The Worst Case Scenario

It's January 2009 and Barack Obama has been sworn in as the 44th president of the United States and enters the White House's Oval Office to be briefed by out-going Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice. When Obama enters he finds the room filled with stacks of paper, even on the desk. On the desk a note is pinned to it. Obama picks it up and looks at it and reads it aloud.

"My bad?" he said, looking curiously at Rice.

"It's from George. He wanted to tell you in person, but ... well, you know George. He doesn't like confrontation," she said with a big smile and a bit of perk as she whips out a hefty document.

"I just want to brief you on a few things before I leave. A little house cleaning," she said.

Men in suits enter the room, light the fireplace and begin tossing documents into it, while others put them into shredder.

"I hope you don't mind the noise," Rice said.

"What are you ..? Should you be destroying these," Obama says picking up one of the documents that reads naked pictures of Valerie Plame. One of the men snatches it away and pitches it into the fireplace. Another man begins taking a sledgehammer to a computer in an adjoining room.

"They're just trash. Nothing important. Anyway. Let me just get to your briefing!" Condi opens the notebook and begins calmly but rapidly reading," Congratulations President Mc ...," Condi shrugs a little and smiles, "Congratulations President Obama on your win. We with the Bush Administration are sure you are more than capable to handle all the work we weren't able to finish before we left office."

"Wait? Work you didn't finish?" said Obama leaning in as he sees some men carry what looks like a cadaver out of an adjoining room. "What on earth? Is that ...?"

"Don't mind that."

"But who was that? Was that a dead body?"

"It's just a little, you know? Skeleton in the closet. Who doesn't have a skeleton or two or a dead body or three in a secret room behind a false wall," said Condi with a nervous laugh. "It's Scooter Libby."

"WHAT!"

"It's no big deal. He just sort of died ... naturally, of course, right after George gave us all retroactive immunity. But Scooter signed a deal with Random House for a tell-all sooo ..."

Obama looks at Condi with concern.

Condi smiles, "Moving on! Now there's nothing too big to be concerned about. Just a few little things," she said.

"Like what?"

"Well, we've been letting the Chinese steal our military intelligence so they'd keep lending us money, but now they know what crappy shape we're in militarily and plan on invading and retaking Taiwan."

"What!"

"They say they're going to invade in late February and they expect us to stay out of it. Oh! And another thing, the bailout of the financial sector was a stalling action. Inflation is going to jump by more than 100 percent or more next week and that might be exasperated by a little fuel crunch because the Iranians are moving to cut off the straight of Hormuz so they can control oil flow. We really can't do anything about it because we've decided to do a naval blockade around Taiwan. It probably won't work though, but ... we'll see what happens!

"Oh ... and also, we can't kill or capture bid Laden because he's a former CIA operative who went rouge and if anyone finds that out ... well, you know?

"And Putin said he's going to invade Poland, for real, because of the anti-missile system. He says he's going to do it the same week China invades Taiwan because they've forged a new Sino-Russo alliance and are coordinating their attacks. Putin also said he 'triple dog dares us' to do something about it because he knows we can't because we're too over extended with the two wars and all and the Chinese told him almost all our fighter jets have fatal flaws in their design that could result in spontaneous explosions, but Boeing promises they will get it all fixed for us in the next six months for another $220 billion."

"WHAT!"

Condi ignores Barack's frustration and keeps going.

"Lastly our system to store nuclear waste doesn't work and we're looking at the entire Colorado River water system being wiped out in about two months. It will probably be undrinkable and make most of California, Nevada and the Pacific Northwest uninhabitable for the next 100 so you're looking at the mass migration of millions of people out of the west, crowding Midwest and Eastern states and cities without jobs living in shanty towns."

"Wait. Can't we do ...?"

"The water's already been compromised. The first casualties could begin in a matter of weeks. It should be in the hundreds of thousands or more."

"You kept this to YOURSELF???"

"George hates confrontation," Condi said. "Anyhoo! I think that's it."

Condi begins to gather her things to go. Behind her men and former Bush staffers are stealing everything that isn't nailed down. One man is stripping the copper out of the walls.

