Obama’s Frugal Vacation
Ch. 3 of 4, I’m going to Disney World
NOTE: This is the 3rd chapter of Obama’s frugal vacation. If you missed the first part, you can access it HERE – the second chapter is available HERE. Ideally, they should be read in sequence. Also note that originally, this was to be a three-part story. Chapter 3 got so long, I decided to end it and continue the story in a newly added (and final) Chapter Four.
As before, the plan was to get up about seven to get on the road early. They’d hook up and head out, stopping just south of Savannah at a truck stop to fuel up and eat a quick breakfast.
“Get your gas two ways: food and fuel” was the advertising slogan for the On the Run truck stop. It was a favorite stop for truckers traveling I-95 who liked the breakfast burritos and good prices for diesel. Reason enough for it to have been chosen as a morning stop by the caravan’s trip coordinator, Jacque Strapp.
The group split up into groups, some refueling while others ate a quick breakfast. As they finished, they swapped places.
But Murphy’s Law reared its head and Jacque’s wife who wasn’t due to deliver for another three weeks went into labor and he had to catch a quick commuter flight back to DC. He left his taxpayer-funded AMEX credit card with the Agent in Charge, Phil Landerer. The plan was to put all charges on Strapp’s card.
But there was a problem, when it came time to settle up, the system wouldn’t accept Landerer’s signature for the charges. So, they owed a total of $1,759.25 for food and fuel and the taxpayer’s AMEX card wouldn’t accept the charges.
The station’s manager called the owner, a Mr. Heinz Sight, and asked for approval to accept the president’s word that they’d pay a bill sent to the White House.
But Mr. Sight wasn’t buying it. “The president’s word? You got to be kiddin’ me. He ain’t never paid for nothing yet. He don’t pay nobody back. He lives on credit and I have to pay my bills with cash.” Mr. Sight made it plain that he didn’t trust Mr. Obama as far as he could throw a Peterbilt tractor.
But even if they pooled all their cash, the group didn’t have $1,759.25 and since they were living according to the Obama philosophy, (overextended) all of them were already over their personal card limits.
So, being a wily businessman, Heinz Sight offered a solution. If president Obama would sign an IOU (a legal promissory note), he’d let them move on.
With little other choice, Obama reluctantly signed the IOU. It really pissed him off when Mr. Sight chuckled, “Heh, heh, heh, and laughed at the president’s predicament.”
Obama didn’t like being embarrassed, but he had no other choice. He would have preferred to have one of the agents simply “bust a cap in that mother******,” but that could be messy what with the press monitoring their actions. Maybe he’d send a Predator back to visit Mr. Sight.
Damn, he was going to need a lot more drones.
Finally, they were on the road again.
Riding shotgun in the passenger seat, Ben O’Drill was casually scanning the countryside checking out the farms and pastures and counting cows until … whoa … what was that … something flew by … too big to be a bird. He only saw it for a few seconds, but it … it looked like … a drone!
“Chee, did you see that? I swear I thought I saw a Predator fly by. You don’t think that Joe Biden could have …”
The driver, Chee Spurger laughed, but wasn’t alarmed, “No way, it couldn’t be Joe, we hid the keys, he’ll never find them. And Joe couldn’t find his ass with both hands.”
“Yeah, I know, we did hide ‘em, it couldn’t be him, and he’s not smart enough to hot-wire one. I must be seeing things, must’ve been a really big bird.”
About a minute later …
There was an explosion less than a mile up ahead. All traffic screeched to an immediate stop.
“Holy crap, what was that?”
“I dunno, but it hit smack dab in the middle of the highway not more than a half-mile away.”
“You don’t think …”
“Nah, it couldn’t be.”
Interstate traffic was backed up for miles.
Finally, the state police starting moving vehicles off of I-95 and onto a state road, taking the motorists past the blast area. At one point as they went by, everyone did get a brief glimpse of the destruction through the trees and saw the one vehicle that was completely destroyed.
It was … a pickup truck pulling a silver-bodied trailer. The plot thickens …
A half-hour later, back on I-95 and approaching Jacksonville, the two agents were still talking about the near miss explosion. Was it a coincidence that the blast demolished a pickup pulling a trailer? Did Ben really see a Predator? If so, who was controlling it? Regardless of the unanswered questions, it was too much a coincidence for it to have been an accident – which could only mean that it was meant for POTUS.
They were both deep in thought, when the music of Taylor Swift’s latest love-gone-bad tune slowly faded out and was replaced with a musical tone signaling a Homeland Security audio alert.
“Wait – what’s that – turn it up.”
