What the Obamas Like to Watch
Michelle Obama arrived home tense and exhausted. She had just flown back from Stanford after a volatile debate about whether vegans can eat buttercrunch lettuce even though it doesn’t have butter in it. “Just the name makes me feel unsafe!” a young woman had shouted, bursting into tears. Later, a Christian vegan spoke about the sanctity of life, demanding that people stop eating baby spinach: “It’s a partial-birth vegetable!”
“What a day,” Michelle said, as she dropped onto the couch next to Barack, who was anonymously filling out a People magazine ballot for the World’s Sexiest President.
“You know what you need?” Barack said. “Channel 45.”
“Oh, yes!” Michelle said. When Donald Trump won the election, the C.I.A., as a safety measure, had secretly installed cameras in all areas that would become part of the President-elect’s orbit. As a parting gift, the agency gave the Obamas access to the feed. Barack flipped to channel 45, where there was a menu of different locations. He clicked on the Lincoln Bedroom icon.
Jared Kushner was zipping up Ivanka’s dress.
“Oh, my God, I could scream! BE HONEST. This outfit makes me look fat, doesn’t it? Look at my ass. It’s like I’m wearing a booster seat!”
“Jared, please,” Ivanka said. “We can’t go through this every time you pass a mirror. You look great.”
“How can I? Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve exfoliated? Vonky, your father runs me ragged!”
“Well, he respects you.”
“With these shaggy eyebrows? How could he? But can I see my waxer? No, Thor has to wait till I straighten out the Middle East. O.K., I admit it! I’ve been stress-eating.” Jared opened a drawer and removed a baggie full of carrot shavings. He put two of them in his mouth and chewed, his expression a mixture of bliss and guilt. “If I keep bingeing like this, then by the end of his term I’m going to weigh a hundred and fifty pounds!”
Michelle took control of the remote. “I feel better already,” she said. “Let’s look in on Tweedledum and Tweedledumber.”
At Trump Tower, Eric scanned his phone as Donald, Jr., ate dinner. Don was just back from a safari and was wearing a T-shirt that said, “I WENT TO AFRICA AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS STUPID T-SHIRT AND THREE OF THE LAST REMAINING LEOPARDS ON EARTH.”
“Dude, you’ve gotta try this,” Don said, taking a bite of whooping-crane burger. “It tastes so much better knowing it might be the last one!”
Eric shook his head. “Do you know what your stupid-ass Russia move might do to us? They say Dad might, like, get impeached!”
Don stopped chewing, a small whooping foot hanging over his lower lip. “What?”
“Do you know what that means for us?”
Don nodded. “Yeah, it means he’ll come back and run the business! We can’t have that. These last four months are the first time since Grandführer ran the company that we’ve turned a profit.”
Barack took the clicker back. “Hey, it’s prayer time.”
He selected the Observatory Circle icon. Vice-President Mike Pence, in blue pajamas patterned with the alternating faces of Jesus and Reagan, was kneeling by his bed. At his side, Mrs. Mike Pence quietly strummed “Who Made the Beautiful Rainbow?” on her guitar.
“Dear God,” the Vice-President began, “please help America’s young people. I was on a Web site today and saw pictures of Justin Bieber skinny-dipping! Lord, if he ever does that again, please let me be in the water nearby so that I can grab him by his hard, perfectly rounded shoulders and tell him to stop.”
Mrs. Mike Pence began plucking “This Little Light of Mine.”
Her husband continued, “Earlier, I wondered if I have been too harsh in my judgment of President Trump, but then, in a meeting about our crumbling nuclear triad, he spat a pool of saliva on his desk, leaned over it, and said, ‘Guys, check this out! You can see my reflection! No matter where I go, I’ve always got a mirror!’ I knew then that my plans have not been in vain. Soon, I’ll be in the Oval Office, doing the good work You want done. No more abortions, a fifteen-per-cent corporate tax, and wedding cakes for straight people only!”
The Vice-President paused to answer his phone. “Yes, Mr. President. I saw those poll numbers. I was just praying about them. Yes, I do have an idea for how you can improve things. You need to tweet more.”
After the call, Mrs. Mike Pence was overcome with admiration. She considered throwing her arms around the Vice-President, but she desisted. There are only two reasons to put your arms around a man: to make a baby or to perform the Heimlich. So she blew out their chastity candle and said, “It won’t be long now.”
Michelle slipped her arm through Barack’s, the stress of her day gone. “Two thousand channels, every great mind in Hollywood creating the golden age of television,” she said. “Yet nothing beats channel 45.”
