Archive for Chuck Schumer

The Bot Who Came In From the Cold

Posted in Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , on September 30, 2017 by deborah1960

It was a dark and stormy night. Schumer’s phone belted out, “I’m not the world’s most passionate guy!”

Damn, he thought.  He declined the call without even looking at the phone.  He didn’t need to.  There was only one Lola, and he knew what it meant.  He pulled out his second phone, the phone to be used only in an emergency, the phone with only one number on it. She answered on the second ring, as arranged.

“You see it?” she asked.

“Yeah. I saw it.  He must be in deep shit, using the fire-the-son-of-a-bitch code.”

“No kidding.  He just flew in from Huntsville. We’re meeting him in twenty minutes.  I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“Where?  The Roosevelt Room?”

“No.  Too public.  We’re going to use Zinke’s Cone of Silence.”

“Right.  See you in ten.”

“And Schumer?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to burn the phone.”

Schumer smiled as he pulled the SIM card out and ignited it with his Zippo.  That Pelosi.  She never misses a trick.

 

Pelosi and Schumer, both wearing duck masks to befuddle Interior’s face recognition security system (he was Hewey, she was Dewey), waited wordlessly while the elevator brought them to the Secretary’s floor.  It was late—a miserable, rainy night in Washington—and Chuck found the silence of the normally busy building unnerving.  But if Pelosi were nervous, she didn’t show it.

Finally the elevator doors slid open and revealed the President pacing up and down the hallway.  He, too, was wearing a mask.  He was Donald.

“Chuck! Nancy!  Thank God you’re here!”

Barely controlling her annoyance, Pelosi motioned for him to shut the hell up.  Abashed, Trump smacked his forehead, nearly knocking his mask off.  Schumer took the President by the elbow and guided him to the Secretary’s office before Pelosi could kick Trump in the shins.

Once inside, all three sat at Zinke’s magnificent mahogany conference table.  Pelosi flicked a switch, and a huge plastic dome, with the name FOXWORTHY ENTERPRISES etched on its side, descended upon them.

“Oh, boy!  Am I glad to see you two!” the President cried as he slipped the mask off.

“We heard you use code red in Alabama.  ‘Fire the son of a bitch.’ What’s the emergency, Donald?”

“I can’t do it any more, Nancy.  I want to come in from the cold.”

Schumer felt his sphincter tighten.  Donald wanted to come in from the cold?  Their best-placed mole?  He glanced sideways at Pelosi.  If she felt any shock, she didn’t show it.  God, she was magnificent.

“Tell me about it, Donald,” was all she said.

“I just can’t handle it any more.  All the hate.  And those god awful hats!  Why do I have to wear those hats?”

“Now, Donald, you know that you have to wear the hats.  Everyone expects you to.”

“But I look like such a dork in it, Nancy.  And it’s not just the hat.  I can’t get a decent burrito any more.  I show up at Taco King and they spit in my carnitas.  And they don’t even bother hiding it!  I’ve been eating at Chipotle, for fuck’s sake.  Chipotle, Chuck!”

Pelosi patted Donald’s tiny hand, looking genuinely concerned.  “Go on, Donald.  That’s right.  Let it all out.”

“And poor Colin Kaepernick.  So brave!  So strong! Taking a stand against white supremacy! And he’s blackballed!  All those wife beaters and drunk drivers in the NFL, and they blackball that brave young man.  And what do I do?  I call him a ‘son of a bitch’! I’m the son of a bitch, Nancy!  I am!”

The President wept into his hands.  “And North Korea!  All those terrible things I said about Kim Jong Un. I know he’s sick, well, crazy really, and I have to go and call him Rocket Man! The next thing I know, he’s talking about dropping an A bomb on Sausalito.  What was I thinking?”

Pelosi nudged Schumer.  This is where you come in, was the silent message. One New York Democrat to another. She was the master strategist, but Schumer was the human touch.  It was why they were such a great team.

“Donald, Donald.  C’mon, buddy!  Pull it together! Be a mensch, for the love of Mike.”

