Kohl’s Cash and Carry

President Evan Bacon was pacing back and forth in the Oval Office and going over what he was going to say in his address to the American public and the world.  He looked at his appearance in the mirror.

“I need more powder on my nose; it’s too shiny. I look like Nixon in his debate with Kennedy.”

“The makeup artist is already gone; you told him you were ready,” Eggs his Chief of Staff said.

“Well, call him back; this is my Gettysburg Address. It is my F.D.R. State of the Union Address; it’s my…”

He couldn’t think of anymore famous presidential speeches, so he added, “it’s my god damn one small step for man speech.”

“Yes Mr. President. Cameron called; he needs to speak to you immediately.”

“This is no time to talk about movie roles; I’m a bit busy at the moment.”

“Sir? Oh no, not that Cameron; I meant the British Prime Minister. You also received phone calls from Chancellor Merkel and Putin.”

“Call them all back. Tell Cameron I need him to pull a, Winston Churchill type person out of his ass. Tell Merkel, this is no time for a third attempt to take over Europe. Tell Putin, that I’m already married and no means no. Did anyone else call?”

“Dick Cheney called and said we should start drilling for oil on the debris, before the Russians and the Chinese beat us to it.”

“Dick Cheney? I thought he was dead.”

“No sir; that’s just the way he looks.”

“Okay listen, I’ll deal with all these people later; right now I need to concentrate on my speech.”

White House Press Secretary, Helen Yardley, walked in looking a little disheveled. She had not slept much over the past few days.

“Mr. President, you should go ahead and take your seat. We start in one minute.”

“Do you still want me to call the makeup artist?” Eggs asked.

“No, there’s no time. I’ll have to just look like a street hooker.”

The president sat down at the Oval Office desk and folded his hands. He thought that looked more presidential.

“Okay, we are on in five, four, three to two, one…”

Helen gives the signal that it’s time for transmission.

“Good afternoon, my fellow Americans. NASA scientists have confirmed that what we thought earlier of as debris, is not debris at all. At this point in time, they have not yet been able to identify the approaching objects that are now in Mars’ gravitational pull. Scientists are now classifying the objects as a ‘clusterfuckus.’ It is still too early to tell, if this clusterfuckus is on a trajectory towards Earth. You can rest assured, that we are putting a contingency plan in place though; we are prepared to launch missiles to intercept and destroy this clusterfuckus, or at least deflect it from its current path. We will have to wait until they get closer to Earth, when they are in range of our missiles. This is one of a few options we are considering, but it is all speculation at this time. I know this of great concern to everyone, but I cannot stress the importance of remaining calm and going about your daily routine. As F.D.R. once said, ‘the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself or an asteroid, the size of California, hitting the earth and wiping out the entire population.’ If the clusterfuckus turns out to be an asteroid, I can promise you; we will not stand idly by like the dinosaurs did. We are Americans and we have much larger brains. As with every other challenge in our nation’s history, we will prevail, unlike that time in Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan and the Civil War, depending on which side you were on. I will keep you apprised of the situation and let you know information as soon as I know it, because we are all in this together. Good afternoon America and God bless.

The Press Secretary gave the all clear sign.

“Sir, the press has been relentless; do you want me to make a statement and take some questions?” Helen asked.

“Hold the press off as long as you can, at least until we know more. I don’t want them creating a panic.”

“I’ll try sir, but CNN already has Anderson Cooper in a windbreaker.”

“Damn, that’s never good.”

“Try to relax Mr. President.”

“I won’t be able to relax, not until I know my husband is safe and sound.”

***

Weaving their way through the streets of D.C., Kitty and her crew are slowly making their way to The White House. The path up until this point has been littered with looters. Ever cautious, the Secret Service has been hiding the first husband in emptied out stores, until the streets are calm enough to reach the next gutted business. Currently, the group is hiding out in a small mom and pop convenience store.

“I wonder why they haven’t touched this spot yet?” Tad asked.

Larry, one of the secret service men assigned to protect the first husband, turns from the window just long enough to acknowledge he heard the question and looking back out of the window says, “Everyone is looting Kohl’s.”

“Kohl’s?” Geoff asked.

“Yes. Kohl’s. This is Washington; it’s not exactly known for being stocked with intelligent people.”

He looks at Mick to add, “Present company excluded, sir.”

Mick closes his clamshell compact mirror with a quick snap and looks up at Larry with his freshly lined eyes. “Humh?”

“Nothing sir, just making sure you’re okay.”

“Oh, everything is kittens and dildos over here.”

Lorenzo’s head tilts like a confused puppy, “I don’t understand this phrase hey.”

“I don’t think that is a real saying,” Tom said.

“Tom,” says Mick, “May I call you Tom?”

“Um, yes sir, but my name is actu-”

“Tom,” Mick interrupted, “has anyone ever told you that you have a kind face?”

Tom, the waiter, just stares at the first husband, shrugs and flashes a little smile.