"Oh," said Condi remembering another tidbit. "I think we may have told Israel to do whatever it wants in the Middle East because we signed this secret, possibly illegal treaty that says we can never, ever second guess them and that if they go to war with Iran we have to help and I think they plan to go to war with Iran on ... next Thursday. So you might want to let the Joint Chiefs of staff know that so they can be prepared for when the Iranians take out Camp Victory in Iraq and seize Baghdad."

Obama stares at Rice, his mouth agape, stunned. Rice is still chipper as she readies herself to leave, shoving the classified document in his hands.

"Just so you know the toilet in the oval office leaks a little so you might want that fixed, and it doesn't flush quite right so sometimes you have to jiggle it and Vista keeps crashing on the computers in the White House so you might want to go back to using Windows XP! Good luck!"

Obama stands in the middle of the Oval Office as Rice walks away. The men disposing of paper are almost done, but the room is still a mess. A pair of men walk past Obama carrying to corpse of Bob Woodward.

"Condoleezza!" screams Obama starting to run after her.

Condi jaunts quickly away, shouting over her shoulder at Barack as she escapes, "DON'T HAVE ME BROUGHT UP ON CHARGES! GEORGE GAVE ME RETROACTIVE IMMUNITY!!! I'M SORRY! CONGRATULATIONS ON BEING THE FIRST BLACK PRESIDENT! GOD BLESS AMERICA!"

Obama stands dumbfounded as she leaves in the elevator. He looks back at the Oval Office and sighs. He looks at the heavy document in his hands and turns to the memo on page one. It reads "Bin Laden determined to attack the United States Again." There's a yellow sticky note attacked to it.

Obama rips it off and reads it out loud.

"My bad, Johnny Mac. Sorry about the whole black daughter thing, but your the decider now so, we're cool, right? Awesome. Ah-hee-hee-hee. God bless America. Sincerely, 43."

The Race Card

Notes from Top Secret "Operation: The Real David Palmer" Meeting in the Secret Council of American Negroes' Secret Underground Railroad Room hidden in the tunnels beneath a historic black church somewhere in Georgia

Attendants
The HNIC
Secretary to the HNIC
The Big O
Councilman X
Councilman J
Councilwoman N
Councilman T
Former SCAN Councilman Jesse Jackson
Opposition Information specialist Michelle Barnard
Special Agent Suzanne Malveaux
Special Agent Hill Harper
Guest Rev. Al Sharpton
Guest Mitt Romney

Secretary to the HNIC: Everyone seems to be here so I suppose we should bring this meeting to order. HNIC?

The HNIC waves her hand and leans back in her chair looking out at the guests surrounding the table. At the very end sit the Rev. Al Sharpton and former Massachusetts Gov. Mitt Romney. Both have burlap sacks over their heads.

Secy: I think we all know why we're all here. It's time to consider it.

Serious faces all around, a few frowns.

Councilwoman N: There could be blow back. Is now really the time?

SA Hill Harper: When will it be the time? People already think it's been deployed!

SA Suzanne Malveaux: Harper's right. It's only a matter of time.

Michelle Barnard: I can't even believe we are discussing this. This is the nuclear option. Once it's out there we can't exactly take it back!

Mitt Romney raises his hand.

Romney: Um ... Your excellencies or ma'ams or sirs or brothers, sisters, people ... um ... what on earth are we talking about?

Al Sharpton shoves Romney a little.

Sharpton: They're talking about The Race Card, fool.

Romney: Wait? There's an actual race card? Like ... really? I thought that was just something us white people said when we wanted to belittle your problems. No offense. My dad marched with Martin Luther King ... in spirit.

Sharpton: Can I please take this bag off my head?

Secy: Quiet! You are guests.

Sharpton: And what's up with my membership? I applied to be on this council ten years ago. I mean, I know your motto "We're on permanent CP time" but this is getting a little ridiculous. Who's blocking me from joining? Is it you, Jesse! You wanna be the only Civil Rights activist up in SCAN?

Jackson: I told you. These things take time.

Sharpton: My perm could organize a better march than you. And at least I know when to shut the fuck up. I don't even know how you could have him here. Is he even trust worthy? Wanting to cut off a nigger's balls and all.

