Mahmoud Ahmadinejad walked out of the bathroom of his hotel suite at the UN Plaza Hotel across from the United Nations. He wore a white terry cloth bathrobe. Mahmoud read the digits on the cable box clock: 9:08. The evening lights of Manhattan speckled through the floor to ceiling windows. The air conditioning was on, creating a consistent white noise that pleased Mahmoud. He had had an eventful few days in New York. Speaking at Columbia, where he made the University’s President seem like an ingrate. He was a tad irritated that his Farsi was misinterpreted. he had said that Iran did not have as many gay people as America, not that there were no gays in Iran. But this was not a problem. Americans were just primed to catch him in a verbal slip, even if they have to make it up. His speech at the UN was well received as far as he was concerned. So the trip, he thought of it as a vacation, was successful. Mahmoud thought that he would like to explore more of America at some point, but knew that if this was going to happen, it would probably happen only during his tenure as President of Iran.
Ahmad walked into the bedroom.
“She is here,” said Ahmad.
“She is early,” said Mahmoud.
“Should I send her in?” asked Ahmad.
“Yes,” said Mahmoud.
Ahmad walked out of the bedroom. Mahmoud felt his beard and opened his bathrobe a touch to give it a more relaxed appearance. And then she walked in.
“Hello your excellency,” said Ann Hart Coulter, wearing a simple black dress cut to above her knees, with a white pearl necklace and white pearl bracelet. Her very long pale legs were supported by black high heels just short of being stilettos.
“Please, call me Mahmoud.”
“Yes, of course. And you can call me Ann.”
“I understand you have expressed the opinion that Christians are perfected Jews. I agree with this,” said Mahmoud.
“Yes. The New Testament is a more highly evolved document than the Old Testament, a perfecting of the Hebrew Bible,” said Ann.
“Yes. And I might add that the Koran is a more highly evolved document than the New Testament,” said Mahmoud.
“Ahhh, Muslims are perfected Christians?” asked Ann with a smile on her face.
“Let us not dwell on our differences. Let us enjoy each other’s commonalities,” said Mahmoud.
Ann was surprised that Mahmoud’s English was so good. It had been an international secret that Mahmoud was fluent in spoken English, though he had difficulty reading it.
“The planet would be more perfect without Jews,” said Ann.
“I never said that. It is you who concentrate on the superiority of one religion over another,” said Mahmoud.
“So what are our commonalities, Mahmoud,” asked Ann.
“I understand you wish to make love with me,” said Mahmoud.
“What? I am offended. I am here to talk. To learn. Whatever made you think that I would want to make love with you?” said Ann.
“I am very sorry if I misunderstood your intentions,” said Mahmoud.
“You would not have sex with me anyway. You are a married man. And I am not a Muslim. So the point is moot,” said Ann.
“You do not know the Koran, a book that governs every aspect of my life. But there are varying interpretations as to the applicability of some laws when a Muslim man stands on non-Muslim ground,” said Mahmoud.
“Really. Like what?” asked Ann.
“I am permitted to have sexual intercourse with you in this bedroom right now,” said Mahmoud.
“Right now? You mean there is like a Koranic time loophole that has opened this evening,” asked Ann.
“Time and place,” said Mahmoud. “Please, remove your clothing. I would like to see your body,” said Mahmoud.
“I do not think so. This is totally ridiculous. I would never…”
“Please, please. You are very attractive. Iranian women do not have such blond long hair as you. I wish to see more of it. I wish to touch it. Consider it a place where our civilizations can come together. Do not be so prudish,” said Mahmoud.
“I am not a prude,” protested Ann.
“You are very thin. Your skin is very taught. Your eyes are big. And your voice quivers. May I touch your breasts?” asked Mahmoud.
“No. Absolutely…OK, look, you can touch my hair. You want to touch my hair?” asked Ann.
Mahmoud took a few steps toward Ann, who was six inches taller than the President. The President of Iran extended his right index finger and gently pushed Ann’s golden hair back behind her left ear. He then moved his face toward her and paused about an inch away. Ann’s eyes closed. Mahmoud closed the inch and kissed Ann on the lips. The kiss was long, and Ann responded by opening her mouth. Mahmoud’s arms slowly wrapped around Ann’s javelin frame and he pulled her tight as they merged their mouths as if eating each other. Ann placed her arms around Mahmoud. Mahmoud suddenly pushed her away and backed off. Ann’s eyes shot open.
“Never, never place your arms around me,” said Mahmoud.
“Sorry,” said Ann.