Kitty couldn’t help but notice how Mick had a way about him; he could be a horse’s ass and still retain favorability.

“How do you do that?” She asks.

“Look so fabulous?”

“No, how do make people love you? With all due respect, you have a job that many people frown upon, yet even the Bible thumpers like you. You single handedly brought porn to the mainstream.”

“And I can be an asshole.”

“And you can be an asshole,” she confirmed.

“Just good, I guess. But it wasn’t always that way…”

***

Hot off the heels of his last movie, The Men Who Stare at Chodes; a huge success in the porno industry, Mick Cage was preparing for his next project. His last film was the first pornographic film to earn the term, “Blockbuster” for its word-of-mouth buzz; generating long lines during the first three weeks of its run. The buzz around this current project is already eclipsing anything ever seen in the adult movie industry. Feces of Death, has already pre-sold more tickets than last year’s top box office draw, Fast and Furious 13: Beating a Dead Horse.

“The word around Hollywood is, Feces of Death may be an Oscar contender,” Mick’s manager, Marlo Jenkins, boasts.

“I’ve been talking with MGM; they are making a movie called, Sex and the City and Death. They want you for the lead role of Brad Shaw!”

“That could seriously be a game changer for me,” Mick said.

“Feces of Death is going to make you a huge action star. The whole idea of you getting revenge on the men responsible for raping you into a decade long coma is so original.”

“I couldn’t have gotten this far without you, Marlo,” Mick is quick to point out.

“No, this was all you, Mick. I don’t know what happened to you after you wrapped, Pokahotass; that cowboys and Indians themed porno you filmed in North Carolina two years ago, but ever since that day; you’ve been knocking it out of the park.”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I’ve just been lucky I guess.”

“No, it’s more than that. You’re glowing. It’s like you’re pregnant or something. Mick, I think you’re in love.”

Debris or Not to Debris

Scientists from NASA have not been able to identify what they are calling ‘debris’ yet. The only thing they know at this time, is that it is moving very rapidly and is now approaching Mars. At this point, the debris is on a path towards Earth, but that could change at any given moment. The president is expected to address the nation within the hour. Mike Brown, who was recently reinstated as director of FEMA by the president, has called the crisis, ‘not a Katrina type situation.’ He has asked that everyone remain calm as this mystery unfolds. Stanley Johnson, director of Homeland Security, when asked about the debris said, ‘I don’t want to speculate at this time.’ And now, we go live on the streets in front of Trump Towers in New York, where mourners light candles in remembrance of Donald Trump. He died one year ago today, tragically being crushed to death by a construction worker. Trumps death left not only a hole in our hearts, but also a half constructed wall between Mexico and the United States, which the Mexican citizens call, ‘Ese muro gringos es estupido.’ We don’t know what that means, but we assume it is a tribute to a true patriot. We will show the footage, that President Bacon, who was witness to the event, recorded on his phone and immediately uploaded to YouTube after Trump’s untimely death; where it would go on to receive more views than David Hasselhoff’s drunken cheeseburger rant.

Kitty Catan, first husband Mick Cage-Bacon, Lorenzo Abbatantuono, the owner of the Cherubim Café, the waiter, which we decided to name Tom and other patrons of the Cherubim Café, all stood around watching the news in stunned silence.

“This is terrifying,” Kitty said.

“I agree; Jenna Lee should fire her hair stylist immediately,” Mick said.

“I meant about the debris headed towards Earth.”

“Oh yes, that could be problematic,” Mick said.

“This is not good, not like my hot pastrami, hey,” Lorenzo added jokingly and nudging the first husband in the ribs, but stopped as one of the Secret Service agents drew his gun.

Tad Hall, also known as @BootyBlaster69, walks in to look for his brother Geoff. Geoff, who has still not yet been seated, also watched the news broadcast. He sees his twin brother and waves to get his attention.

“I don’t see Rose here. I don’t think she’s coming,” Tad said.

“I would give her the benefit of the doubt; the end of the world is a pretty good reason not to meet someone for lunch,” Geoff said.

“Yeah I agree—wait what? I thought the debris was predicted to miss Earth?”

“Maybe it will; maybe it won’t. I’m just saying your crush may have wanted to handle more important things. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve also been stood up for the same reason,” Geoff said.

“Someone stood you up, because they thought the world was ending?”

“Yeah, turns out this girl was in a cult and her cult leader said the world was ending right at our date time,” Geoff said.

“What happen to the girl, obviously the world didn’t end? Tad asked.

“The next day when the world didn’t end, they all killed themselves in a mass suicide.”

“What? When was this? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about that.”

“It’s a little embarrassing to have someone commit suicide rather than have a date with you,” Geoff said.

“I see your point. Well, since we are here, do you want to go ahead and get a sandwich? I’m starving.”

“Hopefully they will call our name soon. The reason it’s so crowded is because apparently the first husband is here,” Geoff said.

