“Impeachment is inevitable, I fear.”
If the president could have sunk deeper in the Oval Office sofa, he would have. Those were not the words he wanted to hear.
“Surely we can spin this? For Christ’s sake!”
“An unfortunate choice of words, mister president.”
He was annoyed. With the country. With those spineless twits and their backstabbing advisors on Capitol Hill. But mostly with himself. Why had he answered the fucking question in the first place? It had ambush written all over it. His approval ratings were at an all-time high: had that been it? Overconfidence? Arrogance even?
“So let me get this straight. Bush lies to the House in times of war and he serves two terms. Nixon remained in office for a full two years after Watergate. And I am to be impeached for… this?!”
“It is a contentious topic, sir.”
“I know that, goddamn it! I know that. But come one, this violates the most basic of human rights.”
“People seem to think they voted for you for the wrong reasons.”
“Firstly: if thàt is the only reason they punched the card, they fully deserve to be fucked over. And secondly: I never misled them.”
“You just didn’t tell.”
“I didn’t tell.”
“Like Nixon did with Watergate.”
“You’re trying to impeach me now as well, Jim?”
The president immediately retracted his accusation. He knew his Justice Secretary felt just the same way about the scandal that had succeeded in uniting Christians and Muslims, the Deep South and large parts of the coasts in their hatred against their Commander in Chief.
“You should not have answered the question, mister president. Any question. Just not that one.”
He shouldn’t have.
That fucking question.
Those five damned words.
“Do you believe in God?”
Did you enjoy this story? Then why not try the 101 stories in 300 words or less in YOU’RE GETTING SLEEPY, THE HYPNOTIST’S APPRENTICE YAWNED.