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Rated: 18+ · Fiction · Satire · #1083779
Strangely, GWB was doing cold-calls from his office one night [Dialogue 500 Contest Entry]
Winner of "The Dialogue 500 for 03/19/06
Prompt: A conversation with the President of the United States; dialogue only; 500 words or less
Word Count: exactly 500


“Uh, yes, hello. Am I speakin’ to a Roberto Gon-ZAY-less?”

“It’s Gon-ZAH-les. And, this is he. Who's calling?”

“Well, good evenin’, Mr. Gon-ZAY-less—”


“Whatcha said, fella. Anyway, Ricardo, this is George W. Bu—”

“It’s Roberto.

“Fine. Well, anyway, this is George W. Bush.”


“The President…”


“…of the United States.”

“Mr. Bush, I know who you are. What I’m trying to figure out is why you’re calling me.”

“The reason I’m callin’ is because I just wanna thank the American people for their support, especially the Mexican population, which—”

“Waitaminit. Did you say Mexican population?”

“I did. Why? Should I have said Central American? I get confused about those things, heh-heh.”

“Mr. Bush, I’m Cuban, and I think your FBI should know that.”

“…You’ve met my FBI?”

“No, I haven’t…I simply meant that your records should indicate my ethnicity.”

“Your ethnissewhat? Fella, you sound like you’re speakin’ a different language.”

“My race, Mr. President.”

“Well, y’all speak Mexican to me anyway, heh-heh.”

“…We all speak…Mexican?!

“Whoa, fella. Why are ya' bein’ so upset here?”

“…Mr. President, let’s just move on, please. My family is waiting for me at the dinner table—”

“Ooh, whatcha havin’ for dinner tonight?”

“W-we’re having pot roast and mashed potatoes.”

“Hmph. I’d-a thought you’d be havin’ tacos or somethin’.”

“And you’d think this because…?”

“Well…ain’t that what Mexicans normally eat?”

“Oh, forchrissakes! We are not Mexicans!! We’re Cubans, dammit!!”

“Now, wait just one darn cotton-pickin’ minute here, fella. You’re talkin’ to the President of the United States here. You can’t be screamin’ and a-hollerin’ at me like y’all are right now, now can ya? Do you know what kind of trouble someone like me can cause for someone like you? I’ve got the FBI workin’ for me, ya know? You’ve met 'em. You know how tough they are. Do you want me to sick ‘em on ya, fella? Huh, do ya?”

“…I-I’m sorry, Mr. President. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that. I’ve had a really rough day, and I...I just want to enjoy dinner with my family.”

“Well, I can understand that, Rolando. I’ve got me a family myself I hardly ever see.”

“I’m certain of that, Mr. President. And it’s Rober— Never mind. What is it that I can help you with?”

“Well, I’m just gonna be askin’ you a couple of questions, is all. I would appreciate it very much if you could answer them for me. Can you do that, fella?”

“Yes, Mr. President. I can do that.”

“Awright then. Let’s see now, where do you live again?”

“M-Miami, sir. Miami, Florida.”

“Miami, Florida…I see...now, exactly how close is that to the United States?”


“H-Hello? Hello? Rodrigo, are you still there…?”
© Copyright 2006 Sam N. Yago (jonsquared at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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