“Really! I’ve never been a big fan of any of his movies.”

“I kind of liked, Sex and the City and Death. They are supposed to be making a third one.”

“How are they going to do that? I thought he was pummeled by a rolling bale of hay, beheaded and then castrated by ninjas,” Tad said.

“It’s Hollywood, they can and will do anything they want, if they think people will still pay to see it,” Geoff said.

Tad was about to comment, when the sound of glass breaking, screams and a whizzing bullet, made him stop in his tracks. Someone had thrown a brick through the front window causing chaos. The moment the glass shattered, three of the Secret Service agents dove on the first husband, nearly crushing him. One agent fired his gun in the air, which created more panic.

“What’s going on?” Tad asked terrified.

“I guess it’s starting,” Geoff said calmly.

Tad and Geoff are identical twins, but their personalities couldn’t be more different. Tad was always anxious and nervous. He could get overwhelmed easily and Geoff always remained calm, no matter what the situation. He had nerves of steel.

“The looting has started.”

“What are we going to do? This is terrible,” Tad said.

“I know; I was really looking forward to a hot pastrami sandwich,” Geoff said.

The Secret Service agents start to peel off the pile, to reveal a very crumpled first husband.

“Are you alright?” Kitty asked.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had three men on me,” Mick said with a wink that no one could see, due to his face being muffled by a crotch of one of the agents.

“You can hop off anytime now, Larry, Darryl, and Darryl.”

“What should we do?” Tom the waiter asked Lorenzo.

Lorenzo simply shrugged his shoulders and took a bite of the half-eaten sandwich on the table closest to him. Everyone focused on the café owner, who was devouring some stranger’s meal. He paused, feeling everyone’s eyes on him.

“What? I eat when I’m nervous hey,” He said with a mouth full of food.

“We need to get Mr. Cage-Bacon out of the café and into a more secure location,” Larry said.

Darryl and Darryl nodded their heads in agreement.

“Is there a rear exit in here?” Darryl number two asked Lorenzo.

“You said, ‘rear exit,'” Larry said and snorted.

Kitty rolled her eyes at the sophomoric joke.

“Kitty is coming with,” Mick added.

“Sir,” said Darryl number one, “Our priority is getting you to safety.”

“Okay. Well first of all, Darryl, I know what your priorities are, because need I remind you that I played a British Secret Service agent in last year’s, In Her Majesty’s Secret Cervix. Secondly, I’m in charge here. So, I say we’re taking Kitty with us and now Lorenzo and Tom the waiter too,” Mick said.

“Actually,” Tom the waiter said, “my name is-”

“Don’t tell us your real name. Tom the waiter is easier to remember and besides, I have you pegged as the red jumper in the group. Now lead the way,” Mick said.

Throughout the café, patrons were watching people outside lose their shit. Geoff dashed to the door and fastened the lock.

“What are you doing?” Tad asked.

“If that insanity makes its way in here, we’ll never get a table,” Geoff said as calmly as one would expect to hear from James Bond.

“But Rose…”

Geoff laughed. “You said, ‘Butt Rose’.”

Tad tried not to look amused, but he couldn’t help it; his brother’s immaturity always made him laugh. He hoped he could figure out a way to turn, Butt Rose into a tweet later.

Geoff motioned to the back of the café near the gender neutral restrooms.

Tad turned to see the TV near the kitchen; it was broadcasting the news.

“Right, let’s see what the hell is happening.”

As they make their way to the back, @KatieTeamEdward, sees her friend Rose outside. She makes her way to the door, to let her in and out of the chaos that is going on outside. Katie was not pretty in the conventional sense. She almost looked like she could be Charlton Heston’s daughter, if Charleston Heston had mated with one of the other apes in Planet of the Apes.

“OMG, Rose… Are you Okay?” Katie asked in a smoky, Kathleen Turner type voice.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Can you believe this?”

“I know, right? They’re saying if these things hit us, we’re like, doomed and what not.”

“I know! I can’t believe I’m going to die a virgin. A hot, eighteen year old virgin, who is probably into bondage and butt stuff. I suppose we’ll never know what kinky stuff I’m into.”

“So hot; so tragic,” Katie agreed.

“Too bad you’re not a guy, Katie.”

Katie laughs sadly, as she sighs under her breath; secretly wishing she could confess her deep, lesbian love for Rose.

“Oh well,” Rose, the eighteen year old virgin, who is probably into bondage and butt stuff said, “Let’s go loot Kohl’s.”

***

In the back of the café, Geoff and Tad reach the TV and before they get the opportunity to absorb the information, which was almost being yelled at them from Channel Twelve’s, Jenna Lee; Tad slams tits first into Kitty Catan.

“Watch it, lady! Um…Kitty?”

“Tad?” Kitty said in surprise.

“Geoff, check it out; your ex is stalking you.”

