A Taste of Tex Mex

“Georgie, Poopsie! Where are you? Georgie! Mommie knows you’re hiding in there!”
“Laura, honey, cut it out!” The familiar voice showed irritation. “I have an importatious meeting starting!”
“Come on Poopsie!” The first lady’s dulcet tones cajoled. “You work too hard. You have to make time for a little fun!”
“Honey, not now. This is the oval office. You have to show some respect. And you should be wearing more clothes.”
“But Poopsie. You have half an hour before your meeting. In my wedding vows I promised to worship you with my body and I thought I could quickly go down on my knees for you.”
“Are you intoximatious, Honey? I have a pile of reading to prepare me for my meeting and it’s real complexicated. Look. Not even one picture.”
“You don’t need to read all of that. Big Bill never read six inches of papers before his meetings. You don’t even pay the attention to me that he paid to that young girl. Now let me just undo these buttons.”
The President pushed his wife away. “Not now Honey Pie. And you shouldn’t be here dressed like that. The staff could walk in momentously.”
“You’re so grumpy these days, Poopsie.” She walked away, teetering on her stiletto heeled fur mules. “You were never like this when we first met. Then you were always ready for fun.”
“You know that the Lord has called me away from all that. He told me I had to go into the family business.”
“And what about me? What about my fun? I sometimes think I liked you better when you used to drink and we could go out to parties with the neighbours.”
“I have made my repentions for those neighbourhood parties and now that we are in the White House, we must be whiter than white. You must stick to those cute Chipmunks. I’m a blue toothbrush, you’re a pink toothbrush.”
“Chippendales, Poopsie, not Chipmunks. They’re much more fun.”
“Yeah, I know, Chip ‘n Dale. The Chipmunks, I read all the funny papers. You don’t have to tell me their names. Remember, I’m the one that runs this country. I have to keep up with my reading.”
“You are nothing but a stick in the mud nowadays. What is all this you have to read, anyway?”
“Put that down, that is Presidential Confidentialness.” His voice rose with concern. “I have to read and sign all these documentations before the next meeting. You cannot hope to be comprehensive of my work honey. I have hundreds of signings to make and each one must be checked.”
“Let me see what they have you signing. ‘Awarded to John Christopher Nolan, Aged 10 Years and 7 months for swimming one hundred yards breast stroke.’ Who told you to sign that?”
“You see! The president’s work is never done. Don and Dick need these done by tomorrow morning. They know how to keep me busy.”
“I’m sure they do! Now Poopsie, look here, there are much more interesting things than those documents.”
“Put those away, Honey. I can hear someone coming. You can’t go out like that so you’d better hide.” Alarm raised the presidential tones.
“OK, Georgie. I’ll get down under the desk.”
“No way, Honey. You ain’t going down there again. I don’t want you moluscing me in no cabinet meeting. You can hide in the wardrobe. Hurry now.” He bundled her into the closet and quickly locked the door.
“ Hi Don. Hi Dick.” The president turned, leaning his back against the door as a group of men entered the room.
“Good morning Mr President.” The Vice President walked over and shook the President’s hand warmly. “How is the paperwork coming along?”
“Slowly but surely.” The President replied glumly. “There just seems to be so much to do. I never thought my Daddy was so busy when he was in charge.”
“Times do move on, Sir.” The Defence Secretary’s smile did not reach his eyes. “We all have more work than we used to now we’re fighting this war on terror.”
“I understand that, Don, of course I do. Why, I was saying to the nation just yesterday that we all had to do our share. If I have to spend the whole day reading and signing things, well, it’s a tough and confusatious assignment, but someone has to do it.”
“Yes, Mr President, and no one could do it better than you, Sir.”
“Why thank you Don. Now I need to talk to you both. Can we be sure that no-one is listening to what we say?”
“Why yes sir. We are assured of privacy in this office.”
“Well who, then, is that man? And why is he here?” The President pointed at the third member of the group.
“That is the new White House Chief of Staff. You remember, he served with your father, Sir.” The Vice President looked over at him. “What did you say your name was again?”
“I …” The man who had not spoken so far opened his mouth.
“As I was saying, Sir,” The Defence Secretary cut in, “This location is as secure as the Pentagon. Shall we start the meeting. They too k their seats in front of the desk.
“Now boys,” the President said confidentially, “you have to help me out on a problem with the food in our prisons. My best friend, Toni Bear, has asked me to sort it all out.”
“Toni Bear?” The Vice President looked puzzled “Who is Toni Bear.”
“You know Tony Bear, my friend, the President of England.” Impatience and exasperation showed in the voice. “Him and me are like partners. Like Yogi Bear and Boo Boo. We have to stop fires in the forest”
“No Sir.” The White House Chief of Staff interjected. “It’s not Yogi Bear that puts out fires. That’s Smokey the Bear.”
“Not Important, Josh.” The vice President responded scathingly. “Yes Sir. Tony Bear. You haven’t been on the phone to him again, have you?”
“Yes I have. And not thanks to your team either. The phone to England has been out of order for weeks and you guys haven’t been able to fix it , but Toni called me last night on my daughter’s cell phone and at last we could have a good long chat.”
“That’s a breach of security, Josh!” The Defence Secretary glared at the Chief of Staff. “We’ll have to talk about that off line.”
“And what did Bair have to say for himself this time, Sir?” He turned to face the President.
“You will understand, Gentlemen, that I am not happy to hear this news from overseas. Like I said,” The President continued, “It’s an international crisis and it has something to do with Mexican food in our prisons.”
“How can that be?” It was the Secretary of Defence’s turn to look puzzled.
