INT. OVAL OFFICE – RIGHT AFTER FOX & FRIENDS

“Lemme see hands. We’re gonna vote, even though I’m the President of all the people, even the blacks. We’ll vote, but maybe I’ll just do what I want. Who knows? We could do voting, we could do my idea, we’ll see. Okay, voting. All in favor? Opposed? Beautiful, wonderful, the ayes have it. We’re getting cheese in the crust. General?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Where’s my General?”

“You’re literally making eye contact with me, Mr. President.”

“General?”

“Sweet Jesus, take me now.”

“General! There you are. I thought the Deep State got you. General, make the call. Cheese in the crust, which was my idea. I called up the CEO of Pizza Hut, told him, he did it. Millions. Millions, this guy made from jamming cheese in the crust. I told him to do it. Great guy. You should see his yacht. Call for the pizza, General.”

“We’ll get to the pizza, sir. But, once again, who are these people in the Oval Office?”

“Good friends of mine from Mar-A-Lago. It’s a membership perk for the real winners. Unlimited cocktail shrimp, plus you hang out with me for the day. Watch the greatest president in US history from up close. In many ways, these spectacular people are the real historians of our age. Great, great, wonderful folks. Some of ’em don’t speak English, but they’re rich, so it’s okay.”

“Have they been vetted?”

“Vetted, shmetted.”

“Holy God.”

“Are we doing the God bit now? Let us pray.”

OVAL OFFICE FULL OF RICH PEOPLE BOWING THEIR HEADS NOISE

“No, we’re not doing the God bit, sir.”

“I pray very well. The Pope told me that. Better than him, that’s what he said.”

“Sir, we have a meeting scheduled with–”

“You hear that, everybody? Meeting! Very exciting, wonderful, okay, great.”

“–General Mattis to discuss…sir, it’s top secret. We need to get the civilians out of the room.”

“You heard the General, folks. Sorry. Let’s go. C’mon, I’m gonna show you the Lincoln Bedroom.”

“Not you, sir. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

“I knew that. I was testing you, and you passed, unlike the slimy James Comey, who didn’t even see my hands. I never showed him my hands, not once, and in fact never met him in person, so his book must be fake news. Excellent work, General.”

“Okay, out.”

RICH PEOPLE EXITING OVAL OFFICE NOISE

“Very forceful. Strong. You’re the best general, General. Can I promote you?”

“No, sir. I retired from the Army, so–”

“You’re promoted. Bing bong. Done, there you go. You’re not just a general, you’re a major general.”

“That would actually be a demotion, sir.”

“Bing bong.”

“Whatever. Listen, Mattis is here.”

“Ooh, great. General sandwich. All my generals in one place, and I have the best generals that anyone has ever seen. They’re all tall, really sharp. The best generals.”

“Yes, sir.”

KNOCK KNOCK

“Oh, here he is.”

“Is that the pizza?”

TALL MAN OPENING THE DOOR FOR ANOTHER TALL MAN NOISE

“John.”

“Jim.”

“How’s he today?”

“He’s a gibbering fucktard incapable of even the most basic thought.”

“So, the usual?”

“Yup.”

“He’s gonna call me Mad Dog, isn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“You want a xan?”

“Yup.”

TALL MAN GIVING ANOTHER TALL MAN A XAN NOISE

“Muchas Garcias, brother.”

“Where you headed to?”

“Gonna get shitty in the Treaty Room. Got a bottle of Cuervo stashed in there.”

“Save some for me. Gonna need some when I get through with Momma’s Special Angel.”

“Mad Dog!”

“Fuck, he saw me.”

“Courage.”

TALL MAN WITH A RUINED REPUTATION SLINKING OFF TO THE TREATY ROOM TO GET SHITTY NOISE

“Mr. President.”

“Mad Dog! Where’s my Mad Dog?”

“Standing in front of your desk, sir.”

“Mad Dog?”

“Not out the window.”

“Dog? Mad Dog?”

“I don’t know why you’d look in the wastepaper basket, sir. I’m clearly not in there.”

“General Mad Dog?”

“Now you’re just staring at the ceiling. Right here, sir.”

“Mad Dog! There’s my dog! What’s up, dog? The blacks say that all the time, and then they make the rap gestures. What’s up, dog. You ever meet Ludacris?”

“I haven’t, sir.”

“Good business mind. You know, for what he is.”

“Sir, I’m here to talk to you about the situation in Syria.”

“Add more milk.”

“Not cereal, sir. Syria.”

“Very bad. Obama started that war. Personally. May have also been born there. He kind of looks Syrian, right? Many people who know Syrians have told me that Obama is definitely a Syrian, and these are real smart people. Winners, sharks, my very good friends. Obama was Syrian.”

“Uh-huh, yeah. Sir, we have a plan ready for your approval to bomb selected sites within Damascus that we believe may be key to the chemical weapon program.”

“They can’t do chemical. This is what everyone who knows anything says. Shooting? Bing bang bang? Sure, go ahead, shoot your guns, whatever. Sometimes these things happen. Bing bang. But chemical? No, not chemical. Very, very bad. Chemical. It’s a big deal.”

“Yes, sir. Now, there may be blowback from the elements backing Assad.”

“Fuck ’em. Bomb!”

“Such as Iran.”

“Fuck ’em. Bomb! Bomb, bomb, bomb.”

“And Russia.”

“Excuse me?”

“Russia is backing Assad.”

“Fake news.”

“No, sir. Everyone on the planet knows this information.”

“Maybe we should wait. Two weeks, kick it around. Maybe we should see what Hope thinks. Hope!”

“She quit two weeks ago, sir.”

“Hopester!”

“She is in a different state, sir.”

“Hopey!”

“For fuck’s sake.”

“She’s probably in the bathroom. Amazing control on that girl. She goes when she wants to. Holds it in for days. It’s a miracle.”

“Sir, the conflict with the Russians might be ameliorated by, through back channels, alerting them to pull their troops from the sites we intend to destroy.”

“Good idea.”

CELL PHONE DIALING NOISE

“That better not be who I think it is.”

“Mr. President!”

“Da. Is Putin. Hello, The Donald.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“President Putin, everything in America is going so, so, so beautifully. The jobs, everything. Trade deals are being made, but I get no credit for at all, but America is winning again and it’s a real compliment to me. How’s the weather in Moscow?”

“Is snowing.”

“Great, snow, the skiing, gloves, wonderful. Listen, Mr. President, we’re gonna shoot some rockets at Syria in a little bit. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, who knows? Anyway, your men should duck out of the way.”

“Vhere vill you shoot these rockets?”

“Syria.”

“Is big country. Vhere exactly?”

“You ask the best questions. I got no idea. I’m the big picture guy. All the details, I leave to my staff. Hold on, let me put the Mad Dog on. He can tell you the locations.”

“Holy shit, do not put me on the phone with fucking Putin.”

CALL WAITING NOISE

“Mr. President, we’re gonna call you right back. My pizza’s at the front gate.”

“Vith cheese in crust?”

“Bing bong.”