“Now we shall make love. Remove your clothes. Please, Ann. I ask you to share with me your passion,” said Mahmoud, recovering from his minor outburst in an attempt to salvage the possibilities.
Ann screamed and shot up in bed. It was a good scream, the kind that one would have if jogging themselves out of a wet dream, which is what Ann just did in the middle of the night in her bedroom. Wow, Ann thought. What a dream. She was breathing heavily and sweating. She turned to the digital clock on her night table which read 3:36 AM. Ann Hart Coulter let out a lungful of air and did not think she could get back to sleep. Not after that orgasm, which was one of the best ones she has had in a few years, she thought. Fuck it. She had to sleep. Ann was giving a speech tomorrow on the moral degradation of the Democrats and she had to look good and be on top of her game. Anyway, maybe if she was lucky she could return to that dream she was having. Damn that was a good dream. International sex, she thought, between two very intelligent and misunderstood people. Ann closed her eyes and lied back into her pillow and fell rapidly to sleep.
George W. Bush sat on the end of the double bed in the Lincoln Bedroom of the White House. He was in his boxer shorts that were emblazoned with hundreds of small wavy American flags, and white socks that were pulled up to the top of his calves. Goerge’s left hand cupped his belly which had grown in the last six months. He was squeezing the fatty flesh of his mid-section. The midnight deliveries of Cherry Garcia ice cream together with the recent gorging of bread with butter had taken minor toll on the shape of George’s body. Instead of three scoops, George thought, he would instruct the kitchen staff to bring him just one scoop, one large scoop, of ice cream. And he really had to stop with the bread. But he had an urge recently to drink beer, and that urge was satisfied by carbs. George knew this, and that is why his entire left hand was filled with George W. Bush’s belly fat.
George had the White House staff install a Sony Blu-Ray deck together with a fifty-inch high definition LG liquid crystal display which sat on an oak wood stand, the deck immediately below on a shelf. As George played with his belly fat, he held in his right hand a remote control. To the left of him on the bed, sat the DVD case for the documentary, if that is what it can be called, of The Secret. George watched the DVD a few nights ago, at midnight, of course, while he was eating ice cream and hallah swabbed with butter. The Secret had captivated the President, and he was watching it again. But this time he insisted that General David Patraeus watch it with him.
General Patraeus was standing, fully dressed in his uniform, as he always did the few times he had visited the President at the White House. The General had never been in the Lincoln Bedroom before, and he felt it would be disrespectful to sit in the very room where President Abraham Lincoln had his office. In fact, the General thought it quite inappropriate that Presidential guets were having sexual congress in the room where a President did his work. But maybe he was not in touch with the times. Afterall, here was the current President in his skivvies sitting on the edge of the bed with legs dangling off the mattress which was elevated like old beds often were, so much so that George W. Bush’s socked feet were a good six inches off the floor. The President had his ankles crossed and he was beating them backward and forward as he spoke.
“I think I have found the answer to our problems in Iraq,” said President Bush.
“Yes, sir,” answered the General in a manner that was filled with cautious anticipation.
“I listened very carefully to your testimony before Congress. It was negative,” said the President.
“Negative, sir? I thought it was honest, but as optimistic as I felt I could be,” said the General.
“That’s the problem. This DVD here. On my new Blu-Ray player. It’s pretty cool. See the picture. So it is all about the Law of Attraction. OK, it is a Law of the Universe. And it is something we need to incorporate into our war plans,” said President George W. Bush.
“I’m not familiar with this Law. Is it a Christian doctrine?” asked the General.
“No. No. I am not giving you any of that evangelical whatever. It is a physical law. A law of science. Listen. It is simple. You think positive thoughts, you think that good things will come to you, then good things come to you. Those thoughts make you attract good things, get it?” said the President.
“OK. Yes. My father had Norman Vincent Peales’s book The Power of Positive Thinking. Is that what you mean, sir?” asked the General.
“No. No. That was about how you can pick up girls, I think. This is about becoming a billionaire or winning wars. We need to have everyone of our troops watch this DVD and starting thinking of winning the hearts and minds of the Iraqis. Of winning the war. If they think it, they will be come magnets for the very thing they are thinking about,” said Bush.
“We have over 130,000 troops, sir. How do you expect me to set it up so that they all can watch this video?” asked General David Patraeus.
“General, please. We send over thousands of DVD players. No Blu-Rays, like this. Just plain ones. Plus thousands of this DVD. Do it on, I don;t know, on rotation, when they get a day break, or something. But they need to watch this right away. It might be our only hope,” said the President.