Geoff peeps over Tad’s shoulder.

“Hi Kitty,” he says and disappears behind his brother again.

“I’m not stalking your brother, moron. I’m here for work,” Kitty explains.

“Right…” Tad remarks in true asshole form.

“Who’s your friend?” Mick asks.

“Oh he’s not my friend,” Kitty is quick to point out. “He’s a lot like that debris that’s headed for us.”

“Hey guys, we have a problem,” Tom the waiter said.

He points to the front, where looters are beginning to spill into the café.

“Hmm… I thought I locked that,” Geoff said calmly.

“Sir!” Larry yelled, “We gotta go now!”

The Secret Service agents begin ushering the first husband out of the rear exit, along with Kitty and company. Tad and Geoff, being the only barrier left between the group and the exit, are forcefully pressed into the back alley like Play-Doh through a keyhole.

“What now?” Tom the waiter asked.

“We have to get the First Gentleman to the White House,” Darryl number two replies, already on the move.

“An adventure!” Mick yells out in excitement. “This will be just like my movie, Temple of Womb… Well, sort of.”

“I didn’t like that movie either,” Tad whispers.

Geoff looks at his brother with resolve, as if he has a solution to this entire mess.

“Do we have time for me to check and see how my last tweet did?”

Best. Sandwiches. Ever.

Ones and zeros. The building blocks of information. Just outside of Alexandria Virginia, a young woman who goes by the name, Rose, is broadcasting her image to the web. The image travels in all directions at lightning speeds. Her likeness is transferred to thousands of people’s devices in the form of ones and zeros, where the information is then decoded and reshaped into an image pleasing to the eye. Her long red hair, equally red lips, and big, bright eyes are transmitted through space and into her fan’s palms. The same process is used to send countless images, videos and other information across the globe. Rose prefers to use this technology to send selfies and pics of her food to her adoring fans. One of those fans is in her apartment building. Online, he is known as @BootyBlaster69, but in the real world, his name is Tad. Although Rose and Tad have never bumped into one another, they’ve had plenty of interaction over Twitter. Tad is hoping to meet Rose today. She posted on Twitter about meeting a friend in DC for brunch later.

“OMG! So excited for brunch with @KatieTeamEdward today,” she posted. Followed by ‘#CherubimCafé’ and ‘#BestSandwiches'”

Tad invited his brother, Geoff to join him as his wing man.

He was probably already here, but I better give him a call,” Tad thought.

“I bet it’s busier than a coffee house toilet.” Tad said aloud and laughed. “I’m gonna tweet that.”

Pulling out his enormous iPhone 9 Plus, he dialed his slightly older, slightly more punctual twin brother’s number. 867-530… 8.

“Hello?”

“Hey bro. It’s me. You there yet?”

“Yeah. One sec… Hall…Table for two, please. -OK, sorry. Just getting us on the list. It’s busier than a Starbucks shitter today.”

God damn it, Tad thought.

Upon ending the call, Tad hurried to his Twitter app to post what his brother said. In his rush, he bumped into a lady, almost knocking her down, but his focus was barely broken. He held his hand up as to motion that he was at fault, but an apology was not going to leave his lips this day. He didn’t even realize he was walking in the wrong direction, but he did notice one thing; a picture someone posted of a cluster of dots near Uranus. Apparently, these dots were huge asteroids headed toward earth, though predicted to miss us; they would pass close enough to see in the sky with the naked eye. It seemed to be a huge deal. Tad didn’t notice, but a majority of the people around him were also studying their phones, absorbing all the information they could about the matter.

***

Kitty was flushed; she felt sweaty and hoped the Axe Body Spray that she used of her husband’s, because her deodorant ran out; would hold up. The first husband was already seated and was dressed stylishly as ever with his pink ascot.

I wonder if I could get Yukon to wear a pink ascot, she thought.

“Mr. Cage it’s so nice of you to agree to an interview.”

“Please, no need to be so formal, just call me Mick or the nickname the press gave me, the Cage-Baconator.”

Kitty laughed, but it came out sounding kind of forced. She sat down and laid her cell phone on the table. It was blowing up with updates from her social media accounts. She ignored them; she wanted to let Mick know he had her full attention.

“I’ve already picked out what I want. Do you need time to go over the menu?” He asked.

“No, I’m come here often with my husband, so I’m going to get my usual sweet potato burrito.”

The waiter came over to take their drink order.

“I’ll have water with lemon,” Kitty said.

“Do you have any peach schnapps?” Mick asked.

“I’m sorry sir, but we don’t serve alcohol.”

Mick narrowed his eyes. “I think you do.”

The waiter looked at Kitty for help. Kitty avoided making eye contact with him.

“I’m really sorry sir, but we don’t serve alcohol.”

“I think you do.”

The waiter, who didn’t look anymore than a day over 21, did not have any experience with what to do, when the husband of the president of the United States was demanding alcohol when the cafe you worked for didn’t even have a liquor license.