Jackson: That was taken out of context.

Sharpton: Nigga, how can the words "nuts" and "cut off" be taken out of context?

The HNIC frowns.

Secy: LANGUAGE! Rev. Sharpton and Gov. Romney, you both know very well why you have to have those bags on your head. The identity of the HNIC must be protected at all times. I'd like to think that having a bag over your head is a minor inconvenience for the sake of all black people.

Romney: Right on, brother. I don't mind wearing the sack. Just happy to be here. I hate John McCain! Black power!

Secy: Seriously. You don't have to do that.

Romney: I'm sorry, brother.

Secy: And please stop calling me brother. [To all] To answer Gov. Romney's question, yes. We are talking about The Race Card. This meeting was called because some of us think Operation The Real David Palmer is in trouble and that if we don't use The Race Card now this whole race, this whole situation could be dead and done. SCAN will not, cannot allow this happen. We've been working on this operation for the last 50 years in its various incarnations.

Jackson: Until now the most successful was Operation Keep Hope Alive.

Sharpton: Wait? You backed his campaign but when I called ya'll asses out for some support when I ran in 2004 you were all ghost?

A few people in the room snicker.

Sharpton: Ya'll are bogus as hell. You picked that nursery rhyming cat, but didn't help me?

Secy: We were with you in spirit, Bro. Sharpton. But back to The Race Card ...

Harper: Does Brother Obama even know we're meeting about this? Doesn't he get final say?

The Big O: Special Agent Obama knows about Operation David Palmer, but he is not in charge of it ... I am. I've worked too hard and lost too much to see this slip away because of Tina Fey wants to take off her snowshoes and put down her moose burgers to play the trailer park MILF vice president to the Crypt Keeper ... MILF? Did I use that right? I normally don't use that word.

Secy: You used it beautifully, O. Nicely played.

Romney: That bitch.

Secy: Language!

Romney: That was supposed to be me!

Harper: It might have been you. He could have gone with Pawlenty.

Romney: Pawlenty? He's just a dull, ordinary Evangelical. I'm a Mormon. We're like Americanized Evangelicals on steroids. They say they love America but they refuse to believe that Jesus Christ came to America after the Resurrection. So I say the LDS kicks all their theocratic bigot asses. BLACK POWER!

Sharpton: Lawd, why did ya'll sit me next to this fool?

Romney: It was supposed to be me. But I'll make him pay. DAMN YOU, JOHN MCCAIN! The bitch isn't half the bitch I could have been. I'm so bitchier than she is. Why did I have to be born with a penis?

Romney begins sobbing. Suzanne Malveaux frowns then reaches out to pat him on the shoulder.

Malveaux: There. There. It will be ... OK.

Romney: Has anyone ever told you that you smell like Werther's Originals and clove cigarettes?

Secy: Can we get back on the point of discussion?

Councilwoman N: If we were to deploy the race card how would we use it, who would use it and how would it benefit the operation?

Councilman X: It would have to be Bro. Jackson. He's the most experienced with it.

Councilman J: Bro. Jackson is still on probation.

Jackson: Once again, HNIC, Big O, a thousand apologizes, your excellencies.

The Big O: It can't be Jackson. Everyone is expecting it to be Jackson. It's too obvious. It would have to be someone white Americans actually respect and aren't intimidated by.

Councilman T: Will Smith?

The Big O: I was thinking Colin Powell, but Will Smith? That sounds good.

Councilwoman X: They could both do it. Deploy it on two fronts. Will Smith could do it virally through the internet and Powell could go on the Sunday talk shows or even hold a press conference calling on the racism in this political campaign. The Republicans won't know what hit them.

Councilman T: We could have Powell come out ... finally ... and endorse Obama then just whip it out, like, "You know what time it is. Beat that." The media, the Republicans won't know what hit 'em. Colin Powell and Will Smith are beloved Negroes, just like The Big O, and thus are the last Negroes they'd suspect.

The Big O: Sometimes I think I deployed my plan too early. Maybe if I'd just waited until after the primaries ... Instead I jumped up shouting "He is the one" like I was giving away cars.

