the mcSituation - a new coke
On the lounge's monitor, George 'Shrubya' Shrub cleared his throat loudly: "Okey-dokey now. My first order as new president will be--"
In the lounge of the aircraft, the screen went blank. The survivors, crammed together in their small refuge, looked on at the television spectacle before them in disbelief. "So who's the president now?", asked one. "We're on Air Force Two? How exciting!" cried another.
"Not. So. Fast." A woman's voice, hoarse from age but still loud, interrupted the newly self-declared president. Another frame inserted itself with a woman. Standing on a stone pedestal, she was surrounded by hooded figures in black robes in a scene lit by torches.
"Well well well, Evellaree Binton--you have a nasty habit of surviving," said Obtuso.
"Your drone t'was not quite so strikie as you thought, Mr. President. Or should I say, Mr. Soon To Not Be So Presidential."
"And your keen sense of wit remains intact."
"I, um, it, er, has, or has not, depending on the context. Wait, are you being sarcastic? Never mind, I don't care. Point is: I did not die. Indeed, My powers have miraculously increased! Vote for me, Amer I'm the new president!" she cried. As if to prove her point, her frame expanded to cover 3/4 of the screen. The others diminished to small squares.
"And why in the Charles Dickens would they vote for ya?", shouted Shrub. "My dad day was the president. Yer daddy sold life insurance!"
"Because! Only I can do things. I do things. Then--and this is a critical point so please remember this--I then make those things done."
George scratched his head. "Eh?"
"For it is in the doing of things that things are done. Monumental accomplishments of having-gotten-done-ness."
Obtuso interrupted. "Well, we're just sort of wondering, um, what have you ever really, you know, done? Because my mind is a blank."
"What have I done? What have I done? I've put more people in prison than any other American politician in history! I've cut off more benefits to the undeserving moochers than Saint Reagan. And I've helped kill way more people than that dickless old pee-pants ever did."
Her disciples chanted as one: "All praise Old Pee-Pants!"
"--and I've helped start three disastrous wars! I've helped create the greatest refugee crisis in recent times!"
Obtuso replied. "Okay, I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that those are not really positive accomplishments which have made the world a better place," said Obtuso. (Which he stated in his reasonable-let's-all-compromise-on-something-we-can-agree-on voice."
George cut him off. "Wait a second, I'm starting to like this woman. She's like me, except she's a Donninator. Not as good as 'Deciderino' but it's still pretty good." said Shrub.
"You've known me for 20 years!"
"Oh, right, now I remember. You helped me become a war-time president-y!"
"Damn right. It was a good war," she said.
"Damn good war," replied George emphatically. "And some damn good bombs."
"The best." They both sniffed, perhaps feeling a bit sentimental at the thought of together, how many people had been exploded. Or about how many had not. <i>So many bombs but so little time,</i> thought George.
Shrub nodded in approval. "Damn good. But yer daddy wasn't the president so fuck you."
"Goddammit, I've outlasted New Coke, I'll outlast Old Coke, and I'll outlast both of you. All of you. I am <i><b>Brand Binton</b></i>"
"All hail me, Brand Hillary!"
The hooded disciples began genuflecting towards their leader. "Brand Binton is our new soda! Old Coke is dead! All praise The New Coke!"
In the still-cramped space of the aircraft's lounge, the crowed began shouting: Hail the New Coke! Hail the New Coke! he new soda!
Why is she wearing a yellow raincoat indoors?, asked Mr. Schlock.
Miranda shrugged. "Easier than a liposuction," she suggested.