The president was to be summoned. An urgency of unprecedented magnitude was unfolding and his "top advisors" were at a standstill.

The best minds that America had to offer, could not agree on a course of action and pandemonium was beginning to set in. With all of their collective wisdom and combined training, nothing had prepared them for this latest crisis, and some were prepared to resign on the spot, while others were beginning to whine like little children!

A full-fledged revolt was in the making and history was about to be written, if only a pen could be found.

President Bush was enjoying a hot relaxing shower, and looking forward to 'Story Time' and a good night’s rest, when his most senior advisor barged into his bathroom and jumped into the shower with him. "I have a most urgent request, sir! And I was informed that it cannot wait. Dick Chaney said there isn't a moment to spare!"

"Dick!?" cried the president. There was an aggravated tone in his voice. "Is he okay? Is it his heart? His daughter hasn't run away has she? She's gay, as everyone knows, and Dick's been taking a terrible pounding---"

"It's not his heart, sir - or his daughter. It's far worse than that!"

"Well what is it?" the president demanded to know! "Don't keep me in suspense, boy, give me the short strokes ─ brief me!"

"I've been sworn to secrecy, Mr. President, I cannot breathe a word of it. Please, we must hurry," he said as he tore back the curtain and reached for the presidential towel.

"Give me that towel you fumbling fool," the president lashed out. "Where is Chaney? And how long will it take us to reach him?"

"He's only minutes away, sir. He's hiding in the basement."

"We don't say hiding!" the President hollered, "and we don't say basement! Have you forgotten proper etiquette and protocol?"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the aid, "he's currently residing in the bunker!"

"That's better young man…that's way better!"

"Rumsfeld and Rice and some of the newly appointed are with him and they're all holding hands. It's as if they're in the midst of an inferno, sir, and Caspar has bolted."


"Weinberger, sir."

"What was he doing there?"

"Special envoy as I understand it. Rumsfeld called him in."

"Has the Donald been drinking again?"

"Looks to be straight as an arrow, but he called Caspar out of desperation. He said he could foresee an impasse and he decided to muster up all the help he could get."

"Did he actually say 'impasse' or are you paraphrasing?"

"What he actually said, sir, if I may check my notes…yes, here it is, 'This could be a fucking scorcher!' is what he actually said.”

"I don't like the sounds of that."

"That's why I said impasse, sir."

"Should I bring some bring jellybeans?"


"For Caspar."

"Not required, sir, I told you, he took off like a jackrabbit right after the Donald whispered something in his ear."

"Okay! I've heard enough, what's going on?" the President demanded of his most senior advisor. "And don't give me any of that 'sworn to secrecy crap,' as if I didn't know how to break an oath. I'm not going into the bunker to talk turkey until I have some notes. I don't even know what the hell the subject is!"

"It's Emmanuel, sir," said the aid, "He has returned."


"Jesus, sir, ─ the Christ."

"Jesus Christ? Jesus of Nazareth?"

"None other, sir."

"What's up with our borders? How did He get in? Was it through Mexico or Canada? Don't tell me He walked across the water."

"I would if it were so, sir, but it seems He dropped in right out of the blue, as best we can tell."

"So much for NORAD. Remind me to put out an urgent request to spruce-up our missile defense system. But one crisis at a time. Do we have any idea what He wants? Have there been any demands?"

"No actual demands Mr. President, but word has it, I don't know how best to convey this…" and here the advisor stumbled for words.

"Go ahead, blurt it out as best you can. Time is precious!"

"From what I overheard, I think He covets the throne."

"I should have guessed as much," said the President. "Okay, let's take stock. If He got in, He got in, the damage is already done. We can't very well turn the clock back. Any ideas? Give me something to jot down."

"Well sir, I have given it some thought. You could tell Him that He has twenty-four hours to leave on His own volition and if He doesn't comply that you'll personally have Him thrown out. Remember how the Germans kicked the Moors out of Spain?"

"Brief me. Did they give them twenty-four hours?"

"I think it was more like a hundred years but time is not on our side, sir. We could use a similar strategy, just tighten the time-line and send Him packing."

"I wrote that down, but what if He balks."

"If it were a game of baseball that would be an illegal move, sir, and it would probably get you to first. But what we have here is more serious than our national pastime. Maybe you should propose a showdown and go mano-a-mano."

"I don't like the odds," the President said. "Maybe the Donald could put on his gloves and go toe-to-toe. I wish John Wayne hadn't passed away," he said with a remorseful look in his eye.

"I wonder what Johnny Carson would do, sir, if he were in your shoes?"

"Hardly a day goes by that I haven't asked myself that very same question. I remember when I was growing up ---"

"Actually sir, I'm sorry to interrupt you, but I had an underling call Johnny's office just yesterday. But Johnny's not responding or accepting any calls. All we get is his answering service. And sir! Look at the time! I'd like nothing more than to reminisce, but Chaney and the others must be getting a little hot under the collar by now and ---"

"Well taken," said the President, "let's get on with my notes."

"Where did we leave off, sir, I seem to have wandered."

"We left off with a showdown," the President said, referring to his notes. "I suppose I could suggest a dual at sundown when the Donald appears to be at his best."

"That may not be the best time sir."

"How about tomorrow at noon?"

"Why not midnight, sir? The Donald could take advantage of our superior technology."

"Yes, yes! Why didn't I think of that? Bring my night-vision goggles, the Donald and I have the same size head."

"Hold on, not so fast. He's not alone sir. I don't know that it would be fair to send the Donald in on his own. Perhaps we should send in some assistants."

"What do you mean He's not alone?"

"He has an entourage."

"An entourage?"

"Yes sir, he brought a few disciples with him."

"How many?"


"Is that more than a division?"

"Let me think for a moment, sir."

"What would Obi-Wan do, if only he were here?" the President pondered.

"Is that rhetorical, sir?"

"Rhetorical my ass, we need all the help we can afford."

"Perhaps we should just sleep on this, sir. What if it's nothing but a bad dream."

"This is no dream and you know it as well as I do," said the President and he gave himself a pinch. "Ouchie! Ouchie!"

Realizing full well that he was awake, and knowing that sending the Donald to do his battle when the Christ had innumerable support would be futile, the president stood and announced, "Call-up Hoss Cartwright, Dan Blocker and Jessie The Kid, then call-up Rodrigo and call him El Cid. Get the Clintons and Kenneth Star and let everyone out of jail! Deputize them all." And as an afterthought he added, "Are there any manuals on His tactics or His method of execution?"

"There has been plenty written sir, but I think it would be folly even if the Clintons were to join and I don't know how fast we could amass all the others?"

"All right, never mind them, I'll go this alone. Saddle-up my pinto. What's He riding? Did he bring His famous mule?"

"I wish it were so, sir, but word has just arrived from General Geraldo and he tells a different story. According to Geraldo, He was last seen on a stallion and He had a fiery sword in His mouth."

"Well I can fight fire with fire if that's the way He wants it. Bring me some water and grab me one of those Obi-Wan swords. Then stand aside, boy, I have work to do!"

And so ends another saga - and an outcome we will never reveal.