Malveaux: You mustn't second guess yourself, O. You took a big risk, but it was the right thing to do. You can't deploy The Race Card anyway. You're too important to the mission.

Barnard: You all are talking crazy if you think Will Smith and Colin Powell are going to put their careers on the line for Operation David Palmer. They saw what happened to, O, and I'm sorry, Big O if I offend you in anyway because I respect you so much, but those white women turned on you like a flock of ravenous crows.

The Big O: After all I'd done for them. I gave them Rachel Ray and Dr. Phil and all they gave me was the finger.

Councilman X: Shit. Rachel Ray and Dr. Phil are reason enough to give you the finger alone.

The Big O gives an icy glare to Councilman X.

Councilman X: I'm sorry.

The Big O: Who else could deploy The Race Card?

Sharpton: Let me do, Big O! Gimmie a shot! I got Don Imus fired!

Harper: I thought it was the black executives and employees of NBC/Universal who got Imus fired?

Sharpton: I helped! And how is Hill Harper young ass up in here? He's still got Similac on his breath! He better have a bag on his head!

Harper: How long do we have to entertain this foolishness? Really?

Barnard: I'm with Harper. Can we put a muzzle on him or something because I thought I'd be OK being in the same room with him with a bag on his head, but I'm still finding him disturbing.

Sharpton: Aren't you a Republican?

Barnard: I'm a center right independent.

Sharpton: Like I said, aren't you a Republican?

Secy: Rev. Sharpton, SCAN is a bipartisan organization. Now, please, before Ms. Barnard's suggestion comes to fruition.

Sharpton: I'm just saying. She could be a spy.

Barnard: I'm not a spy. And for the record I am against playing The Race Card, in any scenario and under any situation.

Sharpton: Like I said. She's a spy. Why would she be so against playing The Race Card? Donny Osmond over here is fine with it and he's a Republican.

Romney: Oh, we use The Race Card all the time. I mean, we're pros at it really. The biggest thing to do is imply that a black person is using The Race Card. That's called the Reverse Race Card, where you play the card by accusing the other person of playing it first. It's a great distraction technique. Not that I've ever used it myself. Down with the white man. Black power!

Malveaux: Michelle isn't a spy. She's been vetted.

Barnard: There has to be other options besides The Race Card. What about infiltrating the Palin camp? How is that mission going?

Secy: Agent Malveaux, how are things going with the Palins?

Malveaux: Todd is reluctant but he's still doing all he can to ruin his wife's campaign. Gov. Palin is busy practicing how to pronounce the names of foreign dignitaries. There's still a good chance it will just collapse all on its own, but there's no guarantee. It would have to be an astronomical slip up to shame McCain. I mean, the woman's a so-called family values morality candidate and has a pregnant teenage daughter. If they're willing to forgive that the most we can hope for is that she'll be a secret gay or will be caught running a dogfighting ring.

Secy: Gov. Romney? How's Mission Montezuma's Revenge going?

Romney: Oh, I'm really opening up some great things on all fronts. I've been advising both Palin and McCain on the economy and I just make shit up. They're so stupid. I told them we could pay down the national debt by selling the territories. Then I told Palin Hawaii was a territory and that the Japanese had already made an offer. It's great. They both don't have a fucking clue ... yet they're running for president and NOT ME! What did I do wrong? WHAT! WHAT DID I DO WRONG?

Harper: You flipped on ever issue you'd ever campaigned on.

Barnard: You come off as plastic and insincere.

Councilman X: You would just lie for no reason. Like the shit with MLK and your dad. I mean, what the hell?

The Big O: I just don't like you. I don't even really have a reason. I just don't like you.

Sharpton: You're an asshole. How about that? Can you understand that? You're just an asshole.

Romney: OK. I get it ... but I could still be president, right? In 2012? You can learn how to fake sincerity right? How do you do it Jesse?

Jackson: I don't fake anything.

Sharpton: You faked your support to embarrass your ass on national television.

Jackson: I can support Agent Obama and still disagree with him.

Sharpton: Nuts! You said cut off his nuts!

Secy: Please! This is getting us nowhere.

Jackson: So what are we doing? Are we calling Colin?

Everyone looks around at each other.

