The Adventures of Coolie Coolstein: Episode 47
Coolie was not at happy camper. At age 32 (an amendment to the Constitution had been passed, allowing him to become President at a younger age than any previous), he was filled with a deep yearning for his former cool and unmitigatedly random existence. “I Just want the old me back,” he confided to Brownstein, the only one he could completely trust.
“Well, Cool, you know what they say…” There was an uncomfortably long pause while Brown quickly tried to make up just the right saying. “You only live once, and not even that – if you aren’t true to yourself.” Brownstein the wordsmith!
Coolie’s brow furrowed; his ears wiggled; and his eyes crossed with the return of his old essence. “Yes,” he said. “I gotta be me.” He hesitated, considering a side trip into song, but thought better of it.
Forthwith, he walked down the hall to Mickey Mental’s office. “I’m reisigning. ASAP.”
“No way,” said Mickey cleverly.
“Way,” said Coolie over his shoulder. His next stop was the First Lady’s office. Blue was having a mani-pedi (she was always having a mani-pedi…), so he waited.
“I’m resigning,” he said sans intro.
“You’re redesigning?” She heard want she wanted to hear, not what he said. It was a staple of their relationship.
About twenty Abbott and Costello minutes later, Blue had her first ever hissy fit. “I don’t want to stop being First Lady! This isn’t fair! You are being selfish and VERY UNCOOL!” Those were the most cutting words she could say, and they hit their mark. Coolie actually fell back from the blow, went down on his butt, and sat there looking up at her divine countenance.
“I know you hate this, but when you really understand, you’ll see I have no choice. I’ll wait until the day after tomorrow, after the landing.”
“FLIP the landing!!” (Coolie couldn’t even catch his breath; she cursed!!) “What about MEEEEEE????”
“Well, you can come along on my adventures, just the way you always did. Didn’t we have fun?”
“Fun, shmun. I’m past that now. I have POWER. When I use orange mascara, EVERYONE uses orange mascara. Don’t you see, you’re taking me back to a time when I was just a girl. No one special.”
With the continuous looping echo of “fun, schmun” ringing inside his brain, Coolie fled. He knew he should just be cool with it, but it was too much!
He ran back inside the Oval Office (which was in the process of being reshaped into a Rubik’s Cube – much cooler) and hid under The Desk. The prospect of losing Blue was starting to eat away at his resolve. With a pro forma knock at the door, his secretary, Angelina Folie – a once-famous actress and beauty queen, now just a well-groomed bag o’ bones – entered. She was used to President Coolstein’s occasional flights into the bizarro world, and kept her eyes front and center.
“Your two o’clock is here, the Vice President.”
“Who?”thought Coolie. “Who was it that I picked for that thankless task? And who is about to become the next President of these United States?”
Laboring under his recently augmented 350 lbs, in trundled Racky (short for The Raconteur) Rakkoon. His uninterrupted chatter filled the airspace. “You wanted to see me? Well, I’m here. As if I could ever be anywhere else – if you get my drift. It’s a beautiful day outside, have you been out? No, you’re doing the people’s work, and can’t just frolic. I’m such an admirer, you know, and it occurs to me that…”
Coolie leapt up from his hidey hole and screamed – in the coolest possible way – SHUT THE FREAK UP, Racky!”
“Oh, was I talking?” There were leftover eyes rolling in the corners of the office. Anyone with half a brain, and that certainly qualified the leader of the free world, would have thought, “This moron is going to be the President? Really?”
But, as Coolie mentally reassured himself, America had been through worse. “I’m resigning,” he stated with as much of that old sangfroid as possible.
Racky began to do what could only be described as a happy dance, all the while singing: “I’m the Pres., call me Mr. President. I’m gonna sleep in the big bed. I’m going be the first resident.”
The plan (the one that Coolie didn’t yet understan’ – get it? Plan. Stan.) was unfolding. And the central element would be about Coolie’s real father, someone he had never met.