The Nossiter Net
The net that shall enmesh them all
Edited, Written, and Published by Josh Nossiter
The Morning Mendacity
Monday, October 10th, 2005
The Nossiter Net is cast  to snare some of  the riper rascalities of the day.  Comments?  editor@nossiter.net
The Oval Office was unusually quiet.  President Bush swung his hand-tooled cowboy boots off the desk and flipped the intercom switch.

“Where in tarnation is everyone?” he asked peevishly.

There was no answer, which increased the President’s irritation.  He strode out into the Oval Office foyer.  The three desks, normally staffed with secretaries at all times, were empty.  Muttering under his breath, President Bush walked across the hall to Karl Rove’s office.  There was a note pinned to the door:  ‘In Chicago, testifying to the grand jury.  Will return… ?’

“Tarnation!” said the President.  He stalked down the hall to White House Counsel Harriet Miers’ office and threw open the door.  Nobody home.  It dawned on the President that he’d nominated his lawyer to the Supreme Court.  She was at that moment working her charms on members of the Senate.  Still muttering, the Commander-in-Chief continued his tour of the abnormally-still West Wing.  Flinging open doors and calling out names, the President peered into one empty office after another.

“Where’s my gal Karen Hughes?” the President grumbled aloud.  It occurred to him that he’d given her leave to return to Texas to spend time with her family.  After her lengthy sojourn in the Middle East talking up his universally hated foreign policy, she’d needed the break.  Speaking of which, he thought, where’s Condi?  Oh yeah.  On tour, talking up US foreign policy.

“Doggone it” said the President.  “Maybe I’ll call over to the House and see what old Tom Delay’s up to…  oh yeah.  Quit his job as Majority Leader ‘cause he’s under indictment.  Maybe old Fristy over at Senate will chat with me.  ‘Cept that, shoot, he’s in New York testifying about his stock sales to the SEC.  Cheney, now where in tarnation is Cheney?”

He returned to the Oval Office and consulted that day’s schedule for the Vice President.  Secure undisclosed location!  “Humph” thought Mr. Bush.  “Lookin’ for a little peace and quiet so’s he can watch Wyoming State football on TV.  Unless he’s having another heart attack.  Or more surgery.  Shoo-oot, there’s gotta be someone around here to talk to.  Isn’t there?”

Not ordinarily given to literary turns of phrase, something about rats and sinking ships popped unbidden into the President’s brain.  Beginning to feel a little desperate, President Bush considered calling Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld on the secure Pentagon line. A moment’s consideration made him veto the idea.  He never could make head nor tail of what Rumsfeld had to say anyway, and once started, it was hard to get him to shut up.  House Speaker Hastert was a bore, and Stephen Hadley, the National Security Advisor, was always nagging him about Korea.

In the privacy of this own thoughts, Mr. Bush didn’t give a damn about Korea.   “Nucular missiles aimed at the West Coast?  Let ‘em fire their darned missiles if they want to. The Left Coast always votes Democrat anyway.   It’ll serve ‘em right.”

There was  a knock on the Oval Office door, and Mr. Bush called out “come in” with undisguised relief.  A plump young woman with long black hair looked hesitantly into the room.  Something about her was vaguely familiar.  Nervous, she dropped some papers.  When she bent over to pick them up, the President’s eyebrows shot up at the glimpse of her black thong underwear.

“Ahem.  And who might you be, young lady?” the President asked.  Something about her made him uneasy, but, in the loneliness of the empty White House, it was a relief to have human contact of any kind.

“I’m the new White House intern.  Well, not all that new, because I used to work here.  When everybody else left, they re-hired me.  My name is Monica.  Can I do any little thing for you?”


©Joshua C. Nossiter, 2005
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