Untitled Document
The South Lawn
[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]
THE PRESIDENT: OK, you ready Sergeant?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Then let's roll!
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
[Begin Jogging.]
THE PRESIDENT: Well I'll be damned. You really can run on
them little boomerang things!
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: That is really cool, Sergeant. I can't believe
how you don't even need to put shoes on them. It must be nice not to have to
buy new sneakers anymore.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Hey, remember that day we met in the hospital?
The day you asked me if I'd go jogging with you? And I said yes?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Well I gotta admit, I figured that was just
another one of my bullshit empty promises. There were cameras in the room with
us, after all. I mean, here you were, all freshly stumpy, talking about running?
I bit my tongue so hard to keep from laughing, I was lisping like a fairy for
almost a week. You know what I mean?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Of course, when they told me this photo op
was actually going to happen, I was pretty pissed at first. I mean, look at
my big fat ass and beer belly these days; do I look like someone who still jogs?
I can't. My knees are totally shot. But Karl assured me that yours are too,
so it wouldn't matter.
Hey, watch out for that lump of Barney fudge over there.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Man, how cool is this for you? You're actually
running on the White House lawn with me! You're like, officially historicalistic
now.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: I'll bet this one half hour makes all the excruciatingly
pain of a severe trauma injury worth it – not to mention the months of
intensive care and getting to spend the rest of your life teetering around on
those robo-pogo stick things. Am I right or what?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Hey, can I ask you a question about the military?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: So after everything that has gone down in Vietraq:
there being no WMDs, no connection to 9/11TM, no post-invasion plan, no exit
strategy, and tons of you getting killed and having your limbs blown off...
most grunts still love me, right?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: And most still believe in the mission, right?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Even though we're totally losing, and nobody
really knows what the mission is – except for all that meaningless blah-blah
about FREEDOM®?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Awesome. It's exactly that kind of unquestioning,
brainwashed groupthink that makes me love combat units. Well, not enough to
have actually joined one in Vietnam. But still, you know what I mean, right?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Ooops – you OK? You looked like you almost
lost your balance there for a second. You sure you're gonna make it through
the full lap?
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Good. Because you know, I'm not big on those
metaphor things, but having you, a fresh-faced patriot who was needlessly mutilated
in my personal vendetta war against Saddam Insane, do a messy faceplant in front
of the White House with all these photographers around... Well... That would
be a real PR shit sandwich for me.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: In fact, fear of that is half the reason I
can't seem to wipe this twisted, tortured grin off my face. Well, that and I
can't decide if the sight of us together will make folks think I'm compassionate,
supportive and determined – or whether it comes off as a kind of grotesquely
ironic exploitation of an innocent victim of my mendacity and incompetence.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Shut up. That wasn't a question. Anyway, we're
almost at the finish line here, so you slow down and let me win.
FREEDOM®-FIGHTER: Sir, yes sir!
THE PRESIDENT: Good boy.
[END TRANSCRIPT]
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