“I’ll talk to the manager and see what I can do. Meanwhile, may I get your food order?”

“I’ll have the sweet potato burrito,” Kitty said.

“I’ll have a spanikopita, with no salt and fresh dill,” Mick said.

The waiter was in disbelief. They didn’t have spanakopita or any other Greek food. He thought the first husband was actually pulling his leg, but the look on his face said he was deadly serious. He didn’t want to go through the whole, “We don’t have that; I think you do,” scenario again though.

“I’ll talk to the chef.”

Kitty, who was a professional, didn’t even flinch; she held together the plastered grin on her face that she used for interviews.

“I wanted to start with–”

Mick cut her off. “I wanted to lay out a few ground rules first. The first is that I don’t want to be misquoted. The reason I chose you, is because I love your interviews and I think they are straight forward and without embellishment, so I’ll trust you to do the same with me. My only other stipulation is that you don’t ask me anything too personal, needless to say my sex life is off the table. My husband is president of the United States and I don’t need to remind you what happened to Jimmy Hoffa.”

Kitty wasn’t aware that anyone knew what happened to Jimmy Hoffa or what the President had to do with his disappearance. What happened to Jimmy Hoffa, could be something that was told to every sitting president on their first day in office for all she knew.

“Yes, of course. I will quote you directly and I will certainly respect your privacy,” she said with her usual grace and charm.

The waiter who was now debating his life choices was running across the street to the, Blue Oyster Bar.

He entered the crowded bar and noticed the usual song, El Bimbo was not playing and no one was dancing. (Please listen and enjoy the song anyway, El Bimbo by Bimbo Jet https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DFifyV6vfBw ) He went over to the bartender and ordered the peach schnapps. The bar was crowded with the usual Men at Work types. The waiter whose name is unknown to us at this time, looked around to see if anyone was watching. His plan was to very nonchalantly walk out the door with the drink, without drawing any attention to himself. He was in luck, because everyone seemed to be engrossed with whatever they were reading on their phones. He started to walk toward the door and bumped into a man who looked exactly like Shipwreck from GI Joe. He even had a parrot on his shoulder. He spilled a little of the peach schnapps on his shirt. The waiter thought he was about to get punched, but unbelievably Shipwreck didn’t even look up from his phone.

I could walk out of here with all the money in the register and no one would even notice, he thought.

The waiter leaves out the door with the drink and walks across the street, careful not to spill anymore. He picks up the glass of water with lemon for Kitty and heads to their table.

The first husband was sitting with his back straight and legs crossed; he looked like a woman from the 1950’s who had gone to a “finishing school” to learn proper etiquette.

“Here’s a glass of water with lemon for you Kitty and peach schnapps for the gentleman.”

Mick looked at the waiter as if he didn’t know who he was and why was bringing him this beverage.

“Oh yes, I’ve changed my mind; I will have a water with lemon also.”

The waiter sighed and collected the drink. He walked back to the kitchen and gulped it down. He decided he would need some alcohol in his system in order to get through this meal.

“Do you mind if I use my laptop to take a few notes?” Kitty asked.

The first husband didn’t respond he just waved his hand.

“Where did you and the President first meet?”

“Well, this was before I was a famous action movie star. I started out in low budget porn and we met on the set of the movie I was shooting, Evil Head II.

For once, Kitty was not able to hold her smile; she wrinkled her brow, unsure of how to proceed.

I thought he didn’t want to talk about his sex life.

The owner, Lorenzo Abbatantuono, called Lorenzo’s Oil by his friends interrupted their conversation. For Kitty, it was a welcome interruption.

“Please, you must come and look at the TV now, hey.” Lorenzo had an Italian accent and always ended his sentences with, “hey.”

“You want us to look at the TV?” Kitty asked.

“I’m right in the middle of giving an interview. I haven’t even told her about the other films, The Sexorcist and Good Will Humping.

“Please, you must come and look at the TV now, hey.”

Kitty and Mick followed Lorenzo through the kitchen to see the TV. What they saw was the most amazing thing ever.

***

Deep in the bowels of the White House, President Bacon had just wrapped up introductions in the Situation Room. General Usrodd and a handful of other military leaders, are peppered amongst a few characters in dark suits and sensing the general’s uneasiness, the President immediately addressed him.

“General, you look like you’re four turns deep into a game of Russian roulette. What’s eating you? Is American Idol returning?”

“Sir, I’m sure you’ve read this morning’s reports?”

“I have.”

“Sir, we have an urgent update.”

“Concerning?”

“The debris cluster by Uranus this morning–”

“–HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT THAT?!” Evan yelled out, chuckling on the inside.

General Usrodd, unaffected by humor on a good day replied, “…is moving faster than initially reported. Sir, it’s going to be closer than predicted.”

“General, since you’re the one presenting this information to me, I’m assuming we’re going to have to implement some drastic measures?”