“Sir, if I may ask, we are still waiting for Hummvees with under-carriage shields as well as full Kevlar body armor,” said the General.
“If your guys think about love, they will get love and not bullets. They will not need the Kevlar body thing,” said the President.
The General did not respond. General Patraeus had recently watched the movie Hitler: The Last Ten Days starring Alec Guinness. Oddly, he watched the movie on an old VHS deck at his home with his wife Holly. Holly insisted that her husband watch the movie. Sir Alec Guinness, thought the General, portrayed a man who had lost touch with reality, and no one was willing to tell him. Holly would not say why she wanted her husband to watch the movie. She just said it was important. And so David watched it. They went to bed early. But David could not sleep that night. Neither could Holly. They did not speak of what they were thinking. And now General David Patraeus was stanidng before the Presient in his boxer shorts and he was reluctant to tell Mr. Bush what he was racing through his mind.
“You listening to me, General?” asked President Bush in a strident voice.
“Yes. Yes, sir. I will consult with our commanders on how to coordinate the distribution of these DVDs so that our troops can have the guidance you seek for them,” said the General. he did not believe he just said what he said. But he said it. He was hoping the President would come to his senses, and someone else would talk him out of the idea. If the DVDs never arrived, then he would not have to deal with the issue.
“Good. This is the answer. This is the answer to all those cowards in Congress who fear that we do not have a plan to win. Who do not have the fortitude to win this war. America never gives up. At least this President won’t,” said the President as he turned up the volume on the LCD display.
“I like this part, General. See how she gets the jewelry she was imagining she would get. She thought of having jewelry, and so she attracted it,” said the President as he stared at the monitor.
“Yes, sir,” said the General. “Yes, sir.”
Dick Cheney was surprised about how little leg room there was in the front passenger seat of a Hummer. Lots of arm room. But the right front wheel well cut off significant floor space that Cheney had to move his right knee to the left. Cheney glanced to the driver. A good three feet separated Cheney from the female Marine officer. He could not touch her if he wanted. She was wearing dark sunglasses, and she had blond hair cut to the shoulders. Marine officers were getting better looking. It made Cheney proud. She was driving on a dirt road along the southern rim of the hills that formed much of the Demilitarized Zone between North Korea and South Korea. Cheney was on the South Korean side, of course, and this was a trip he had hoped to take before his tenure as Vice President came to an end in January of 2009.
In the back seat sat Park Jin Woo.Park was 77 years old and lived in the northern suburbs of Seoul. park owned several auto dealerships throughout South Korea and was also a partner with Cheney in various real estate investments in the United States. In the year 2000, just after George W. Bush was elected President of the United States, Cheney contacted park about the possibility of buying options on land in the Civilian Control Zone, an area extending about ten miles south of the Demilitarized Zone. The DMZ itself inside the South Korean border was about 2.5 miles wide and was off limits and heavily burdened with land mines. This was also true of the Civilian Control Zone, but less so.
As the Hummer drove from village to village, Cheney noticed that all the buildings were low and made of very cheap plywood. This was purposeful, structures made to collapse easily so they could become obstructions to an invading North Korean army. The green pristine hills behind the villages had been untouched by the military standoff between north and south. Well, this was all going to change, and very soon.
Cheney remembered coming up with the idea of buying options on land in the Civilian Control Zone as well as the Demilitarized zone, land that was essentially free. No one wanted it. Back in 2000, Cheney, though the assistance of Park Jin Woo, acquired options on 125,000 acres of land, land mostly in the Civilian Control Zone, but also about 30,000 acres in the Demilitarized Zone. The beautiful green hills, replete with land mines, were starting to attract speculation. Cheney had decided to exercise his options, which meant that he would acquire his 125,000 acres for less than $200,000.
“What about the land mines?” asked Park Jin Woo in the back seat of the Hummer. The female marine officer, wearing dark sunglasses on this bright clear sky day, showed no interest in the conversation.
“Not a problem,” said Cheney. Cheney did not wish to reveal to Park Jin Woo that a small company purchased by Halliburton back in 1994 was the subcontractor that layed ninety percent of the land mines and created detailed maps of their location. Cheney estimated that the expense of removing the mines with the assistance of these maps, maps unknown to the South Korean government, would be about a million and half dollars, about a hundredth of the cost without the maps. So to Cheney, he was purchasing 125,000 acres for nearly perfect real estate a days drivbe from Seoul for 1.7 million dollars. Pocket change. The cost of a two bedroom condo in Manhattan.
