Two fools walk into an ice cream parlor and sit at the counter. The tall hefty one with peach hair orders a vanilla sundae large enough to just fit into a soup bowl. The other orders a mini version in a custard cup.
“That’s some dessert you have,” says the smaller pudgy, slightly beady-eyed one.
“Bigger is better,” Peachhead mutters as he fills his mouth with a huge serving spoon dripping with chocolate syrup.
Pudgy asked, “Don’t I know you? You look so familiar? Don’t you work in that big house on Pennsylvania Avenue? Attractive wife, big limo?”
“That’s me,” Peachhead said proudly.
“You’re the President—the President of the United States! Holy Snickers! Wow, I can’t believe it. You’re my hero. I worship you. I have a poster of you smirking over my bed. Look, my Guatemalan-made tie and this shirt from India have your name on them. I even had my tailor stitch Make America Great Again on my briefs. Here, let me show you,” as he starts to unzip his pants.
“Whoa, hold on. Not here. Everyone has those damn phones and they’ll take pictures. We’ll be on the front page of every fake paper,” says an animated Peachhead. “Finish up your treat and we’ll go to my office. I’ll give you a ride.”
“Oh my God, I could die now and still be the happiest man alive,” the over-the-moon Pudgy shouts.
“Ssssh, don’t call attention to yourself. That’s my job,” advises Peachhead. “Any attention is mine and don’t forget it.”
“What’s your name?” asked Peachhead.
“Nunes, Devin Nunes, sir. I’m the Chairman of the House Intelligence Committee…”
“Intelligence in the House? Bullshit, never lie to me, that’s my job too,” chuckled Peachhead.
“Yes sir, whatever you say sir. I’m just so happy to really meet you in person. I’ve been secretly working behind the scenes, even the White House shrubs, to feed you confidential info to help you. I’m small but ambitious and if you don’t get impeached, you’ll be around for another three years. I suspect that they’ll be a lot of job openings that you might consider me for,” said a more confident Pudgy.
“Mmmmm, let me ask you a few questions. Do you believe in climate change?”
“Climate change is crap sir,” quickly adding, “Excuse my English.”
“Whaddya think of immigrants?” Peachhead raised an eyebrow and straightened himself, now towering over Pudgy.
“Hate ‘em,” said Pudgy loud and proud, almost tasting a Secretary-of-Something’s position. “Mr. President, I also hate the House Freedom Caucus. They’re lemmings with suicide vests. Remember they wanted to shut down the government!” an animated Pudgy stated.
“Whoa there, shutting down this busted machine is bad?” baited Peachhead.
“Not if you do it sir,” said a now contrite but plotting Pudgy, picturing himself at the Cabinet table.
“A couple of last questions, Nonsense.”
“It’s Nunes, sir. NUNES.” Pudgy said stoically.
“OK Nonsense. It’s whatever I call you. You’re NONSENSE, get it? What do you think of Hillary?” Peachhead waited for his response, which came instantly.
“Slut, liar, fraud, scammer, American terrorist with a womanizer husband…” Pudgy was interrupted…
“Strike the womanizer, that’s a hidden talent, get it? Bill was good but I’m the expert,” lectured Peachhead-the teacher.
“ Yes sir, yes sir, I get it. But before you ask more, this is where I stand…I want to shut down the Russian probe. It’s a witch-hunt. As far as I’m concerned, what you did in Russia stays in Russia. I think environmentalists are neo-Marxists, socialists, Maoists and communists. I don’t care if veterans need marijuana for medical use—just ban it! Yes, they laid their lives down for us but it doesn’t mean I have to put illegal drugs in their mouths,” puffed Pudgy. And I love the Koch brothers. I have a poster of them next to yours.
“Well,” sighed Peachhead. “What I like about you is that you love me. That’s the most important thing. That’s high on my radar. That’s stealth-talk ya know. What turns me off is that you have experience. That makes you stand out. No one in my cabinet has any. None of my advisors have any except Kelly but he’s a racist, a liar and bigot so that saves him. You are too and I like that. This is a special club ya know. If you promise not to use words longer than 4-letters, there might be a spot for you.”
“Oh master, I mean Mr. President, I’m so excited,” Pudgy nervously shifted from one foot to the other.
“Looks like you have to hit the john then I’ll take you to my office where we can talk in private,” instructed Peachhead who stood up along with 18 secret service men who had been occupying every table in the ice cream parlor. “Let’s go.”