“We interrupt the program in progress to bring you an urgent live message from the Vice President of the United States.”
“My fellow Americans, this is your Vice President, Joe Biden. I have some sad news. I come to you with a heart filled with great sorrow. I’ve just been informed that our North Korean adversary, General Kim Phat Phuc, has hacked into our Predator drone control system and directed one of our own drones to strike at the very heart and soul of this country, at our dear leader, our most beloved … … … …”
[An off-mike unintelligible voice says something we can’t quite make out.]
[And we hear Joe respond, his hand not completely covering the mike, “What? Are you shittin’ me? Who says? Are they sure? Damn, how the hell did it miss? Give me a f**king break.”]
“My fellow Americans … (a long silent pause) … never mind ….”
“We now return to our previously scheduled program.”
Taylor Swift resumes singing that “Someday her prince (Harry) will come.”
Ben and Chee decided that something must be done, they (and the president) were sitting ducks. Ben radioed Phil Landerer, the Agent in Charge of Obama’s security detail and suggested that when they stopped again for a pee-break that they send an urgent signal for the president’s personal superhero to check out Joe Biden.
They had a secret weapon, a resource of last resort that they could call without alerting the other federal agencies. They could send up a “bat signal” for [ta ta taaaa] Female-Man.
Today, our way of life is under siege by foul and loathsome forces and we need a superhero more than ever.
Enter … [ta ta taaaa] Female-Man, the masked crime fighter.
During peaceful times, she is Holotta Heiney, mild-mannered masseuse, but when the chips are down, when push comes to shove, when the fit hits the shan … she’ll find a vacant airplane hangar, struggle into her costume and become …
[ta ta taaaa] Female-Man.
Faster than a speeding walrus, more powerful than stomach cramps, and able to leap a wiener dog in a single bound, she is …
[ta ta taaaa] Female-Man.
She don’t fly so good, her ample bottom keeps bumping along the ground (limiting her altitude), and she’s strong as an ox (and almost as pretty), but she’s got gumption!
She already had a big “G” for her costume and wanted to be called “Gumption Gal,” but that was already taken by another superhero, so she settled on …
[ta ta taaaa] Female-Man.
“♪♪ Here she comes to save your can, here she comes, she’s Female-Man ♪♪”
The “F”ing signal went off in Female-Man’s cave, alerting her that she was being called to fight evildoers once again. Sue Shee, her Japanese assistant, helped Holotta butter up so she could get into her costume. The problem with using butter as a lubricant was that when she got hot, she smelled like a grilled cheese sandwich – which had the effect of alerting her adversaries while making bystanders hungry.
Holotta read the text message sent by Phil Landerer and was aghast and taken aback (how often does a superhero get “taken aback” and “aghasted” in the same sentence?).
But this one was a doozy.
The Secret Service was concerned that the VP, Joe Biden, might have gone rogue and directed a Predator drone attack on the president.
Female-Man had a crush on the skinny, big-eared president. She longed to wrap her meaty arms around his under-loved frame and squeeze him till he cried mama (she liked to think of herself as his Uhhbama mama). One day, she longed to wrestle his pseudo-wife and evil villain, Moochelle, for the right to bare his babies – just thinking about it, she began to flush. Uh oh, there goes that grilled cheese smell again.
If it was true that Joe Biden had tried to snuff Uhhbama, she would do unspeakable things to him. She texted Landerer back that she would go undercover (a bright red-orange greyhound bus is difficult to keep undercover) to check out the allegation.
Now that [ta ta taaaa] Female-Man was on the case, Phil turned his attention back to their scheduled stop for lunch in Jacksonville.
They were just approaching the northern outskirts of the city when he got a call from Sam Sonite, the agent currently driving the SUV with the first lady as a passenger. She was complaining that she needed to relieve herself and couldn’t wait ‘till the lunch stop, still about an hour and a half away. She demanded that they stop.
So the AC radioed the other rigs that they had an unscheduled urination situation. When the first lady’s bladder ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Luckily, they were in an open stretch of highway and pulling over didn’t result in any serious safety concerns.
When the convoy stopped, Bertha Venation did her duty as pee-coordinator and assigned the first lady to Airstream No. 8022. It was Michelle’s first time in that unit and she was pleased to see that the bathroom had recently been renovated and there was one of those nice padded soft seats on the toilet.
After completing her task, she was distressed to find that she couldn’t get up. The toilet seat appeared to have attached itself to her ample bottom and wouldn’t let go. She tried and tried, even pushing down on the seat while attempting to stand – to no avail.
