Monday morning, Nov. 10. The presidential suite at the White House
Laura: George. George. Wake up. The Obamas are on their way.
W.: huh? oh … you mean it wasn’t a dream?
Laura: No, George. Now get yourself up — we don’t want to have to keep the Obamas waiting. It wouldn’t be polite.
W.: OK. But you know I didn’t want to be so early that I’d be outside the White House dancing like I did waiting for John McCain to show up. That was awkward.
Laura: I’ve got your new blue suit pressed and ready for you.
W.: Hee-hee … maybe I can meet them in my P-J’s like Hugh Hefner.
Laura: And George, please don’t try to fist-bump Mr. Obama. You tried that with Cheney and you missed and ended up hitting him the chest.
W.: Ya. I felt bad — but he was going for another battery charge for his heart that day anyway. So no foul, no harm. And, honey, it’s not called a fist bump, it’s called a pound. You gotta learn to get hip with the lingo, my precious….
Later that same day, after the formalities and photo ops were done, Michelle Obama and the first lady went off for the White House tour. W. and Obama were left to talk to each other before the press was allowed to ask how it all went. The two got more acquainted with each other before getting down to business….
W.: Welcome to my crib, Mr. President-elected.
O: uh … well, thank you, Mr. President until January 20th.
W: The voters spoke and think you’re well-suited for the job. You might not have made it if not for me you know.
O: It was kind of a unique recommendation, wasn’t it? But that’s cool.
W.: You know, you do what you can. You like video games?
O: Oh, some. But I play basketball to unwind.
W.: Ya, I saw video of you knocking down some three-pointers. There wasn’t any of that CGI going on, was there? Hee-hee. Basketball was never my sport — and not because I’m a cracker. I just looked too dang silly in those shorts.
O: I’m with you there. My legs look like something at Thanksgiving you can use to make a wish with. But baseball’s your game.
W.: Ya — one of the worse decisions in my life was trading Sammy Sosa from the Rangers to the White Sox.
O: Really, one of the worse decisions in your whole life?
W.: Ya. I hear you might have a B-ball court installed in the White House. That would be awesome.
O: I’m certainly thinking about it. I can guarantee you I won’t be using the bowling alley. Ahh, bowling! I felt like the Sundance Kid did about swimming. If I would’ve said people in Pennsylvania clung to their bowling instead of to their guns, I would’ve lost that state to McCain.
W.: Nixon installed the bowling alley — that oughta tell you something. He ended up talking to pictures of presidents on the walls.
O: The job is daunting. But you kept your wits about you.
W.: At least 50 percent of the time. Don’t let that get out — the comics will use it and say that makes me a half-wit.
O: I hope you take this the right way, but I wish I was as funny as you. The comics don’t know what to make of me. It’s not that they’re afraid of being racist — I’m just too darn serious.
W.: Don’t worry — it won’t be long before they find something. Like me choking on a pretzel. It was open season on me after that. Do you have any embarrassing relatives? I didn’t because I was the embarrassing relative.
O: See what I mean? I can learn a lot from you.
W.: Really? I haven’t heard anybody say that in a long time. The last time anybody said that to me was when John McCain thought it was a good idea to use the same people to run his campaign who ran mine.
O: Look what happened to him.
W.: That’s good. The timing was there and everything.
O: I’m a quick study.
W.: That’ll help — wait till you hear what all I have to tell you …
The two men enter the Oval Office. Obama is awestruck.
O: Whoa! I get the feeling I’m not in Kansas anymore…
W.: You better get that puppy pretty soon — you might need a Toto.
O: Harry Truman.
W.: Right. He said, if you want a friend in Washington, get a dog.
O: So it is dog-eat-dog.
W.: It gets so bad at times you think you can almost acquire a taste for Alpo….