First of all, I’d like to say I’m still the Decider. You didn’t vote me out. I decidered to go. So there. History will prove that’s how it happened. Just wait. You’ll see.
Now that we got that out of the way, how’s everybody doing? Is it warm enough in here? Good, good. Please take advantage of the taco bar. That came outta my pocket. I mean, the tacos didn’t. Heh-heh. That’d be weird. No. I paid for the taco bar. Because I care. I’m compassionate. Also, because I like tacos. Have you tried that taco that’s wrapped in another taco? That’s American ingenuity! You don’t see one of those things in Iraq. Or Canada. You can only get something like that in a free country.
And that’s what I’m talking about today. America is a free country. Full of freedoms. All kinds of freedoms. Big freedoms. Little freedoms. Freedoms that you don’t even know you have until someone tries to take ‘em away. Sneaky freedoms, I call ‘em. But you all still have your freedoms because of what I did. No. You don’t have to thank me. I did it because it’s something that I’m good at. I decided to protect your freedoms. And all those things I DECIDED to do helped you have at least one freedom. In some cases, lots of freedoms. And freedoms may not be free, but they come with rewards.
What kind of rewards? Well, check under your seats. That’s right, you all get a car! You get a car! And you get a car! And you get a car! Heh-heh. I love that one. I guess what I’ll miss the most about not being the President any more is watching that Oper show everyday in my pajamas. She’s so wise. I guess that’s why she married that Barack HUSSEIN fella.
What? That’s a different lady? My bad. I have trouble tellin’ those folks apart. Whoa! Take it easy! Now, now, don’t get all upset. By “those folks” I mean “celebrities.” Like Brad Pitt or Jay Leno or Batman. Not regular folks like you and me. Sure, I’m just a regular guy. I helicopter into work just like everybody else. My butler puts my pants on both legs at a time just like regular folks do…in my silver-plated pants closet. I like it in there. It’s so quiet. And it echoes real nice. I do karaoke in there sometimes with Condi. “Islands in the Stream”, “Paradise by the Dashboard Light”, “Ebony & Ivory”, yeah, we got a lot of favorites.
Where was I?
Oh right, Hot Pockets! You all get Hot Pockets today. Just show your press pass to the Marines at the door and they’ll hand you your complimentary Hot Pockets. Please, though, only one per person. I’m not made of Hot Pockets. That’d be pretty cool though, wouldn’t it? If I were a giant Hot Pocket? Kids would really love me then. And everybody would be trying to get a taste of my flaky crust or warm gooey center. Good luck! Not with the Secret Service around, you don’t! They’re sworn to protect President Hot Pocket! Heh-heh.
In conclusion, I was a great president. Also, you’re welcome. It may not seem like I was great, but trust me, I did a great job. And I should know, because I was there. You weren’t, so you don’t know. But there I was, watching me make those decisions and doing those things, and guess what, I did all right. I was probably the best president ever. Heh-heh. But that’s not for me to decide. Or for you to decide. It’s for history to decide. And if history knows what’s good for it, history will tell you I was good.
I'd love to take questions, but you people have always given me the creeps. So instead, I'll just moonwalk out of the room. It's not something I know how to do, but I just decided to do it.
Mission accomplished!
So I’m sitting at a bar just chatting up the bartender, and someone brings up the movie Forrest Gump.” And I say, “Have you seen it lately though? It’s not that great.”
And the guy next to me says, “I don’t know, I think it’s a pretty good film.” The guy next to me is, of course, Tom Hanks.
So I try to do damage control and I say, “Don’t get me wrong, you were fantastic in it. You were great. Just some of it was a little corny and doesn’t hold up.”
And Tom Hanks says, “Well, I like it.”
“I do too!” I say, because, obviously, I want to win over Tom Hanks. Who wouldn’t want to be buddies with Tom Hanks? “I do too! Especially the parts on the island. I mean, the parts on the island are unbelievable. You were amazing in those scenes.”
Tom Hanks doesn’t look at me. He’s staring off in the distance with a wistful look on his face. And I’m still trying to press my case. Not realizing that I’m now talking about Castaway, not Forrest Gump at all. Also, right about now, I realize my barstool isn’t a stool at all, but a chair of ordinary height. So Tom Hanks towers above me and I have to crane my neck uncomfortably to talk to him. But I try to pretend I’m not uncomfortable, that the chair and the fact that I put my foot in my mouth haven’t made me uncomfortable at all.
“Where did you shoot that by the way?" I continue. "Where was the island?”
We had all been having a conversation up to this point—me, Tom Hanks, the bartender, some other people at the bar. But they’ve all disengaged now to leave me to be a total ass all by myself. Tom Hanks in fact has turned away from the bar and is still staring off, and now I realize that he’s not listening to me. He’s listening to the radio, like an old timey AM radio, with the white single earbud. And I know he’s listening to the USC game, because everyone knows Tom Hanks is a huge USC fan.
Then, just as I realize that, Tom Hanks and I are at the USC game. USC is playing Baylor in, what essentially looks like a community rec center. It’s sort of like a big barn of a place, but not nearly big enough to contain a whole football field, much less a football field plus fans. And the concrete floor is covered with a thin, thin layer of green carpet, that, I suppose is subbing in for actual astro turf. The game, while played by a bunch of football players, doesn’t look much like a football game. It’s kind of a barely organized game of grabass. Also, USC looks to be coached by a six-foot-four, 23-year-old girl.
Then a guy runs out and shouts out some awkward rhetorical question to the crowd. The crowd, by the way only numbers in the couple of hundreds and we’re just milling around near the game as there are no bleachers. The watching of the game is as much of a grabass situation as the game itself, it seems.
So this guy shouts out some awkward double entendre of a question to the crowd, something that obviously he hopes will result in a big cheer from the crowd. I wish I could remember what he said, but I can’t. But whatever the question is strikes both me and Tom Hanks as funny and we start laughing. And I say to Tom, “Please call on me. Let me answer.” And we laugh and laugh. And I'm relieved. I feel like Tom Hanks has finally warmed up to me.
The dream goes a little haywire at that point and makes even less sense.
