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everyone off the scent. I start praising you and people wonder what the hell’s going on between us. That’s why all the ‘dithering’ and ‘He’s making us less safe’ ranting and raving. Are you mad at me?”
    Obama does appear to be mad now.
    “ ‘Mad’ is not the word, Dick. You are running my presidency from a room underneath the White House—”
    Cheney jumps in, “Not just yours, Obama-Rama. Remember, I ran Slappy’s, too. He started sobbing like a little girl on 9/11 and I took the wheel from there. Every time he got his courage up and asked to be included in a big decision, we’d tell him, ‘The grown-ups are talking,’ and send him to Crawford to clear brush for a couple of weeks. I know how that sounds, but trust me, it was better for everybody.”
    Obama speaks slowly and in a stern tone: “Mr. Cheney, I think you should finish that sandwich, go downstairs, pack up your things, and be on your way before I call the Secret Service.”
    Cheney lets out a hearty laugh. “The Secret Service?! Those guys love me. Besides, you’re not gonna tell anyone. You want the world to know you’re not really the president? Sure, let’s go ahead and give The Washington Post the scoop right now. Who should I call, Woodward or Bernstein? Come on, Bam-Bam, get real!
    “Plus, I ain’t going anywhere until my bacon and cheddar Hot Pocket’s done in the microwave. That is non-negotiable.”
    Obama concedes the condition. “Very well. You can wait until your Hot Pocket is ready.” The president folds his arms and stares at Cheney as the Hot Pocket rotates in the soft light of the microwave over his shoulder. Cheney smacks his gut, looks up at the ceiling, and exhales. “Sooooo, this is awkward. How ’bout those Bears! Butkus is having another good year, huh?” Obama remains expressionless.
    Cheney’s face lights up with a thought. “Hey, do you know about The Book ?”
    Obama shakes his head. “What book?”
    Cheney throws up his hands. “You seriously don’t know about The Book ? Oh, you’re in for a treat. Have you ever seen the movie American Pie with that babe Tara Reid?”
    Obama shakes his head again. “I have not.”
    Cheney breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, it’s a really terrific coming-of-age story. You oughta rent the tape. So there’s this part in there where the high school seniors pass down a book full of secrets and advice every year to the next class. Well, the outgoing class here at the White House does the same thing. It’s all in The Book . Just like in American Pie .”
    Obama is mildly intrigued. “Is Tara Reid the one who’s had the ongoing struggle with her personal body image?”
    Cheney points at Obama. “That’s her!”
    Obama nods. “Oh yeah, she’s very good.”
    Cheney ignores the microwave, whose beeping indicates the Hot Pocket is ready. “I think you’re ready to see The Book , Tommy Barama. Technically, you are a president, I guess. Even if you were born in some terrorist hotbed.”
    He walks toward a shelf full of cookbooks and pulls away two of them. He reaches into the gap left by the books and comes out with a beautiful, red leather–bound volume embroidered in gold. Cheney wipes away a thin layer of dust on the book’s cover to reveal the title The Book .
    “Here it is, BO: The Book ! Wisdom from all the presidents who have lived in this house. Unfortunately we only have the volume from the last one hundred years or so because that cocksucker Grover Cleveland took the first one home with him when he left office. You become the only guy to serve two non-consecutive terms and suddenly you think your shit doesn’t stink. The whole ‘I’m the twenty-second and twenty-fourth president’ thing went straight to his head.”
    Cheney hands the book to Obama and walks back to the microwave to retrieve his snack. “If it’s just the same to you, I’m gonna take my snack back downstairs and catch the lottery drawing. I played the Pick Six tonight with the