The Big O: I'll do it personally. He trusts me.

Barnard: This is a mistake.

Secy: Let's vote on it. All in favor of deploying the race card?

Everyone's hands go up except for the HNIC, Michelle Barnard and Suzanne Malveaux. Romney has raised his hand the highest to the point that he is almost out of his chair.

Romney: Play it, HNIC! Play it!

Secy: All opposed?

Only Michelle and Suzanne's hands come up.

Secy: HNIC? You have the final say in all this. It seems the committee wants to go ahead and deploy the race card. We'll need the launch codes.

The HNIC looks at the secretary, then the committee.

HNIC: Not yet. Let's wait until after the debates and meet again then.

Romney: But that might be too late!

Secy: Silence. The HNIC has spoken. We'll hold off on playing The Race Card ... for now. Meeting adjourned.

The Palin Problem

Re: Operation The Real David Palmer
To: Election Rules and Bylaws committee
CC: Black Ops
From: Shaka Azaria, field research agent
Subj: Alternative scenarios to resolve the "Palin Problem"

In light of the changing situation in Operation TRDP, I have suggested that we come up with some "alternative" scenarios to fetter Alaskan Gov. Sarah Palin out of the race thus undermining the campaign of Republican rival, Sen. John McCain.

I have been in contact with Agent Ned Nanook of the North aka "Triple N," and there are some concerns that he will not go "all the way" with his mission to ruin the campaign of his wife. Something about "loving her." Special Agent Malveaux is doing her best to counteract this unforeseen devotion to such a woman who is not Suzanne Malveaux.

Seriously, how could anyone choose that faux school marm who's look like Tina Fey a la a Skinamax feature called "Naughty Teacher Assistants 6: Attack of the 12 inch rulers."

Not that I've ever watched such a thing.

Suzanne, when dressed appropriately with a cigarette dangling from her lips looks like a "hawt" Creole version of a Russian counter-intelligence James Bond vixen.

But that's just my opinion.

Since there is a 30 percent chance Agent Malveaux will not be able to properly manipulate Triple N, I am suggesting these following alternatives to bait and embarrass Gov. Palin.

BEAT THE PRESS

Scenario #1:

Media Watch. Palin didn't show up on any of the Sunday shows the weekend of Sept. 6th. This leads me to believe that she's basically a punk ass ... you know what. All talk. No game. Even Special Agent Obama took on The Russert. Both Clintons took on The Russert. What's so scary about Chris Wallace, Wolf Blitzer, Tom Brokaw and George Stephanopoulos? The only one worth fearing is Bob Schieffer on CBS and he only has a half hour show. How badly knifed up can you get with questions in a half hour?

Yeah, it's with Schieffer, who was The Russert's only real competition outside of the pugilists on "60 Minutes" who are scary as hell (except Anderson Cooper. Seriously. How did he get on there? Leslie Stahl and Andy Rooney could kick his ass and Andy can barely hold his own head up.)

Columnist/feminist writer Joan Walsh of Salon.com has started her own Palin media watch (using a widget created by MoveOn.org) to see when this wunderkind is going to pop up in an interview with someone, anyone.

While our operatives in the media and on the Web apply pressure to embarrass her into showing up on any show (I mean, FOX News? She couldn't go on Hannity's America? It's not like he's going to ask a hard question other than, "Do you have legs and do you know how to use them?" He's a pig, but a kiss as for his own kind.)

I have some "theories" that Palin is a mere empty suit who would wither under the scrutiny of the national press, but we mustn't overplay our hand. Palin is (allegedly) good looking and smart, could adapt quickly, being able to successfully cry victim and gain sympathy points (despite declaring herself a pitbull with lipstick. Which is sort of like calling yourself a bitch. Because that's the technical term for a female canine. A bitch. That's all I'm saying.) Needless to say, no one would let Sen. Clinton get away with the BS, but know the Democrats, Palin could cry a river and they'd back off.

It's totally lame and sexist but that's how the world works.

OUT VICTIM A VICTIM

Scenario #2:

Find way to counteract "sexist" allegations with finding "racist" allegations against her. This many be difficult. The woman married an Eskimo. She might play the "Inuit card" if there are any accusations.