“Don’t try to wiggle out of this.” The President looked accusingly at his companions. “Don’t try to deny that the words ‘Guacamole Bay’ mean nothing to you. Tony tells me that everyone is unhappy about it.”
“Guacamole Bay?” The Secretary of Defence was still perplexed.
“That’s Guantanamo Bay, Mr President.” The White House Chief of Staff corrected. “I believe that you have a briefing note on Guantanamo Bay prison in your in-box, Sir.”
“Well I still haven’t finished my urgent signings. So why is my friend Toni upset about the food in this prison? Can’t we just stop feeding them Mexican food and give them MacDonald’s or something?”
“I don’t think that it’s the food, Sir.” The White House Chief began.
“They get excellent rations, in fact, Sir.” The Secretary of Defence cut in hurriedly. “Far better that they would get if they were in a US prison.”
“I thought Toni said they were in a US prison?” The President replied.
“No Sir.” The White House Chief said. “Guantanamo Bay is in Cuba.”
“Well. Now. That’s a relief.” The President smiled. “I’ll just call Toni and tell him this has nothing to do with me. He can give Fidel Castro ear ache for a change.”
“No Sir. I mean it’s in Cuba, but we run it.”
“Well, if it’s in Cuba, then why don’t we just hand it over to the Cubans? Then it’s their problem.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that, Sir.” The Vice President scowled menacingly at the White House Chief. “We have a whole collection of dangerous terrorists locked up in there and the Cubans would likely let them free.”
“Well if they’re dangerous terrorists, I don’t see what the problem is.” The President concentrated grimly. “If they have been found guilty of terrorist offences, then why don’t we just electrifry them.”
“Sir, they haven’t actually been found guilty of any terrorist offences…” The White House Chief’s voice trailed off under the Vice President’s baleful stare.
“Well they should be brought to America and charged immediantly. Then we can find them guilty and electrifry them.”
“I’m afraid that it isn’t as simple as that. You see, sir, there is no actual evidence that they have committed terrorist offences. If we brought them to America then some smart lawyer would get them out of prison in weeks. Or months and years, latest.”
“No evidence?” The President’s concentration looked painful. “What terrorist offences did they commit?”
“None Sir, as far as we know. Most of them have never actually committed any terrorist offences.” The White House Chief hesitated.
“Case closed then.” Said the President. “They haven’t committed terrorist offences, we hand them over to the Cubans, they let them go and our hands are clean.”
“No Sir.” The deep voice of the Vice President cut short the President’s euphoria. “You see, Sir, They may not have committed any offences before they went in there but they sure as Hell would commit offences if you let them out.”
“Now what makes you say that, Mr Vice President? I can’t see why, if they never offended before, they should suddenly start when they get out.”
“It’s like this, Sir.” The Defence Secretary broke in. “If someone who has not committed an offence has been locked up for a few years, and spat on and deprived of sleep”
“And fed Mexican Food,” the President interjected excitedly,
“I said the food is good.” The Defence Secretary sounded annoyed. “ But if they have been treated like that, then unfortunately it affects their sense of right and wrong and they just can’t be allowed to get loose.”
“I see,” The President sighed. “They would probably go running off and free Yosema Ti Sam.”
“Yosemite Sam?” The Chief of Staff looked perplexed.
“Yeah. That’s him.” The President explained. “You know the one with the long beard and moustaches and the funny hat? The chief terrorist. The one we have been looking for all these years and now he’s been captured. They would go and free him.”
“The President is talking about Osama Bin Laden.” The Vice President clarified.
“No, I ain’t.” The President retorted. Sam bin Laden is a friend of the family. He and I used to play together as kids. I mean the other one. Sa’am Hussein. He offended my Pop and me and no one is going to be rescuing him.”
“Mr President, Sir.” The Secretary of Defence broke the silence. “As we explained to you, sir, Your old friend Osama is now a terrorist. We must capture and punish him.”
“Oh Yeah. I remember. You told me. Like Lex Luther and Superman my old best friend Sam Bin Laden has gone over to the dark side. Anyway, we can’t have these terrorists getting out and going over to the dark side.”
“So what can we do?” he continued. “Toni Bear is very worried about this whole situation. We can’t keep them locked up forever, but we can’t charge them and we can’t set them free. Gentlemen, I need a solution.”
The Vice President exchanged glances with the Secretary of Defence and began to speak.
“Well Sir, This is something that requires a great deal of thought. As The Chief of Staff said, there seems to be a briefing paper in your in-tray, so why don’t you work your way down to that and we will come up with a comprehensive position paper on options and scenarios for your consideration.”
“Aw Nuts!” The President sounded disappointed. “That sounds as if it will take a long time and I promised my friend Toni Bear that I would call him back this afternoon. You wouldn’t want Yogi bear let down by his little Boo Boo, would you?”
“The technicians tell me that it is unlikely that the telephone line will be repaired that soon, Sir.” The Secretary for Defence replied smoothly. “Why don’t you let us draft an official e-mail for you to send to him instead?”
“That still doesn’t solve the problem fast enough.” The President stamped his foot. “I think I’m going to do what my Daddy used to do when he was in charge here.”
“And what was that, Mr President?”
“He would have asked Mother.”
The President picked up the telephone on his desk but, as he began to dial, there was a frantic knocking and the door to the coat closet flew open.
“Why ma’am.” The White House Chief of Staff stood up in alarm. “Are you OK?”
“I’m just fine boys. You should just inhale those mothballs. They sure do put one in a good mood. Now if one or two of you good ol’ boys would just like to help me up to my room. Whee Ha! I haven’t felt so good since I left Texas!”1