The continuing saga of Chef Mike and George W. Bush at Fat Burger; high as a kite and sitting in front of multiple pounds of hamburger.
(George W. Bush stares at his Triple King Burger. He shakes his head and rubs his eyes.)
Mike- Just eat it yo. You said you could handle it bitch. Don’t puss out now.
George- Michael, I'm a patient man. And when I say I'm a patient man, I mean I'm a patient man. Maybe, you know, I need to take this one step at a time.
M- Fine, step one. Put the muthafuckin’ burger in your mouth. Step two, chew that shit up. Step three swallerrrrrrr that bitch up. I sure you know all about swallllllllllleeeeeeerrrrinnnnn’.
G- And one of the things we've got to make sure that we do is anything.
M- What the fuck does that mean? Damn yo, I think you done smoked yourself retarded.
(George picks up the burger and takes a huge bite.)
G- Hamburgers. The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast. Ummm, this is a tasty burger. Mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to wash this down with?
M- You’ve got your own… very clever muthafucka.
(George has his mouth full.)
G-Whaaa?
M- Pulp Fiction… never mind.
(George devours half of the burger in two bites.)
M- Whoa, slow your roll G. You’re going to get sick putting that much beef in your system that fast.
G- When I take action, I'm not going to fire a $2 million missile at a $10 empty tent and hit a camel in the butt. It's going to be decisive.
M- That’s fine, but don’t get yourself sick. You’ve still gotta go to that fire shit down in San Diego…
G- Oh damn. Oh no. Michael, don’t make me go down there. You know, the thing about fire is… it’s bad. And I’m… too high. I know what I believe. I will continue to articulate what I believe and what I believe — I believe what I believe is right. Man, I’m high.
M- Don’t bug out bitch. Just finish your burger, nice and slow. Damn, I knew I shouldn’t let you smoke that much shit. Now, I’m responsible.
G- No one is responsible Michael. Its God’s will for the events of this afternoon to happen. I’m going to be fine. I feel better already.
M- Good, the tide’s finally turning.
G- I think -- tide turning -- see, as I remember -- I was raised in the desert, but tides kind of -- it's easy to see a tide turn -- did I say those words?
M- Fuck, we’re screwed.
(Suddenly, two Secret Service agents run into the FatBurger.)
Secret Service- We have to go mister President. We’re scheduled to be in San Diego in one hour.
G- You know, I don’t know. Do we really have to go down there?
SS- Yes sir. Its important, like Katrina. But with fire this time.
G- Michael, as my Secretary of Fire Stuff, what do you advise me to do?
M- I’m not your… fine. I advise that you go down there and speak to the people. Declare a state of emergency and tell everybody the whole thing’s sad. That should work.
G- Michael, you are a dear trusted friend. I will always remember this moment.
M- What moment? The fatburger you didn’t finish or the blunt we smoked?
G- What? What are we talking about?
M- You gotta run G.
G- That’s right. Goodbye Michael.
(George and the Secret Service run out. Mike eats his food…)
M- Shit G! How am I supposed to get home?
(Mike sighs and goes back to eating.)
THE END… or is it!?!?!?!?!?!
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