Part 5: Joe in Control Versus the Fried Ice Cream Clown Twins
Even After They've Failed, They Refuse to Admit Defeat
Biden was at his desk, realizing that things were so far off the rails that no corrective effort could possibly repair the damage. He lifted his cup of coffee up, took a healthy swig, and then reached for the walkie talkie on his desk.
“Cyrus, where you at?”
The radio cackled. “I’m here, Chief, I just threw out those douchebags from that retarded leftist political action group in Northwest Georgetown– you know the one, with the short guy who thinks he’s Napoleon.”
Biden grimaced. “Oh, thank Christ for that. And fire that guy’s wife from the NSC. Tell her she can join her husband fluffing donkeys at the local animal rescue shelter. Come on by for lunch in a bit, let’s talk about those other twits from the Department of Education. Maybe we can send them on an all-Federal prison promotional tour with monkeys and chainsaws.”
“Roger, Chief, there in a bit.”
Bzzz Bzzz.
Biden hit the speaker button. “What? I’m busy playing Whack-a-Mole.”
“Ah, yes sir, Mr. President, it’s Congresswoman Pasquale on the line.” The operator was tense. “She’s demanding to speak with you. She sounds, well, a bit upset.”
Biden straightened up. “Demanding? Well, I guess I’ll have to just take that call. And have the US Marshals trace it so they can go find her and arrest her. There’s a seat open in Leavenworth. And send in the legal team from OLC and let’s talk about pardoning her husband’s gay prostitute so he can testify in front of Congress.”
“Yes, Mr. President. She’s coming on.” The phone line went staticy for a second, and then a woman’s voice came on.
“Joe? it’s Nan. I thought I’d call and see if we can clear the air.” The voice sounded hopeful and condescending all at once.
Biden was quiet for a moment, squeezing his stress toy in one hand and stabbing it with a pen in the other. “Yes, clear the air. I can see that. Of course, that implies that we’re still friends. Now that you’ve shitcanned the entire party, drugged me up and tried to run me over with a tricycle, and have set me up to be nothing but a joke about used diapers for the next thirty years, I’d think we should clear the air.”
The woman was silent for several seconds, and then her voice went up several octaves. “Wait. What? Drugged you up? When did that happen? I can’t believe someone would stoop so low as to do that. There must be some mistake. This is terrible. We must find out who’s responsible and bring them to justice. Let’s do it for the children. Maybe we can even void the election and get you back into it.”
Biden grinned. “Oh, I think we’re there already. The toxicology report came back from DEA and we’re tracing the drugs. They’re fluoroscoping your place right now. The stuff has a half life of three years, that should just about cover it. Anyone who’s been near it is guilty as shit. And they’re at Hattie Carmichael’s place in Capital Heights, too, already found what they’re looking for. I understand DHS stopped a certain former Senator and past Secretary of State at Dulles trying to get on a plane to Albania dressed as a gender fluid priest. The Chairman Mao MooMoo gave her away. She’s on her way to Guantanamo for light discussions.”
There was a knock at the door, and Agent Little stuck his head in. Biden waved him to come in and take a seat. Biden nodded at the phone and pointed to it, smiling.
“But but but Mr. President, you can’t possibly believe I had anything to do with this.” She was panicking. “I’m loyal to you. That’s how it’s been for forty years.”
“Right, since your last face lift, which is sagging, by the way. What happened to calling me ‘Joe’, and clearing the air? You want to clear the air, you’re going to have to blow some out of your ass. You and that money-grubbing ex-gold digger wife of mine are going to enjoy life shopping at the flea market in Waziristan using camel pies as currency.” He almost broke out laughing, and Agent Little was nearly crying in hysterics. “Of course, if you cooperate, maybe there’s something I can do for you.”
The woman was silent. “I don’t know what you mean, Joe. I’ve been totally above board. It’s all about the Party. We’re in this together!”
“So we’re back to the ‘Joe’ thing, eh? Look, I can buy you some time, but it’s going to be short. I’d say hop a plane to American Samoa. All those people you fucked over working for the tuna business are anxious to see you. I hear they have a roasting pit all ready for a pig. So eat hearty on the flight. And your trading accounts are frozen. I’d say you have maybe four hours before the drones track you down. And wear something flowery so the locals will think you’re one of them. Start now.” Biden winked at Little, who was nearly rolling on the floor.
“Joe, I can’t do this, it’s so–” Biden presses the off button.
“How was that, Homie?” Biden smiled at Little.
Little laughed. “You are stone cold pimp master, Chief. CBP is already circling over her place. They should have her rolled up in twenty minutes.”
They high-five each other. “Right on, brother. It’s ribs for lunch.” Biden stood up. “But first, we’re going to have to go talk to the Count.”
Agent Little stopped. “The Count? The Hungarian Count? Down there in the basement?” He looked concerned. “Nobody ever comes back from there.”
“I know, but he hasn’t been fed in a few days, and I’m not sure he knows what’s going on here. So get your guys to load up on garlic and wooden stakes and let’s go see what he has to say. And bring your Uzi just in case.”
Next Time: The Count Speaks