plays by madamab

THE SCENE: A swank TV studio, with all the zoomy, whizzy lights, giant flashing screens, deep-pile royal blue carpeting, poreless, lacquered newsbots, and hysterical black-clad assistants one could ever desire. We are in the back of the studio, in the glass-enclosed center of all the action. EDITORS 1, 2, 3 and 4 are all sitting in their leather chairs, directing the action by talking to each other, pointing at their MacBooks, and shouting into their wireless headsets. They are all in their 20's and have just been promoted after their more experienced bosses "aged out of the business."

EDITOR 1 (swigging a Red Bull): What's new on Twitter? We've gotta have something for the next segment.

EDITOR 2 (nervously): Let's see...Demi and Ashton just tweeted...

EDITOR 3 (yawning): Oh please. They tweet when they pee!

SCENE I: A busy urban street. Two middle-aged white men, BOB and JOE, are waiting at a stoplight, having a spirited political discussion. They have been friends for years and the discussion has the feel of ritual.

BOB: Look, I just don't trust the government to run my health care. In fact, I don't want 'em doing anything for me at all. I just want to live my life without government interference. What's wrong with that? Besides, the American health care system is the best in the world!

JOE (sighing): Oh, forgawd'ssake, BOB, give it a rest already. I wish just for once you could live in that Libertarian Paradise you're always talking about. I'd bet you'd be begging for government to come back in about half a second!

(The light changes. BOB and JOE start walking across the street, too absorbed in their conversation to pay much attention to where they're going.)

THE SCENE: Dick Cheney’s secret bunker, erm, house. It is lushly appointed in Modern Dungeon, with grey walls mimicking the look of concrete, medieval torture devices tastefully displayed in gleaming mahogany cabinets with recessed lighting, and an old electric chair given pride of place in a prominent corner. Pictures of Cheney with Nixon, Kissinger and other reviled figures of the American past are positioned artfully on the walls. There are some obvious empty spaces where the pictures of Dick and Dubya used to hang. On the mantle over the stone fireplace are family pictures in black ebony frames; the 75-inch flatscreen TV is perpetually tuned to Fox News. The whole place seems like a museum, and a rather uninviting one at that.

DICK is seated in a leather armchair by the fireplace, waiting impatiently, sipping on a bourbon and water. He is half-drunk, as usual. Finally, his wife LYNNE enters the room with another woman, in her early sixties, and well-put together.

LYNNE: Dick, here she is. What did you say your name was again, honey?

WOMAN: Mrs. Cheney, my name is Frances Wood – I’m here to help Dick with his book.

LYNNE: Well now, Frances, I think you’re going to work out just wonderfully. I’ll leave you both to your work. I just know it’s going to be a huge best-seller!

(LYNNE exits.)

THE SCENE: It's 3:00 (in the afternoon) at the White House. Fresh from his second workout (and fourth cigarette) of the day, an energized PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA sits in his private quarters with his Chief of Staff and closest confidant, RAHM (RahmBo) EMANUEL. The room has been overdecorated, butofcourse, in Louis XIV WannaBe.

As the lights come up, OBAMA and RAHMBO are relaxing and chatting in overstuffed, purple velvet chairs with  gold braid around the edges. It's time for their daily chore of listening and responding to OBAMA's messages on the Red Phone, which is so tricked out, it would look right at home on the bridge of The Enterprise.

OBAMA (with his trademark grin): Well, Rahmbo, are ya ready? Today's messages should be great.

RAHMBO: Fuckin' A! Can't wait to see how your "Balls of Steel" national security speech went over.

(RAHMBO hits "Play". The phone beeps and begins playing back the messages.)

RED PHONE (in mechanical male voice): Message One. From: Richard Cheney.

Note: Thanks to commenter jules, for the inspiration for this play!

THE SCENE: Buckingham Palace. HER MAJESTY QUEEN ELIZABETH and her consort, PRINCE PHILIP, are lying in bed in their elaborate, gilded suite. It's been a long day - they've just spent it with America's First Couple, BARACK and MICHELLE OBAMA. They are both exhausted, but not ready to go to sleep just yet. They are wearing monogrammed, silk pajamas with royal crests on them. Reading glasses and old-fashioned nightcaps adorn their royal heads. HMQE is reading The Guardian, while PP is reading OK!.)

HMQE (acerbically, putting down the newspaper): Any good pictures of Britney today, darling?

PP (absorbed): Hmmmmm?

(PP looks over at his wife, reads her mood, and puts down the magazine.)

(NOTE: This play was inspired by this quote from Dubya about why he's writing a book about his time as President:

Bush said it will be fun to write and that "it's going to be (about) the 12 toughest decisions I had to make." 
"I'm going to put people in my place, so when the history of this administration is written at least there's an authoritarian voice (emphasis added) saying exactly what happened," Bush said.

Thanks, George - and thanks, M3, for the quote!)

THE SCENE: A five-star hotel suite somewhere in America. (What - you thought he'd actually be at home, doing his job?) PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA and FIRST LADY MICHELLE OBAMA are sitting at a linen-covered table set with heavy silverware and a pink rosebud in a crystal jar, sipping coffee and discussing the challenges and benefits of Presidenting. A four-poster bed can be seen slightly behind and to the left of where the Obamas are sitting.

MICHELLE: Well, I think things are going great, Barack. You haven't had a Cabinet appointment scandal in a couple of days, and everyone seems to be getting used to the whole idea of spending hundreds of billions to fix Bush's mess. Plus, your speeches are still killing!

OBAMA: Yeah, and I have all this cool stuff that shows I'm the President! Air Force One. A nifty jacket. The White House. Man, this job rules! But there's one thing that's getting me down.

THE SCENE: It is 2108. The world is clean, lawful, peaceful, prosperous and well-informed. The struggles of the 21st Century are far behind us.

H/T to my muse, Pat Johnson at The Confluence, for the inspiration for this one!

THE SCENE: A fake Oval Office in a television studio. BARACK OBAMA is on the set of his half-hour infomercial, which will shortly be broadcast on all the major networks (except ABC). He is in the midst of completing the final take.

OBAMA (to the crew): Are we ready?

DIRECTOR: Yes, Barack. We finally got the teleprompter back up. That new techie over there took care of it.

THE SCENE: A game show set, modeled on "Jeopardy." The host, DREW CAREY, stands at a podium, behind which is a giant flat screen. It currently shows President Barack Obama's smiling face, with the Possum seal behind it.

Not a Pretty Sight

THE SCENE: A small Italian restaurant in the Village. BARACK OBAMA and BILL CLINTON have just finished their lunch and are smoking cigars and drinking espresso. It is September 11, 2008, and their first one-to-one contact since the primaries ended. Phoniness is oozing from every pore of both politicians. The theme from "The Godfather" is heard playing in the background.

BILL: Well, how'd you like the food?