WHO'S GOT GAME?

Scenario #3:

Have First Class Agent Obama challenge Palin to a game of two-on-two basketball. McCain and her versus Obama and Biden.

Agent O has the edge as he can still shoot threes. Let's see if this Palin person can take it to the rack. Biden can easily take McCain. Unfortunate war injuries have made it so he can't raise his arms above his head, so Biden's got that covered.

Downside: She could play the victim of getting beat at basketball by Obama who is the political equivalent of Michael Jordan.

THE PRIEST

Scenario #4:

Introduce our most secret agent, "The Priest," to work his way into Palin's inner circle and convince her to go more "evangelical" with her extremist views on morality and religion.

Palin has a bit of censorship, piety streak. (As mayor of Wasilla she tried to ban books and fire the popular librarian.) She's no Libertarian. She's an uptight, "do as I say, not as I do," fire and damnation type.

The right player could EASILY push her over to the edge.

"The Priest" has been very successful at doing everything from getting Tom Cruise to derail his acting career to get Will Smith more roles to converting wayward black entertainers and athletes. ("The Priest" saved Chris Tucker's soul.)

The Priest is notorious for being able to get the so-called pious to commit major faux pas. Former Sen. Bill Frist. John Hagee. Former Archbishop Raymond Burke. Pat Robertson. That one really Jesus-y Baldwin brother. Almost every sexist, racist, batshit insane uttering in America can be traced back to the work of The Priest. He's a covert genius and our best bet at making Palin sound so insane that she will be unelectable. He'll have her quoting Revelations and calling for the stoning of prostitutes and Mormons by the time he's done with her.

I await your suggestions.

The Inuit Who Loved Me

It was just another day like any other day. Going to work. Picking up the kids. Keeping the snowmobile totally pimped out. I live a simple life. Quiet. I stay in the background. I'm nobody special. My wife, Sarah, she's the star. So I just hang loose. No one needs to know who I am. No one needs to know what I do.

And no one needed to know who I once was.

It was decades ago when I was recruited and seduced by a very aggressive, intelligent and covert secret agent. I knew her as Suzy Q. You probably know her as CNN's Suzanne Malveaux.

She said she had a thing for snowmobile racers.

I said, what woman doesn't?

It was lust at first Tesoro Iron Dog race.

She claimed she was in Anchorage on vacation. I was was young and foolish then, seduced by a life that would make me a covert agent for the Secret Council of American Negroes. I didn't know a lot about them, but I did know I liked having lots and lots of sex with Suzanne Malveaux, although it was hard at times to discern her feelings for me. Especially when she would take a phone call from the Washington Bureau without either putting out her cigarette or getting off of top of me. She would actually just talk like I wasn't there, ashes flicked down on my chest.

All business. Never personal, with Suzy. I couldn't tell if there was something real there or just head games.

SCAN likes to keep its nose in everything, including Alaska. Who cares if I could count the entire black population of Alaska on one hand? Suzy Q knew all she needed to know about me.

I was ripped. I was a rebel. I wore the Union label. I had a rocky relationship with the US of A and was part Inuit. If it was good enough for her, it was good enough for SCAN, making me their man in Juneau.

After lots of hijinks in the first few years, sometimes with Suzanne in tow, my role in covert ops faded into the background. Budget cuts kept Suzanne from traveling outside of the lower 48 as she covered political news in her day job.

I often thought of her when staring at the aura borealis or while moose hunting with Sarah. Every river and creek echoed her name as I wondered how many fucking kids me and Miss Almost Alaska were going to have already. And CNN? I couldn't even watch it. Hearing her speak in that dispassionate tone, reminding me of those nights we'd laughed over how she hated my moose burgers and how I hated her spraying everything with Lysol and hand sanitizers. Laughing at how I'd never read Chaucer or Dostoevsky or Octavia Butler or anything.

"If your wife ever wanted you to not to know something, Todd, she'd put it in a book," Suzanne said as she put on the earrings she left on the motel dresser in Anchorage, glancing over her shoulder at me for the last time.

"Is my skirt straight?" she asked.