“You’d be correct, Sir.”

“How fast are these things moving?”

“Mr. President,” the General paused… “They’re approaching Mars now.”

A wave of seriousness overcame Evan. “Mars?” He asked in disbelief.

“Yes, Mr. President. Mars.”

“Oh god dammit.”

“Yes Sir. They’ll reach our atmosphere in a few hours.”

“God dammit!”

“Mr President, we’ve never seen anything like it,” one of suits interjects. “My colleagues and I at NASA believe this cluster was slingshotted around a black hole. It’s the only way to account for their speed. It’s a rather large cluster, Sir. We believe they’re about the width of our moon. If they hit us, we’re talking extinction level event.”

“Oh… God dammit…”

Evan took a moment to think. He ran his fingers through his hair, resting his hands on the back of his head. He studied Randy, the NASA suit, with his short, orange hair, huge glasses and lady voice, whom he would’ve torn to shreds if the situation weren’t so dire.

“I almost would’ve preferred to have American Idol back,” he quipped.

Nobody found it amusing.

I’m gonna die with these stiffs, he thought.

Pointing randomly into the group of suits littering the room, Evan made his first command.

“We can’t keep quiet about this. We may spark a panic, but if these things miss us and it gets out that we kept this from the public, my presidency will reach extinction level. None of you want me in your ass if that happens. Take that literally or figuratively. We need to set up an emergency news conference. This happens now and for the love of Zeus, someone fetch my husband. He’s at the Cherubim Cafe giving an interview. I need him here, so I have one less thing to worry about. Retrieve him quietly and get me a Reuben… That place has the best sandwiches.”

Prologue

Everything has a beginning and an end. Love… life… this story…
The world also has a starting point. We debate how that story began, but we may soon discover how it ends. Perhaps by the time we finish this tale, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The story isn’t over yet. In fact, it’s just getting started and what better way to start than at the beginning… of the end?

A New Day

It was unusually warm for a January morning in the District of Columbia. Evan began to wonder if he’d ever get to sleep-in again.

Probably not for the next four years, or maybe even eight, he thought.

Awakened by staffers and advisors instead of his husband, Mick; he felt reality grab hold. He knew things were going to change, but he didn’t fully grasp the concept until now. By assuming the most powerful office on the planet, he lost all control. His day was now micro-managed to the nanosecond and bathroom breaks not excluded.

“Mr. President,” said a thin figure standing in the doorway.

“Are you ready to begin?” It was Evan’s Chief of Staff, Hank.

“Is anyone ever ready for this?” Evan replied with a smirk.

Hank just smiled in return and handed him a thick file followed by a thin, sealed envelope.

“Today’s codes, Mr. President.”

“Mr. President. I’ll have to get use to that,” Evan said.

He leaned over his husband, Mick, kissed him softly and slipped out into the hall.

On his way to The Oval Office, Evan familiarized himself with his schedule.

“Meeting… meeting… meeting… How am I going to get anything done?” Evan asked Hank, not expecting an answer.

He glanced at the Gold Codes. Gold Codes was the term used for the nuclear launch codes.

“8675309, Really? Seriously Hank?”

“Sorry Mr. President. I’ll tell the NSA that you don’t care for their sense of humor.”

He smiled. He actually did have a good sense of humor; he was just feeling stressed.

“I knew I’d have my hands full today, but I expected a bit more action,” He said.

Hank was quick to respond, “Careful what you ask for, Mr. President. Soon you may have too much action.” Hank said.

“Well, not that much action; I haven’t even taken my Viagra yet and my husband is still asleep–” The President stopped to look at Hank and realized from his facial expression that they were talking about two different things.

“Oh, you mean with the current state of affairs. That’s a good point, Eggs,” Evan said.

A tall, slender man, Hank Benedict was Evan’s closest friend in Washington. Early on in their relationship, he received the nickname, “Eggs” due, in part, to his last name being Benedict, but not helped by his association with then Governor, Evan Bacon. Now President Bacon’s Chief of Staff, Eggs settled into his new position rather quickly, as if the job was tailored to him. He felt comfortable instantly; this was where he was meant to be.

Now entering the Oval Office, President Evan Bacon and Chief of Staff Hank Benedict were eager to start their journey.

“Ready to save the world, Eggs?”

“I started saving it three hours before you got out of bed,” Eggs replied jokingly.

“Three hours before you got out of bed; it’s Mr. President,” Evan interjected.

“Yes. Sorry, Mr. President,” Eggs responded, lowering his head as if his error just cost him his job.

“I’m joking.” Evan said with a smile. “Take it easy, bud; you’ll give yourself an aneurysm. It’s not the end of the world.”

“We should get down to some pressing domestic matters. You really need to sign the Social Security and Marriage Equality Act.”

“You know I’m opposed to gay marriage.” The president slams his “Hell No” stamp down on the bill.

