the mCsituation, 1.04
The president's aide silently considered his options. "I wonder if the Army would loan me a helicopter. Hmm. Probably not. "Mr. President, we should do this in the press room." Perhaps by then we can get him to not do the hope'n'heal. Perhaps we could rally the nation around b-ball. Or whatever is left of the nation. .
Indeed it was not long before President Obtuso, in a nearly empty press room but a live camera feed, cleared his throat and began to speak.
Somewhere in America, in front of a store window filled with TV screens, the image of the president appeared. A group of shuffling undead stopped and looked, their very finite attention spans drawn by the bright blue images.
"My fellow Americans--no, not that one. Comrades--no. Surviving Americans who might or might not be in an indeterminate state between life and death. This is a hard time, especially for those out there who have lost their lives, loved ones, disappeared completely--well not sure about those, could be having a good time but let's not go off on tangent--um where was I? Ah yes, lost loved ones, or have even lost themselves, in some strange somnambulant state a'twixt this world and the next, barely cognizant of who they once were."
The group of creatures before the nodded. "Braiiiiiiins", they murmurmed with approval.
In the lounge of a 747 trapped above the Atlantic, another group had a different reaction. "Oh my god he's doing it again," said Miranda.
"Yes our nation lays in ruin and ash, but let us have faith in the power of hope and healing in the face of our collective tragedy which is--" (he paused to sort through index cards) "--lemme' see, gun massacre, gun massacre, gun massacre in a kindergarten, unsusccessful shoe bomber, sucessful shoe bomber, earthquake, volcanic eruption, gun massacre, end of world as we know it. Yes, let's go with that one.
"Braiiiiiins!", said the zombie-like creatures in approval.
"You called it, Miranda," said Captain Lockjaw, handing over a five dollar bill. "I was going to give him at least 48 hours."
One of the creatures in front of the store window was so deeply inspired by the president's words, that he picked up a loose piece of concrete (a piece which was there owing to deferred infrastructure repair as their city was spending most of its revenue paying off muni bonds with dizzying interest rates it had sold at the height of bond-o-mania). "Brains!", he cried, and threw it. The window shattered, with glass splinters flying.
"So I say: Hey. You. America! Things are looking bad but there is a glow over the horizon!"
The zombie grabbed one of the TV's and stumbled off with his loot.
--and although that glow might be a burning fire," continued the president, "aa bright new sun will shine on a nation remade. Or perhaps we'll just adjust the logo and branding, depending on how the next budget crisis sorts out. But with faith, hope and healing, and the power of faith in hope and healing, we can ensure the right of every American to have fresh human brains--wait a second, I never say that. Who's running the teleprompter? Where's Jerry the teleprompter guy?"
"Right here, Mr. President."
"I don't mean to pick nits but you used to look much more, well, alive."
"Brains! I mean, I'm fine Mr. President."
"You look bloodless and pale and there's cloud of flies buzzing around your head."
"Never mind, we'll just take some questions from...no one. Alrighty then, I guess we will just take some calls. The number is, 555-WHITE-HOUSE. Is that number on the screen? Okay, we have a caller, it's, er, George from Dallas who's trapped on a plane over the North Atlantic and who is definitely not want4ed for war crimes. Is that right?"
Jerry nodded affirmatively. "Brains!", he said, with a thumbs-up.
"Okay, go head George Not Wanted For Warcrimes," said the president.
A mocking voice cackled over the pressroom's audio system. Guess who's baaaaaaack? It's me, George! Heh heh heh heh heh heh heh"
One by one, the zombies in front of the store window, grabbed an HD television set, and trundeled off with their booty.