The magic words did their trick.  The President took in a huge, shuddering breath and wiped his nose with the hankie Schumer offered him.

Schumer went on.  “Look, Donald.  I know it’s been tough for you.  It’s a rotten job, but we needed the best, and baby, that’s you.”

Donald nodded.  “I know. I know.”

“Look at all you’ve done. I mean, thanks to you, the whole world knows that a Hell’s Kitchen alley cat has more intellectual honesty and moral fortitude than Paul Ryan. And what you did to Christie!  Jesus H. Christ, that was beautiful, man.”  Schumer leaned back in his chair and chuckled in that way he has.  He had meant every word of it.  Donald was the best.

Donald laughed, too.  “Did you see the look on McConnell’s face when I told him to get back to work?”

Pelosi chimed in with her silvery giggle.  She had the most beautiful laugh.

The three laughed long and hard, then sighed deeply and looked at each other.  Good times.  Then, just as suddenly, Donald’s face darkened.

“I don’t think I can keep it up anymore, guys.  It’s just too hard.  The responsibility is bone-crushing.  Who knew that being president, even the worst-ever president, would be so hard? Everybody hates me.”

“Donald.  Donald! Listen to me.”

They both looked at her, her chin thrust forward in graceful determination.

“Donald, you have done more for the cause than any other Democrat in history.  Thanks to you, Americans are talking about racism and white supremacy more openly than ever. You’ve shown us more clearly than anyone the threat to our country that Russia poses.  And as for opening our eyes about health insurance policy, well, Donald, even Barack admits that you’re second to none.”

Donald visibly preened. But just as suddenly, he looked crestfallen.

“But I just don’t think I can last to 2020.”

Pelosi broke out into a grin that reminded Schumer of a sunny day in May.

“Donald, don’t be so silly!  Of course you don’t have to hold out to 2020.  All you have to do is hold out to the mid-terms.  Once we get the House and Senate back, I swear, we’ll impeach your ass so fast it’ll make your head spin.”  Schumer smiled.  Her mixed metaphors were so adorable.

“I know, but if you impeach me, then that’ll leave Pence in charge.  I’d rather choke on a chicken bone than let that self-righteous, hypocritical homophobe in the Oval Office.”

Schumer stepped in.  “Don’t worry about Pence.  Bobby Mueller found so many links between him and Manafort that little Mikey’s gonna be up shit’s creek—“

“—Without the paddle!” Trump chortled.

They high-fived each other.

“Just one more thing,” Trump said.  “What about the girl?”

Pelosi and Schumer looked at each other, nonplussed.  “What girl?” they asked in unison.

“Melania.  This is killing her, having to dress up all the time and put on that bullshit about cyberbullying.  All she wants to do is stay at home, read the metaphysical poets, and bake potica.”

“Don’t worry about Melania.  Of course you can bring her out with you when you come home.”

“Yeah, Donald,” Schumer added, “I’ll tell you what. Once all this is over, we’ll all meet up at the Breukelen Coffee House, you, me, Melania, and Nancy.  We’ll have a good laugh, and I’ll show you my neck of the woods.”

“Yeah, Chuck.  That’d be great.”  The President smiled, but there was something sad in his smile. Schumer felt a little sorry for the poor schmuck.

 

Pelosi pulled her Aston Martin up alongside Schumer’s townhouse.  Schumer cast around for something to say.  He just wasn’t ready to go up those marble steps alone.

“Well, that was close,” he said.

“Sure was.  But you did a great job.”

“Oh, you too.”

An awkward silence hung in the car.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” Schumer asked.

“I don’t know.  Sometimes I think Donny should just shut the fuck up.  He’s out of his element.”

Schumer threw his head back and laughed.

“Schumer.”

“Pelosi?”

“I think you’d better go.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”

He unbuckled his belt and turned to open the door.  As he was about to leave, he felt her elegant hand on his shoulder.

“We’re a good team, aren’t we?” she asked, a tremble of vulnerability barely audible in her husky voice.

“You bet we are.”

“Good night, Chuck.”

“Good night, Nancy.”

©2017 D. R. Miller

 

 

 

Advertisements