Carrey.
Now, many members of the media are of the opinion that I see myself as some kind of Elvis-like figure. I am here to tell you tonight that that is not true. I have always felt closer to Jim Morrison. Like Jim, I have wished to "Light My Fire" beneath the negative members of the media. I have longed to "Break on Through," to a world where I can pork teenagers without fear of reprisal or chancres. I want to be shown the way to the next whiskey bar!
The President rises to his feet, and his head and upper body follow an elliptical orbit in a clockwise motion. He begins pounding on his desk surface with his right fist.
I AM THE LIZARD KING! I CALL UPON YOU TO RIDE MY SNAKE THROUGH THE LAKE! WHO WANTS TO SEE ME WHIP IT OUT!?
The President’s hands go to his bathrobe belt and begin fumbling with the knot. There is a loud banging sound, similar to that of a door being broken open. There are two male voices and one female voice.
1st male: What the hell?
Female: Oh, God, not again!
2nd male: Is that a fucking live feed?
1st male: What’s that smell? Is that urine?
Female: Pull the damn plug! Oh Christ, he’s trying to expose himself again!
2nd male: I can’t shut it off!
Female: Hit him with the taser!
Two thin wires enter from camera left, and appear to strike the struggling president. He falls instantly, his left hand hitting the desk, dragging his Burger King crown down to the floor with him.
2nd male: Here it is-
The picture ends; there is 42 seconds of static.
Main Archive Table of Contents
April, 1999 Issue Table of Contents
Running
Amok Do We Really Need a Title?
Start Your Own Business Breaking
Up... For Corporate Stiffs
Rich, Arrogant and Horny The Final Word Warning: Hazardous to Idiots Reservoir Rats
The American Jerk™ and all contents © 1999 - 2005 by Rob Reuter and Paul St. Fakename, Esq., © 2006 by Rob Reuter.