Devine Intervention

An aide rushed up to Bill and handed him the secure cell phone. Bill flashed her No. 11--The Smile of Sensual Understanding--watched as her lashes fluttered over the baby blues, then carefully observed the two puppies fighting it out in the infinity of her ass as she walked away. He put the phone to his ear.

"This is the Commander-in-Chief," he squeaked. He sounded more like Andy Devine every day now.

"Bill! It's wonderful news!"

"Hi hon'! Who's this?"

"Bill, it's me and you stop that shit or I'll break that pecker-stub off completely!."

"Just kiddin', hon...."

"Bill have you heard the news?!"

"No, I don't think so," said Bill, suddenly nervous.

"Well, they say it's good news and bad news. But for us, it's nearly all good news!!"

"Wul, what happened hon? Don't keep me in suspense--I gotta know if it's good news for a change...."

"Bill--the Martians have landed in Philadelphia!!"

"Is this a joke...? Is it my birthday...?" He scanned the room for an aide who could confirm or deny it was/was not his birthday according to the latest polls.

"No joke, honey! The Martians have actually landed in Philly!"

"Oh my sweet baby Jesus!" exclaimed the former Commander-in-Chief, "I'm sorry I kept all that Roswell shit suppressed now, I wonder if it'll fuck up my legacy...."

He drifted off for a nanosecond, then forced himself back to the present.

"You say that's the bad news?"

"Yes!!"

"What's the good news?"

A note of pure exultation entered the candidate's voice for the first time in nearly a year:

"THEY'RE HEADED WEST, DARLIN! EATIN' NIGGERS AND PISSIN' GASOLINE!!!"