George Bush sat on the love seat in the Lincoln Bedroom. Opposite him was Donald Rumsfeld sitting in a chair. George was in his underwear, briefs, with a sleeveless t-shirt. Donald was dressed in white tennis shorts, white socks, white Nike tennis shoes, a grey polo shirt and he was holding a squash racket, bouncing a squash ball up and down effortlessly with the racket. Though George kept looking at the bed to his right, the bed where Abraham Lincoln’s son dies, the bed at the foot of which Abraham Lincoln’s autopsy was performed after he was shot at Ford’s Theater. George kept looking at the bed and thinking that Paris Hilton was lying on it in the nude. He wondered what Paris would look like in the nude. Would she be so skinny that she would look anorexic? Or would she have some meat on her, a bit of muscle evidencing a modicum of exercise other than dancing?
“I won today,” said Donald Rumsfeld.
“What?” asked George Bush.
“Squash. I beat my nephew,” said Donald.
“Good. That’s good,” said George as he glanced back at the bed.
“If you acknowledge it’s a civil war that means your presidency has been a failure,” said Donald.
“What?” asked George.
“Americans will not permit its boys and girls to be in the middle of someone else’s civil war. Iraq will have been a failure,” said Donald.
“I agree,” said a female voice.
“What?” George said as he glanced to his right at the bed. It was Paris Hilton. She was naked except for pink panties. Paris was holding a small digital camera and she was snapping pictures of George and Donald and she sat on her knees on top of the white puffy blanket.
“I said I agree,” said Paris.
“What are you doing here?” asked George of Paris.
“You asked me to come,” said Donald.
“What? No not you. Her,” said George pointing to the bed.
“Who?” said Donald.
“Her. Right there. On the bed,” said George.
“You feeling OK?” asked Donald.
“Tell that old geezer you feel just fine,” said Paris.
George looked over at Paris. “Smile,” said Paris as she snapped a picture. George smiled.
“I feel just fine,” said George.
“Getting back to Iraq, it is important that you salvage some good that was added to the world, to the United States, and define that goodness as part of an Iraq pull back,” said Donald.
“Ahhh, that’s such bullshit, George,” said Paris. “You made a mistake. Admit you made a mistake. And pull our troops out,” said Paris.
“I made a mistake,” said George.
“We don’t have to go there,” said Donald.
“Georgie, Georgie, go there. Go there. Ask yourself, how did you stop drinking?” asked Paris.
“I faced the truth,” said George.
“OK. You can face it, Mr. President, but face it privately,” said Donald.
“Did you go to any AA meetings, Georgie?” asked Paris.
“No,” said George.
“Did you tell Laura you were an alcoholic,” asked Paris.
“I told Laura, said George.
“Telling Laura is one thing, telling the public is another,” said Donald.
“Look where the old geezer got you. The whole thing is a big mess, George. A big mess. The only way out is to admit the mess, admit the mistake, and then get our soldiers out. Get everyone out. Let the whole place blow up. And you will be able to salvage something of yourself and of America,” said Paris as she was massaging her bare belly.
“I can salvage something?” asked George.
“Of course you can,” said Donald.
“Of course you can,” said Paris.
“Stay or pull out,” said George.
“Stay,” said Donald.
“Pull out,” said Paris.
“You pull out, the party will burn you as a coward,” said Donald.
“You stay, more Americans will die and the historians will look at you as weak,” said Paris.
“But a coward is weak,” said George.
“Exactly,” said Donald.
“No, no, no. A weak man cannot face the truth. A coward cannot face his buddies. Who are you?” asked Paris.
George looked at Paris. She was really quite stunning with her long blond hair. He found it surprising that she could be so smart, so articulate. Paris Hilton sounded smarter than Donald Rumsfeld. At least at this moment. George wanted to jump onto the bed. Paris saw a sparkle in George’s eye.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Paris.
“Don’t worry. I’m not. I’m not,” said George.
Paris winked at George. George smiled as Paris took another picture.
“You’re not what?” asked Donald Rumsfeld as he caught the squash ball in his hand.
“I’m just not. I’m just not,” said George.