I wanted to say something witty, but I knew I was out of my league the minute I heard her drop "antidisestablishmentarianism" in a casual conversation.

"Your ass looks awesome," I said. "It rocks."

She laughed. I couldn't tell if she was mocking me or not, but I was a simple man living a double life, in love with two women. I grabbed her arm and pulled her close.

"When are you coming back, Suzy Q?"

"Don't touch me," she said, walking away, forever.

Years passed. No word from headquarters. Alone masturbating to Suzanne subbing for Wolf Blizter on "The Situation Room" I get a call out of the blue. The HNIC wants to know what's my status. Can I report in and how soon. Something big is going down, I thought, but what?

Soon I was in Anchorage in an old hotel by the airport. I came alone. I entered under an assumed name and there she was.

"It's the governor," Suzanne said.
"The governor of what?"
"I don't have time to play ring around the stupid with you, Todd."
"Your ass looks fantastic."
"I'm not here for that. This is about your wife."
"Who?"
"Your wife Sarah ... the governor?"
"Sarah's the governor? No way. She's like the mayor or some shit."
"Sit down and shut up."
"Yes ma'am," I said excitedly.
"Sen. John McCain is going to pick your wife as his vice presidential nominee."
"Sarah?"
"Yes, Sarah. He has no choice. He needs a woman to make a go for the Hillary crowd and a staunch anti-abortionist to pacify his base. Tomorrow he'll be flying you, Sarah and your kids out to Ohio. She's going to accept. They always do."
"So what do you want?"
"I want you to do what you do best, Todd," Suzanne said with a glint in her eye. "Take her down. Hard. We're not taking any risks in Operation David Palmer."
"What?"
"Operation 'The Real David Palmer.' It's SCAN's mission to make sure Agent First Class Barack Obama becomes the 44th president of the United States. We have a mole inside McCain's campaign. He's been pushing your wife for months. He saw the success of the Democratic Convention as an opening for mayhem. An opening for your wife. Do you love your wife, Todd?"
"I dunno. I guess."
"It's a yes or no question."
"She's hot. Yeah, sure. Why not? She's fuckin' awesome."
"Will that interfere from us doing what we have to do?"
"Us?"

Suzanne pulled me down to the bed and sat next to me. She smelled like dusty leather-bound books and really expensive shoes.

"SCAN isn't leaving one stone unturned, Todd. Everything is fair game in Operation David Palmer. Including your family. If you're not up for it, let me know now. With or without you, it's going to happen anyway."

As she looked me in the eye and tried to sneak a peak down her blouse. My God. She was so hot when she was being serious.

"Is this about the whole 'Juno' in Juneau situation?" I said.
"Maybe?"
"Or is it about us trying to get my brother-in-law fired?" I said.
"Could be?"
"Or is this about us trying to get the librarian fired, books banned, me being in that Alaskan separatist party, that whole rumor our baby is really our granddaughter stuff? That stuff?"
"You know as well as I know, Todd, that all is fair in love and presidential politics," she said.
"And you and me," I said grabbing her arm. "Is this love or politics?"
She snatched her arm away ... again.
"The bitch is going down. Your mother is already on board. Are you in or out?"
"This is my family. I don't know."
"I have on videotape every sexual encounter we've ever had, including the ones in your marital bed, the mayor's office and on your snowmobile."
"You bitch. You wouldn't dare."
"You don't want to know how far I'd go for SCAN, Todd."
"Rat on your sister?"
"If she got in the way."
"Take out Wolf Blitzer?"
"In a heartbeat."
"Seduce Roger Ailes?"
"It's just a job."
"Was I just a job?"

Suzanne laughed, "Get to work."

And then she walked out, just like she always did, only this time -- no sex. I was mad.

But I did what she asked, what SCAN asked. I suggested that my daughter use the large blanket to cover herself and hold the baby, adding to speculation. I wrote the infamous DailyKos entry on our youngest being our grandson. I fucked up her Wikipedia page. I sent SCAN the pictures from the kids' MySpace pages.

Suzanne said it wasn't personal. It had to be done. This way the McCain campaign could be destroyed and my wife would "go back to where she belonged," by resuming life as she knew it in Alaska. There was no reason for a little political campaign to come between my permanent slacker lifestyle. She had nothing to lose, Suzanne told me.