She heard Bertha’s whistle signaling that the pee-break was over and they should return to their vehicles. Thirty seconds later, there was another blast on Bertha’s whistle.
The first lady yelled “Rachel!”
Rachel Slurr was one of Michelle’s handmaidens (butt-maiden would be more accurate). Her main duty was to apply Boudreaux’s Butt Paste to the first lady’s derriere to keep it supple and smooth (gag). Boudreaux’s was a Louisiana product once touted by Oprah on her TV show as wonderful for diaper rash on babies. Rachel had applied a generous coating to the first lady’s bottom this very morning.
But, (no pun intended) what with the noise of traffic whizzing by and the noise deadening padding recently installed in the renovated Airstream, no one heard her bellow.
Fortunately, just before the caravan moved out, Bertha noticed that the first lady hadn’t returned the keys to the trailer. She went to No. 8022 and went inside. That’s when she heard Michelle screaming at the top of her lungs, “GET ME THE %$*& OUTTA HERE!”
Bertha carefully opened the door to find Michelle sitting there … fuming … and really, really pissed. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m stuck to this &%$&%*$$ TOILET SEAT! That’s what’s wrong!” “Get Rachel Slurr in here! NOW!” “Yes, maam.”
It seems that Rachel had used a brand new jar of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste on the first lady this morning. It was from a case that was a gift, thoughtfully sent to Michelle by Oprah. There was already no love lost between the two. Michelle was jealous of the attention that Oprah got whenever she was with Obama, but this was too much. Gluing Michelle’s bottom to a toilet seat was too much. Oprah would pay for this humiliation.
Michelle’s butt was apparently stuck fast to the seat and the women had no idea how to free it. They called for the men to remove the seat from the toilet and Michelle would just have to “wear” it until Jacksonville when they could consult a doctor.
The men decided that the lowest ranking aide would get the task. Various tools were discussed, like a hammer and chisel, a hacksaw, a box cutter, and a chainsaw. Finally, they decided that they didn’t want to damage the toilet seat and it should just be removed.
Armed with a pair of pliers and a baseball cap to shield his eyes from Michelle’s bottom (the sight of which could easily induce convulsions and blindness); Sigfried Denroy reluctantly went into the “lair of the beast.”
Chee Spurger (the comedian among the agents) suggested that if they couldn’t pry her loose, they might have to blast, nyuk, nyuk, nyuk (it was obvious that Chee had seen too many Three Stooges bits).
If you’ll note the picture of the bathroom, you can see that Sigfried had to get “up close” and verrrryyy personal with Mrs. Obama in order to remove the bolts. In fact, they got so close that Michelle was calling him “sugar” and “honey” before it was over.
Denroy was finally successful in removing the two bolts that held the seat to the toilet and allowed the first lady to get up. Since shorts and pants were no longer an option, one of her aides cut a hole in a large picnic table-sized tablecloth and she was able to exit the Airstream wearing that.
Always the smartass, Chee Spurger wondered whether she would ask “does this toilet seat make my butt look big?” She didn’t.
Ben O’Drill called ahead for a doctor to meet them at the restaurant. Dr. Benny Factor, a physician specializing in separating butts glued by Krazy Glue to toilet seats, could handle the separation and he could treat the first lady in one of the Airstreams. They’d give him the coordinates when they were closer.
Now back on the road and almost 90 minutes behind schedule, the GPS would lead them to the restaurant. At least that’s where they thought they were going. Instead, as a surprise, the first lady had arranged for the convoy to stop in a city park where the meal would be catered.
One inescapable problem for a caravan of twelve pickups/SUVs pulling trailers was that a large amount of space was required just to park the units – too much space for all but a few truck stops. Michelle had convinced Jacque Strapp (their trip coordinator) that park surroundings and a catered meal would be a welcome change. So he contacted the park management as well as a restaurant that would supply and deliver their lunch.
They pulled into Riverside Park and the park director showed them where they could park along the road, just across from the picnic grounds. Their late arrival wasn’t a problem for the park, but it was for the restaurant. Since no one in the caravan but Michelle knew about the arrangements, and she was in no mood to be bothered about anything except her own bottom, no one had contacted the caterer.
After waiting a full hour, the catering van returned to the restaurant, thinking that the order had been a hoax. So, there the travelers were, tired, without food, and waiting for Dr. Benny Factor to arrive so he could separate the seat from Michelle’s bottom.
And so, dear readers, the trials and tribulations of Michelle’s posterior will provide an appropriate end to this episode.
Tune in again for the next chapter in the ongoing saga of: The Obama Family’s Stupendous, Spectacular, Sequestration Tour.
Categories: Humor & Satire