Act II, Parody: Day in the Life of the Bidens.

Photo by Pixabay on

The scene is in the White House after Joe’s first press conference. Jill is ushering him back upstairs to the master bedroom for a rest.


Come on, Joe, lift your legs up the stairs so you can take your afternoon nap. One, two, one, two. See, that’s not so hard. You can do it.


But I’m pooped. Those reporters tried to confuse me by asking if I was going to run again. I just got here. Why can’t they let me be?


They will, honey, once they see how great you are for the country.


One reporter said I was decent and kind. I liked her. The rest of them were sick vultures. Notice how I ignored that tall freak from FOX. He’s a horse-faced, lying, pony soldier.


Good job, Joe. You’ll hear great reviews from the press tonight after your nap. Now here’s your pills and a glass of milk. Sit down and I’ll take off your shoes.

Joe sat on the edge of the bed while she loosened his tie, removed his jacket, socks and shoes. He slowly reclined onto the pillow.


Ouch! You touched my bruised leg. Be more careful!


Sorry dear but that leg looks nasty. Has the doctor seen it yet?


Yes, it’s just a laceration from the edge of those tricky steps. It’ll heal on it’s own. Do I have any more meetings today?


No, Kam’s going to handle those for you. You had a trying morning and need your rest.


Why do they want me to go to that damn border? I thought we gave Kamal that chore. When’s she going to visit there and get that creepy Cruz off my back?


She will dear. She needs to compile a Border Committee to go with her. You know, “it takes a village” to get anything done around here. She can’t do it on her own.


I’m beginning to wonder what she can do on her own. And she needs to stop laughing. It’s getting on my nerves. And could you ask her to wear a colorful dress once in a while? She looks like an usher at a terrorist’s wedding with that black tux she always wears.


Geez honey. I don’t think I’m up for that assignment. She scares me.


Me too. But we’re getting things done. Things are getting done. Like I promised today. I was hired to get things done. I’m bushed Jill. I’m really bushed. I feel dizzy. Can we watch Green Acres tonight?

He laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes. He fell fast asleep.


Again with the Green Acres? I’d prefer Murphy Brown reruns.

She broke out in song.

I just adore a penthouse view.
Dahling, I love you but give me Park Avenue.

She saw he was asleep so she got on the bedroom phone to place a call.

How long do you think we can keep this charade up? It’s starting to get to him. I think he knows. He’s bound to slip up and expose us for what we have done to the people. How long? People in our circle are even starting to talk. Yes, even Jay Tapper. I dread turning on Tucker, Hannity, or that bitch Laura tonight. Now we got that new guy Greg Kelly who imitates Trump talking.

She listened on the phone while nodding her head and swearing under her breath a few times. She then placed the receiver slowly down on its cradle so as not to startle Joe. She sighed after looking at him, then went to the bathroom to run the bathwater and poured in some bubble bath. She lit two candles on the side table, poured herself a hefty dose of red wine in a goblet, then disrobed. Jill slowly emerged herself into the wet heat as the bubbles surrounded her neck. She closed her eyes and made a deep sigh.

Ahhh…Please God, make Joe get better.

She took a large swill of her wine then broke out in song once again to Green Acres.

I just adore a penthouse view. Dahling, I love you but give me Park Avenue.

She slid below the water’s surface to melt her troubles away.

Blue pony soldier rug.

A Day in the Life of the Bidens in the White House.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s