“Yes sir, but the people will find it very hypocritical since you yourself are–”

“What? Spit it out Eggs. This is no time to mince words.”

“The people will think you are a hypocrite, since you yourself are married to a person of the same sex.”

“I see; I never thought of it that way. Do you have any whiteout?”

“No need for whiteout. I have another copy; whiteout on a federal bill wouldn’t look too…presidential.”

The President signed the bill and straightened his eye patch, which bore the presidential seal on it.

“What’s next on my agenda?”

“The director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson is waiting to see you.”

President Evan Bacon’s husband, Mick Cage-Bacon, leaped into the Oval Office with his usual dramatic flair.

“I’m afraid ole Stanley is going to have to wait.”

Nick was wearing a pale blue chiffon shirt with a pink ascot and tan khakis. Jackie Kennedy had nothing on him. As the first husband, he wanted to make sure he was always dressed well. He was also in charge of several charities including his favorite, Apparel Without Borders, which provided all the latest fashion to children in third world countries. He was so proud, from Algeria to South Africa; kids were wearing Gucci, Prada and carrying some of the most stylish Coach purses. Just because you were starving to death, doesn’t mean you can’t look good, is the way he looked at it.

Eggs took Mick’s entrance as his cue to leave; he wanted them to have some alone time.

President Bacon gets up from his desk to embrace his husband. He inhales Mick’s fragrance; he always smells so nice like licorice and peach schnapps.

“What are you doing today, my love?”

“I have to meet my stylist in an hour and then I have to get a pedi and after that I’m meeting Kitty from Rolling Stone for brunch to do an interview.”

Evan smiled; he loved that his husband was a serious individual who cared about the important issues.

“I start shooting the action film I’m starring in today.”

“Which action film is that?”

“Sex and the City and Death III.”

“Oh yes, that one.”
Evan had not seen Sex and the City and Death I and II yet, but had it on his DVR and was planning on watching them as soon as he got some free time.

“Do you think we have time for a JFK?” Evan asked. JFK was their code word for sex; it was also their safe word, so it could get confusing at times.

“I don’t think I have time for a JFK.”
President Bacon tried not to show his disappointment; he was feeling stressed and a JFK would be just what he needed.

“But I do have time for a Bill Clinton.”
Evan laughed. He had certainly married well. Mick was absolutely perfect.

Two minutes and twenty seven seconds later, President Bacon was buzzing his chief of staff.

Eggs walked in as Mick was leaving. Eggs noticed the President seemed more relaxed and ready to work. He also noticed that his fly was open.

“What’s next on the agenda?”

“The director of Homeland Security, Stanley Johnson has been waiting half an hour to see you.”

“Well, send him right in Eggs; don’t keep the man waiting.”

“Yes sir and might I suggest…”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Let Stanley tell him his fly is open; he was so much better at that sort of thing, Eggs thought.

Eggs ushers in the Homeland Security director, and a portly bald man enters the room, wearing a gray suit and a blue tie. His shirt was starched and he was a stark contrast to the President, who playfully had his cuffs rolled up and was not wearing a tie at all. Stanley took off his bifocals and breathed on the lenses and then wiped them off with his jacket. His glasses were so thick, that his eyes looked like two marbles trapped in a fish bowl. Still, appearances could be deceiving, because Stanley Johnson was the most efficient man that Evan had ever met. Stanley simply got things done and knew everything; he was Henry Kissinger without the thick accent.

“Mr. President, thank you for seeing me.”

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting so long; I had urgent business to take care of this morning.”

“Yes, I saw your husband leaving. He told me I looked a bit pale and recommended a foundation, but I’ve quite forgotten the name; perhaps you could ask him about it later.”

“Um…foundation, sure thing.”

“Mr. President, I should point out…”

“What’s on your mind Stanley?”

“Whatever insults your own soul, and the very FLESH shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency–”

“What the hell are you talking about Stanley? Are you quoting Walt Whitman again? You know I’m a Keats man.”

“Forgive me sir; I do not know the correct reference, but I believe the expression is your barn door is open.”

President Bacon looks down a little embarrassed and zips his pants up.

“Very well, Mr Johnson. Was there anything else, or did you travel across town solely to keep my dignity in check a bit longer?”

Director Johnson seemed a bit startled at the question. Did President Bacon seriously think that was the reason for his visit? “No sir, Mr. President. That’s not the only reason I came-I mean, I also came to say… I only came to say–”

“Stan… may I call you Stan?”

“Um, yes, of course.”

“Stan, I don’t have time for games unless it’s Call of Duty.”

“My apologies, your honor,” Stanley stumbled as he was clearly ill prepared for the President’s humor.

“I’ve come today to discuss an urgent matter, sir.”

“Concerning?”

“Aliens, sir.”

Evan sat up in his chair as if possessed by a more serious person. His lips tighten against his teeth.

