the elves attic

The w spent the hour before the weekly briefing



.... thinking about ways to get back at what he thought of as, Them damn quoters. He hated people who used quotes more than anything else that he could just then think of that pissed him off. As soon as Cheney and the others sat down in their chairs, he opened his official writing pad, the one he had put the presidential seal all over both sides of the blue cover, and read, Here is the damned problem, you seee? Quoters. Those bastards who think it is cool and learned to memorize some damn passages. Next time I am talking to some bastard head of some bastard state, and they throw a quote out at me, I want to be able to quote right back at these bastards. Quotes? Yea, quotes, damn them. They¢re like snapping some guys ass with a towel in the shower. You got to fight sting with sting in a situation like that, and I say so with, do not forget, the full force of the frigging army, of the states of united America!!



Sir, umm, not to beat a dead horse, but I have to say again, it is, The United States Of America?



"What I say, dammit!"



"States of the united America. "



"Is that one of them god damn hand held phones?"



"Yes, sir. I can play this back to you, when you deny? well, when we discuss this."



"Goddamnit, give me that? The W pointed down at the recorder, his face showing a look of disgust he usually reserved for enemies of state."



"Sir, it has got a lot of notes on there."



"Are you refusing a direct order from the commander and chief, which is an act of high treason and I have read recently, I can have any body shot, if shotting is needed."



"What?"



"He can do it!" Cheney barked out from the largest chair in the room, He can have you dead, now. I¢ll do it. Strangle your ass. Don¢t test me, I read a few books about Vietnam.



"Vietnam, huh?" The W interjected. He stood up and walked over to the window, clasped his hands behind his back, and in a voice which the W considered heavy, he told the gathering, I'm been thinking maybe I'm, uh, yeah, you know, having flash backs to Vietnam?"

The group of suited men sitting around the table all looked up from their notes and computers. W¢s words had stunned the assembly into silence. No one wanted to be the first to speak, since none of them had actually been in any wars, though all had profited heartily in some way from them in the past, and actually going to vietnam was not a topic any of them liked being discussed. Yea, it¢s hell. The W added. Pure hell.



The Cheney, as he thought of himself, finally had to speak up, Sir, I . . . didn¢t know you were in Nam? The Cheney asked him in a very wary voice, as he silently went over in his mind the plan he had to assassinate the w and take control, should the w ever get too insane to handle. He had been watching for signs of this dementia since he entered the oval office, always prepared for his chance to take control? he once wrote in one of his secret journals that he had masterbated to the thought, much to the chagrin of his ¡not often enough for her tastes¢ serviced wife.



"Yea," the W told them, "we'll just see. I think I was in Vietnam, whether I remember it or not. I was drunk a lot, probably doing other shit, like doobie smoking, toot, whatever
the hell they had over there to get a good one on, you know? "

A General to the W's right also had a plan to get rid of the president, though only in the case of that being absolutely necessary and his wife agrees. His wife had forced him to agree to the last part, one night after he told her about the plan. He got off on taking orders from her while she vacated her bladder over his feet, and since they actually both enjoyed this experience, they felt like they were meant for each other. The general could not be happier, and wanted to hold on to that woman at all costs? and he was pretty sure the w would go crazy, and cheney and the others above him on that oh so short chain of command who get unfortunately bombed by some crazy arab kids he was keeping in a van out back of the local ROTC building, all hopped up on coke and meth and chanting death to America pig breathed infidel buts. He put his hand on the but of his gun and felt a tinge of electricity cross through his right testicle.



"Mr. President, uh, I mean. W you were not, according to existing records, in Vietnam. However should you wish to have such paperwork delivered to your office, that can be arranged asap, Sir. Dammmit, I forgot to say sir all those times before this? so, here, let me just say, sir, sir, sir, sir, sir, sir."



"I think you missed one, hoss."



Uhmm, yes, mr. president sir. Sir.



"Now, as far as my time in the jungles of that hot hell. Remember them jackets that said something like, I been to Vietnam, so hell ain¢t so bad. Something to hell like that. Get me one of those. A couple, for when I spill stuff. My time in those dear, forgivingly jungle hostels. Eatin, rats. Probably. Everything is classified about this topic, all need to know. I was doing secret fucking missions. Nobody used. Hell, I had a double that filled in for me here."



"Uhm, sir, is this a joke?"



Are you saying Viet-fucking-nam was a joke?



"Well, no?"



"W. The w. I was one mother fucker over there. Hell, I may have killed some babies or something when I was drunk. Man, I could tell stories, and I will. I got me a source feeding me the true stuff, shit you guys don¢t even know. That's what it's like to be the president of only the whole free fucking world!!"











Cheney put down his reading material, the latest tv guide, and asked, "Who told this to you, sir?"



"One of them CIA guys."
"Which one, sir?"
"They all look the same. I have told you that so many damn times, Dick."



"Sir, it is possible that someone has played a trick on you."



"Cheney, listen, I can rewrite history, right? Like we talked about. So, why not this too? Make them believe goddamn it, and make it a law that no one can question this story. You know, send some boys over and kick some journalistic ass, or refuse somebody to some damn dance or something, whatever you have to do."



"So, you made up the CIA agent?"



"I have no comment on that matter at this time."



The W looked down at the hand held recorder and remembered that he was going to smash the damn thing if anyone used it to correct him again? Without that evidence, he could just deny whatever they said he said, like he always did. "Give me that goddamn thing?"

"Sir, I have a lot of notes on that recorder. Please?"



"I just want to look at it."



The owner of the offending recorder turned to Cheney, "Dick, please?"



"He just wants to look at it," Cheney told him with a smile that he liked to think of as classic chaney, which he had practiced for what would amount to almost six and a half year of his life.

"He said that before and, well, he made that too classified to discuss, didn't he?"



"That did not happen". W.'s cry was soon followed by a chorus of denial from all around the table. Never happened, and, That man is breaking a law by bringing that up, and other variations of groveling words. "Give me that piece of junk."



"Okay."



The W bounces the hand held recorder on his palm, watches the tiny black tape spin around inside as he talks, This damn thing has caused me enough trouble. Trouble. Trouble is sitting here too damn long. The recorder falls out his hand and onto the table as he motions toward the door, I'm going to go someplace else now. And do some president stuff."

Forgotten, the recorder falls down onto the table and then is retreived by it's owner and he lived happily ever after for a few seconds.