Cheney surveyed the hills as the Marine officer picked up her speed since the Hummer hit pavement. Cheney smiled. Make war with Iraq for the oil. Make peace with the North Koreans for the real estate. It all makes sense.
Since the congressional elections when the Democrats took back control of Capitol Hill, George W. Bush has had a bowl of organic bananas delivered to the Oval Office every morning. It was 7:15 AM, and George was sitting alone at the Presidential desk, the bowl of fresh bananas sitting to the left of the hunter green desk mat that had one Mont Blanc fountain pen sitting alone in the center. George reached into the pocket of his dark grey pants and pulled out a key. He reached down to the bottom left drawer of the Presidential desk and opened it with the key, revealing a wide mouth crystal decanter. He removed the globed top of the decanter and placed it inside the drawer. The aroma of rum rose to his nostrils. George peeled one of the organic bananas exposing about two-thirds of the banana. George held the bottom of the banana and held it up, taking a small bite. He thought of the Rhesus monkeys he had seen at the Houston Zoo. George looked at his digital wrist watch. The time was not 7:22 AM. Condi was not expected till 7:30, and everyone knew that the President liked his appointments prompt but never early. So he had eight minutes to eat his breakfast. George leaned down with the banana in his left hand and dipped the exposed fruit into the wide mouth crystal decanter, submerging the banana tip about an inch into the Pusser’s Rum. He let the banana absorb just enough of the rum before it got too soggy and broke off. George raised the banana and placed the tip into his mouth, biting off two thumbs worth of rum-soaked banana. He chewed slowly, savoring the rum. And as it went down his throat, it felt warm. George did one more rum dip and eat, and then re-capped the decanter, locking the drawer. He finished the banana and tossed the peel into the wastebasket to his right. There was a knock on the door. George looked at his watch. 7:29. Condi was always one minute early. This morning they were to discuss…George went blank on the agenda. It didn’t really matter. What he did today or tomorrow was no longer relevant. His legacy was secure, George thought. He had set the gears of the earth in motion and no one can stop it now. So today was merely moving deck chairs around. And he was comfortable with that. A good way to start the day.
Hillary sat in the large upholseterd chair nestled between the wide barrel shaped arm rests that seemed to squeeze her wide frame. She had just emerged from the shower, and wrapped herself in a white terry cloth bathrobe that Bill had lifted from the Atlantis Hotel and Casino in the Bahamas. Hillary’s hair was still wet, producing a few trails of water droplets down her forehead, one dangling from her left eyebrow which she flicked off with her right index finger. She let her head fall back and took a deep breath of the cool air in the master bedroom of her Chappaqua home. The sound of the central air conditioning made white noise in the otherwise quiet of the evening. It was October and the air conditioning was on. Hillary liked it cold, it made her feel fresh, clean, and she always slept better when bundled in blankets rather than lying naked on top of sheets like her husband preferred. How had she gotten to this place, this place where her husband was a President of the United States of America and now she the Democratic front runner for the very same job? The long and lonely trail, she thought, to arrive at this moment in life. She was alone in the house. Well, as alone as Hillary can be. The Secret Service was on the property, and the young female intern, what was her name, Jeena, was sleeping in an extra bedroom on the first floor. Hillary smiled knowing that this momentary lead in the fundraising race, beating our Barack Obama for the first time, might be as fleeting as a “NASCAR lap,” a phrase Bill had used when down south. Bill, the master of knowing his audience. It aggravated her that Bill called earlier in the day expressing a worry that the lead she experienced in raising campaign funds might actually be a Republican conspiracy. Bill’s thinking was that the Republicans would much prefer to run against Hillary Clinton than Barack Obama. In fact, Bill told her, the Republicans believed that Obama was unbeatable by any Republican, but with Hillary they had a good shot of retaining the White House. And so, Republicans were giving money to the Hillary Clinton campaign to give her the air of invincibility and make it more likely the Democrats will nominate her rather than Obama. Hillary dismissed Bill’s concern as not relevant. Because if true, then they will be helping her win the nomination, and as far as she was concerned, that is all she wanted. At least, that is what she needed to do first before worrying about winning the Presidential election. She also thought Bill was back handedly suggesting that she could not win the nomination without the help of the Republicans. Silly Bill. The Democrats were going to win the White House back because they were getting lots of help from the Republicans who seem to be, finally, thank God, out of touch with America. In deed, out of touch with the world and reality. Hillary’s eyes closed and she fell into a very deep sleep. Her mouth slowly opened and her eyes twittered into a dream state. Hillary was in the Oval Office and her Vice President just walked in. Who was it to be?
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