"Politics is Boring." Grinned the president, pointing the big Smith & Wesson right down my nose. I just grimaced and gripped my teacup a little harder. "Intense George." He interjected, "George was my Father, just call me 'Dubya'."
"What about Junior?"
"That was his son-"
He trailed off and kicked the Playstation to the side then pulled some brass out of his pocket and offered them. I glanced over at our forgotten game on the screen. Politely, I nodded but refused all the same. "I could paint this room cherry in a second like this. I mean this is fun, ya dig? Exhilarating, that's the word for it." I glanced down at my Encyclopedia for a moment and my eyes widened- no, opened. "George- RUBBER!" His eyes mimicked mine for a moment, but all too late. "Shit!" The gun went off, mine and a thousand others' plastered those beige walls. Then the bullet went right through his foot, letting out the most disdainful of sighs. Brass his the floor. "Shoulda used rubber..." earnestly. The next comment was directed towards me in the most g00d-natured of fashions. "And you my friend, should have used protection."
And with all that done, jr. hobbled right out the door
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