“Aliens? I see. Well as you’re aware, my primary concern during my campaign was illegal immigration. I swore to the American people that I’d finish Trump’s wall. During his visit to my state to oversee the project, I promised Trump himself that I’d finish it as he lie dying in my arms, when that Mexican construction worker fell off the wall and onto him. This is a matter near and dear to my heart.”

“Well, Mr. President, it seems after Trump’s unfortunate accident, illegals have been flooding in at record numbers. It is as if they believe this is their last chance before construction resumes. I’m afraid we have an added increase in the number of militant Islamic extremists we’ve encountered as well. They see the wave and they are riding it into the United States.”

“This is disconcerting; I have enough on my plate without a wave of aliens to contend with. Follow me to the war room, Director Johnson. I’ll introduce you to General Norm Usrodd. We need to get right on this.”

***

Rolling Stone’s columnist, Susan “Kitty” Catan is busy preparing for her exclusive interview with First Gentleman Mick Cage-Bacon.

“Everything has to be purrrfect,” she says nervously to her husband, Yukon.

“Relax,” he assures her. “You’ll do great.” He puts his large hand on top of hers, eclipsing it from view.

“This is the biggest interview of my career,” she adds. “This is my springboard. If this goes well, they’ll have to choose me for the field reporter spot at Fox. The biggest tool that bitch Carly Epps has in her box is her sex tape with Dan Rather.”

“Calm down, Kitty. You’ve got this.” Yukon slides behind her, wrapping her up in his arms and hunched over her shoulder, as to compare his massive head to hers in the steamed bathroom mirror.

“You’re the best interviewer on the planet. The job is as good as yours or my name isn’t Yukon Cornelius Catan.”

Kitty smiled for the first time that morning. With her hair down and still wet from the shower, Yukon was taken back to when they first met at the Olympics immediately following his gold medal dive. She was there to interview him, though he wasn’t keen on the idea. Interviews weren’t his thing. He hadn’t seen her before that day, but he couldn’t be missed. He was on every magazine cover that year, except for Rolling Stone. She was there to fix that. Before his dive, Susan walked in and she was extremely late. His was the final dive of the competition. She looked up at him and he was huge even from a distance; she was in awe. The room went silent and all eyes were fixed on him; no one was breathing. Susan lost herself and her footing.

“SHIT!”

Every eye in the room was called to the pool below, Yukon’s as well. He sprang instantly; the sound of the board drawing everyone’s attention back to him. He sank deep into the crystal clear water and found her like a sailor finds the cliffs when a siren calls. Almost out of the water as fast as she went in, Susan looked up at Yukon. Her hair was wet and her cheeks flushed from embarrassment, with a smile that made him forget they weren’t alone.

“Are you ok?” He asked in his deep tone that echoed in her chest.

“I could probably use some mouth to mouth.”

Yukon was in deep. And the water was purrrfect.

Kitty finished blow drying her hair and chose a conservative navy blue pant suit. She looked in the mirror. On the outside, she looked poised and confident, but on the inside she felt insecure.

This is my shot; this could really propel me to the next level, she thought.

Yukon kissed her cheek and squeezed her hand.

“I’m ready to go; it’s now or never.”

Kitty kissed Yukon one last time and left their penthouse apartment. She chose to have the interview at the Cherubim Cafe, a little place about a block from her apartment that served the best gourmet sandwiches. She wanted to meet there, rather than someplace she would have to drive her car, because D.C. traffic was the worst. She didn’t want to be late for this interview; she wanted everything to go smoothly.

A man bumped into Kitty and didn’t even say, excuse me, he was too absorbed in his phone. Kitty was annoyed, but she wasn’t going to let it bother her, because she was laser-focused on her interview.

It is just a self absorbed culture nowadays and people have forgotten basic manners, she thought.

She arrived at the Cherubim Café and looked at the time; she was ten minutes early. When she opened the door; it was crowded but the hostess, Becky recognized her right away and made her way toward her. She and Yukon were regulars at the café; they ate there a few times a week.

“He’s already waiting for you outside. We had to close off the outside dining area for security, which is why it’s so packed inside.

“Damn! He’s here already. Has he been waiting long?”

“No, but he had to get here early, so that Secret Service could scope the area out and make sure it was not a security risk for the first husband. Since it’s an enclosed area, with no large buildings nearby where a sniper could set up, they thought it would be fine. One time, George Bush Sr., after he was President came in here to have lunch and it was the same deal. It’s nice how presidents still get to have the Secret Service follow them around, even after they are out of office.”

Kitty gave her a curt nod. She didn’t have time for a long-winded discussion; the scoop of her career was waiting for her.

Kitty made her way outside and normally as a reporter, she always had her antenna up, alert to anything out of the ordinary, but today her antenna was not up, or she would have noticed that something seemed amiss. People were buried in their phones, more so than usual, because even couples were not chatting. Also, the T.V. was on in the kitchen, as if there was something important being said or…an important news story breaking.