WOULD adjust his hospital bed and place a call to an
old friend. "Bing? Its Gee Bee. Yes, it has been
a long time. Listen, Bing, Im in a bad spot. Doctor
says it doesnt look good. Chink doctor, smart guy.
The good news is Im going to need about eighty dump
trucks of weed to survive the next month. I know, can you
believe it? Im like, Hey, whatever you say,
Fu Manchu. Yeah. No, he didnt laugh. So, look,
Bing: you never let me down back in the day. Can you help
out your old pal Gee Bee? Sure. I think we can make that
go away. I know the guy who runs the IRS. Met him at some
thing I went to. Youre the best, Bing."
THE PRESIDENT WOULD check himself out of the hospital
and head home, where hed say a little prayer with
his wife Tipper. Theyd pull out some old photos and
get misty about days gone by, the good times and the bad.
Then Al Gore would roll the biggest goddamn fattie youve
ever seen. Admiring the bread-loaf-sized joint, Tipper would
run her fingers through Als hair and chuckle, "Still
a master of your craft, Albert Gore." "Honey,"
hed reply, "lets take a diplomatic meeting
with Ambassador Sweet Bud."