Or everything.

Sarah was in over her head, but it never once occurred to her that this was all a game. How much a game I didn't realize until I met SCAN's "inside man" in the McCain campaign.

He was there, in secret, in Ohio. He was all too eager to meet me. He knew everything about me before he even opened his Cheshire cat mouth.

"You're Deep Throat?" he said approaching me backstage.
"I'm going by Redneck Eskimo," I said.
"Eh ... I'm going to call you Deep Throat anyway."
"I have to say I'm ... surprised?"
"That I'm working for SCAN?" he said with a smirk. "No one knows about it. I haven't told Ann or the boys. Nobody."
"It's just you're ..."
"A Republican? That I hate Barack Obama? That SCAN derailed my senate race a few years back? The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Todd."
"I thought you and John were friends?"
"God teaches us not to hate, but we practice it anyway. I figure that if we get Michelle hosting 40 ounce tea parties with Farrakhan and Barack ruining the country with his backwards Liberal policy stances voters will be looking for a son of Joseph Smith, the real American hero, me, to save their asses in 2012. I'm really, really, really looking forward to John McCain's demise. Really. Really, really. Teach that fucker to not pick me! SCAN and I had a deal. I'd become a double agent if McOld-As-Hell didn't pick me. Now I'm taking him down and his little bitch too."
"Dude. That's my wife."
"Oh ... um ... sorry."
"Why does SCAN trust you?"
"My father marched with Dr. King."
"No he didn't."
"He marched in spirit."
"You have no soul."
"You're stabbing your wife in the back in the hope Suzanne Malveaux will have filthy, sinful, premarital sex with you. Everybody's got their something."

It was hard to look Sarah in the eye, even though we were trapped in a suite at the Airport Hilton in Minneapolis-St. Paul for almost three days. I'd managed to ruin so much, with the help of Mitt in such a short time. My daughter was catching the brunt of it. You think that would have slowed Sarah down, but nothing stopped her. She was drunk on potential power.

She was pushing for the kids to get hitched. My daughter was looking to me for guidance. All I could do was turn the other way and watch Rome burn.

"They'll just get married," Sarah said. "It'll make it all right. Hands will be all clean. They just have to get married."
"But she's only seventeen ..."
"They're getting married, Todd! God, I swear! What is wrong with you? First your drunk mother tells the press she's NOT voting for me and now all these photos of the kids drunk on the internet? How is this happening to me?"
"Haters."
"Damn right, they are haters! This country is so sexist," she shrieked.
"Totally."
"I've come too far to put those 18 million cracks in that glass ceiling to go back now."
"I thought Hillary Clinton did that?"
"Hillary Clinton, me, Wonder Woman, who cares!" she yelled. "She's not running anymore. Those cracks are mine! I'm the crack queen of the RNC!"

So she thought.

Suzanne, taking a break from the trail to brief me on operations, met me in a suite not far from where anarchist protesters were grappling with cops in St. Paul. As we went through the motions she explained to me the many moving parts of Operation David Palmer. How even the Clintons, looking for redemption, had joined the fight once Hillary Clinton saw Sarah co-opting her cracks.

So many people were in on it. The protesters, Ron Paul, Jenna Bush, Angelina Jolie. The list went on and on.

And there was me. In the middle of it.

When Sarah practiced her speech I was holding Suzanne close, knowing both of us would be dead if anybody saw us. I asked her if she loved me. Suzanne just said it would all be worth it once the operation was over. Six months after the inauguration I would leave Sarah and she said she'd wait for me. But I knew she was lying. Suzanne and I will never be together because she hates the cold and I'm not Wentworth Miller and I don't even know what antidisestablishmentarianism means. I'm just some redneck Eskimo fisherman snowmobile racer from Alaska who made her laugh once when I bragged about the time I bitch slapped a polar bear.

I told her I'd be her Robin Thicke if she'd be my Paula Patton. But Suzanne was Suzanne in her response.

"Your fly is unzipped," she said as she walked away.

I nodded my head. So it is, Suzy Q. So it is.