Obama tapped his pencil on his desk. He was bored. “This sucks, man,” he said to no one in particular.
It was hard to be Obama. He had to do laws and sign things, make treaties, meet the foreign guys, etc etc. He needed a break, big time. The oval room was lonely today, but he could see the senators and secret services out in the hallway, talking. They’d never let him stop working.
I’ll never get a break, thought Obama. Not unless I trick these stuffed-shirt jerkbags and bail. And just like that, it was decided. Obama was gonna take a day off. I mean out.
Captain Jefferson, of the secret service, came into the oval. “Hey Obama, time for your ba–“
He stopped short. No Obama. Oh crap. He put his gun in his mouth and blew his brains out.
Meanwhile, outside in the bushes, Obama was in full skedaddle mode. “Time to vamoose,” he whispered, and he crept across the lawn to his Civic. It was a rad little car with cool silver rims and a spoiler. He popped the clutch and BAM — right through the gate and onto Washington DC avenue. Party time.
Obama sighed. Seriously? He looked in his review — the cop who had pulled him over sauntered slowly toward the driver’s side window. “License and registrat– Oh, dude,” he suddenly said, as he recognized his ultimate boss behind the wheel. “Obama?”
“Here,” said the big man, and he handed the cop his license all right — only it was wrapped in a fat $20 bill! The cop pulled the bill away to see Obama’s place of birth on his license: It was the capital of Kenya! (note: look up what the capital of Kenya is. Also look up where Kenya is.)
He looked up, totally pissed, but by then, Obama was already driving away, cackling like a madman. Obama’s ride kicked up hella rocks, which rained down on the cop. “Screw you, Obama!” he yelled.
Obama walked out of 7-11 with a bomb white cherry Slurpee and a whole grip of Big League Chew. “Shove your diet up your butt, Margret,” he said, and he began to chow down. (note: look up what Obama’s wife is named.)
Obama sat courtside at the big game — he was “lovin’ it.” Now this is living, thought Obama. No responsibilities, no cares in the world…
Except something was wrong. His President senses were going wacky. He scanned the other side of the court and there was ISIS, in the flesh.
Obama’s eyes narrowed. His duty to his Nation suddenly overrode his need to p-a-r-t-y and have a good time. “Time out,” he said to the ref, and he grabbed the ball. “Hail Mary, in your face!” he yelled, and he tossed a long one at ISIS, who by then, by the way, had noticed Obama looking his way and began to run. But the ball caught him square on the dome and he faceplanted onto the stairs.
The crowd was all, “Ohhhhhhhhhhh!”
Obama ran over. ISIS sneered up at him, his smashed-up face forming a bloody smile. “What are you gonna do, Obama — kill me?”
“You wish. I’m not like you… I’m an American,” said Obama, and with that he stomped ISIS’ nuts. The crowd went crazy, and ISIS screamed like a chick and his eyes crossed all funny.
OBAMA, OBAMA, OBAMA… The crowd was cheering for their leader.
Obama kicked back in his bed at the White House. His wife came in with a concerned look on her face. “Where did you disappear to today, Obama? Everybody was looking for you.”
“I took a day out, Margret,” said Obama. “But don’t worry; I learned my lesson, and from now on I’m gonna care about this country most of all.” And then he winked at the bloody basketball on his desk.