"Howdee, Dick..."

On the U.S. President's desk in the Oval Office, a phone's red light urgentlyflashes. It's the signal for an incoming call. Only calls from deep inside thevast command-center redoubt known as Cheyenne Mountain come in on this line.Constructed during the Cold War, this hollowed-out mountain contains a virtualPentagon satellite-city built to survive a hundred years behind million-tonblast-proof doors.

The president gleefully picks up the receiver. He just loves gettingimportant calls.

"Howdee!"

"Mr. President, this is a secure line, so we may speak freely."

"Dick, you old son of a gun, how's it goin' out there, livin' under themountain an' all? T'aint getting' to ya none?"

"I'm just fine, Mr. President, don't concern yourself. You know, I spenta lot of time as a congressman with folks who live in abandoned missile silosand mine shafts.

"Anyway, compared to some of those places, this is just damn luxurious.The mountain's totally climate-controlled, and we have an artificial beach undersun lamps on the distilled-water reservoir."

"A goddam climate-controlled mountain! Jeez, Dick, I jus' gotta get onout there one of these days an' see that."

"Good idea, Mr. President, uh, er, of course, once the crisis isover."

"Crisis? Oh, y'all mean that there Osama guy? Don't worry none 'bouthim. He ain't goin' nowheres, an', I'll tell ya, the only damn climate-controlhis damn mountains got is two-thousand pound bombs re-arrangin' the lan'scape...(guffaw,guffaw)"

"No, Mr. President, the crisis I'm talking about is the next election.We have to get you through that looking the part of commander-in-chief."

"Oh, I get your meanin', Dick. Well, I'm a working on that, real hard.Ain't even thinkin' of another month at the ranch. An' I'm doin' jus' what yasaid for me to do.

"After dinner, I come back here an' jus' sit by the window for a while,wearin' my glasses, turnin' pages on one them big reports. Once or twice, Lauracomes in with a cup of hot cocoa to keep me goin', an' puts her arm on myshoulder jus' like ya showed us.

"Don dropped by on the way home from the Pentagon t'other night an'checked me out. He said I looked good, real presidenshul, in the window. He saidthe T.V. guys'd be eatin' it up."

"Wonderful to hear, Mr. President. Remember, nothing but liberal scum isgoing to vote against a seated president in wartime. I'll keep the war goinghere. You just keep sitting."

"Righto, Dick. Say, how they all feedin' ya down there?"

"I've got to say, Mr. President, the food could be better. It'sfreeze-dried rations. A lot of my survivalist friends swear by them and eatnothing but. They're okay for a couple of days."

"Dick, y'all want me to have some nice big juicy steaks flown on up fromthe ranch?"

"No, thank you very much, Mr. President, I'll stick to what the boys inuniform are having. Good mess-hall photos, sets a fine example. Anyway, theywent and sealed the blast-proof doors, and it's a major operation getting themopen again. Nothing gets in or out of here with those damn doors sealed.

"Well, you know, Mr. President, (chuckle, chuckle) it does have itsadvantages. They can't exactly serve any subpoenas for Enron, now canthey?"

The President enjoys a hearty laugh.

"Tarnation, that's right, Dick. I almos' forgot about that shit, sittin'here by the window an' all.

"Don't worry none, 'cause I jus' keep tellin' 'em we got ya outta harm'sway with all them damn terrorists flyin' 'roun' the country. An' I tol' 'em howall the head guys in them big oil companies never fly on the same plane or eventake the same elevator."

"Now, George, I mean Mr. President, you're not saying anything off thescript, are you? Especially nothing about a certain company?"

"Oh, shucks, no, Dick, I know better'n that."

"Good, Mr. President, just call Ari to check on any little thing you'rethinking of adding. He can always pass it by Don. Mark my words, Mr. President,sticking to the script's going to get us through this."

"Okay, Dick. So what else y'all up to down there, you ol' rascal?"

"The officers have an underground driving range and putting green, Mr.President, so the golf score won't suffer too badly.

"We get satellite feed right from the B-52s, so we're watching the boysgive all those damn turban-heads what they deserve. You can freeze the action,do re-plays, or move in for close-ups."

"Anything else, you ol' rascal? I know ya can't stick to serious stufflong."

"Well, Mr. President, we do have a couple of those special channels, ifyou know what I mean?"

"Shucks, Dick, I know egzac'ly what y'all mean. An' ya ain't got Lynnedown there, sniffin' out your trail.

"Mr. President, just between you and me, that is the part that's justlike a real vacation."

"I tell ya, Dick, she's havin' the time a her life out here, scowlin'an' spoutin' them goddam librarian pamphlets a hers at anyone that says thingsis less than hunky-dory!"

" 'Libertarian,' Mr. President, they're 'libertarian pamphlets.' "

"Well, still, don't ya go worrin' none 'bout what she's up to. She'sdoin' a hell of a job goin' after them no-good fifth wheels!"

" 'Fifth columnists', Mr. President, I think you mean 'fifthcolumnists.' "

"Shucks, Dick, I think I gotta go. I jus' seen the docs pullin' up outfront. I reckon they're a comin' to change the bandage."

"Excellent, Mr. President, that bandage locks-in the sympathy vote.America has already forgotten all about your pretzel caper. Joe Six-pack neverthought it was anything unusual anyway. But just the sight of a woundedPresident in time of war gives us an 80% floor-rating.

"Do you think you could ask them to just put the new one on a littlehigher up? I noticed it's not showing up on some of the news shots."

"Okay, Dick, what ya figure, 'bout half an inch?"

"That'd be just about right, Mr. President. And try not to spill anymore gravy on it. That's a real turn-off for some of the women."

"Gotchya, Dick. Be talkin' to ya soon."

"Thank you, Mr. President."

(John Chuckman, a columnist for YellowTimes,lives near Lake Erie in Ontario. He encourages your comments: jchuckman@YellowTimes.org)