Are You Sure You Want That Second Term, Mr. President?

Poor President Barack Obama.

The man was just re-elected to a second term as President of the United States.

Can’t he just take a little time off, do a victory dance, walk the dog, gloat—in private—a little, before having to take on the burdens of state and all that stuff.

But no. People keep calling with stuff. Ring.

“This is Barack.”

“It’s John Boehner, Mr. President.” “Yes?”

“John Boehner, Mr. President, the Speaker of the House?”

“I know who you are, Mr. Speaker. I can tell by your voice. Are you sniffling?”

“No, sir, just a cold.”

“What do you want, Mr. Speaker, it’s nine o’clock in the morning the day after the election, which I won, thank you very much. Did you call to congratulate me, John, in which case, thank you very much.”

“No, sir. I mean, yes, sir, but it’s about the cliff.”

“The cliff? Oh, that cliff. Can’t this wait, John. I mean, for God’s sake, I haven’t even had breakfast. I gotta walk the dog.”

“It cannot wait, Mr. President. If we don’t solve this crisis, the nation will go over a cliff and the economy will go into recession.”

“Well, we can’t let that happen. But I got it, John. Raise taxes on the rich. You’re cool with that, right? Talk to you later. Bye.”


“Yo, my man. Chris Christie here. Really, thanks for everything you did. It was cool hanging out with you. You got the boss on the phone. Say, reason I’m calling, you wouldn’t happen to have his cell phone number would you?”

“I think I can manage to get you that”

“By the way, I lied. I didn’t vote for Romney. I voted for that libertarian guy.”

“Nice. Gotta go. Let’s get together real soon. See you next hurricane.”

“It’s Dave, Sir. General Dave.”

“Um, who?”

“General David Petraeus, your CIA Director?”

“Oh, sure. Say, shouldn’t you be preparing for your Benghazi testimony?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. I’m call to telling that I would like to come over and see you to tender my resignation.”

“You do know I just got re-elected, right? I mean, for God’s sake, man.”

“I had an affair, sir.”

“You what?”

“I had an affair. With a woman who was embedded with me in Afghanistan. And I’m afraid the FBI appears to know about it.”

“They do? They didn’t tell me about it. Wait, did you say she was in bed with you?”

“No sir. Embedded, sir. In any case, I feel I have no choice but to resign.”

“Why don’t you sleep on it, Dave, and let me know in 24 hours, okay? I mean, I gotta walk the
damn dog.”


“It’s Rick Perry, Mr. President.”


“The Governor of Texas, sir, and the eyes of Texas are upon you, sir.”

“Didn’t you lose in the primaries, Rick?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, why are you bothering me on the day after I won re-election. Did you see that look on Mitt’s face?”

“Yes, Sir. I bet him $10,000 that he was going to lose. But what I called about: I’m thinking about having Texas secede from the United States of America.”

“You just keep thinking that, Rick. Gotta walk the dog. Bye.”


“It’s Justin Bieber, sir. Selena broke up with me. What should I do?”

“Where did you get my number, son.” “Bruce Springsteen gave it to me.”

“Goodbye, son.”


“Hey, you, commie.”

“Is that you, Ann?”

“No, it’s Michelle. Gotcha.”


The president does not answer the phone this time.

“Bo,” he turned to his dog. “Let’s get out of here.”

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