This is an interview, not a story, that's why it's here.
Interview with Obama
by
Steven Hunley
Nobody knows about me and Obama. But with everybody else getting all the press out there I figure it’s time to leak a few secrets. The real goods, the genuine article.
The article I was writing about my interview with Obama. Some big cheeze wouldn't let it out, said it was too controversial. But I have the flash drive right here with the recordings. Made a duplicate before the CIA burned the original with a laser down in wherever is they do it. Phoenix? No, not Phoenix? Tuscaloosa? No, not Tuscaloosa. Where ever it is. Oh yeah, Langley.
Can’t say how it was all arranged. It’s still not declassified. But I can tell you this:
I needed an article and he needed to talk. We didn’t give a hoot about the cameras and tape recorders in the oval office.
Did I tell you about the time I want to Paramount Studios?
Saw Henry Fonda and Carl Malden dress up as 50’s dudes in the oval office, a set. They were sitting on stools in a corner. They looked funny in suits sitting in corners on stools, like they were errant school boys who needed a fools cap. The filament of one of the dozens of overhead lights was tinkling like an irregular turn-signal in your car.
The sound man was picking it up on the overhead boom. It was driving him nuts. So now they had two electrical technicians up on stepladders screwing and unscrewing bulbs.
People have no idea how hot it gets on sets. You’re wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a tie, and a suit! You’re the goddam President for Christ’s sakes! You’re sweaty. Mauldin and Fonda were sweaty in their suits, so were the guys on the ladders, whose faces were much nearer the lights.
It was going to take some time, more than they figured. Such stuff overrun budgets are made of, the nation has the same problems.
Forgive me if I digress. I’m a little nervous, I’m a little upset, and as usual, don’t know what I’m doing.
So we’re sitting in the oval office. He looks smaller than on TV, skinnier too. So do I probably, but I’m never on TV.
“Want coffee?” he says to me, with a gracious smile.
“You got coffee?”
“Oh, yes, we can get lots of coffee, what kind you want?”
“Columbian Supremo.”
“Can get. You know, we shouldn’t be trading with these guys. The cartels are nothing but cheap cocaine mills, but the coffee is always top drawer.”
You know, the guy was as gracious as an ambassador. He had skills. I was impressed. Skinny with skills. Kinda reminded me of myself.
“Mind if I turn on the digital recorder?”
“As Long John Silver once said in Treasure Island, “Let her rip.”
Oh, OMG, we both liked Stevenson too! Oh Jeez, it was getting better and better. If I found out he liked Led Zeppelin it would be a match made in heaven.
So now we’re doing the coffee thing. The manly coffee thing mind you,
"Not with the dainty cups we sip from when Michelle is around. None of that Royal Dolton, sticking your little finger up in the air stuff."
No, real manly coffee mug drinking. Serious stimulant intake and all that. The mugs all had United States flags on them.
“Hey, Prez, you know what?" He let me call him Prez after the first mug. “I named my daughter Michelle too.”
“Yes,” he said, and put his feet up on a hassock. He looked peaceful and relaxed, and wore a tender smile on his face. I knew he was thinking about her. She was the only calming force in his life.
"Michelle is my lifejacket on the U.S.S. Ship of State. If it sinks, she's my saving grace."
“I named my daughter Michelle after the Beatles song came out," I replied, "Because the French have such a well-developed sense of beauty. You’ve been there, you’ve seen the museums.”
“I find it the most romantic name in the world,” he admitted, and looked content.
The ice, as they say, was broken.
©Steven Hunley 2013
http://youtu.be/uj_FB7esygQ Michelle The Beatles
For security reasons the rest of the interview will not be posted until declassified. Probably next week!