Dear Mr President,
Trixie Gavilan, Washington Correspondent for the Western Flicker (“We find the Hole in Every Story”), just filed this exclusive:
The Administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency, Scott Pruitt – Secret Service code name “Swamp CReature of the United States” or simply SCROTUS – was observed at midnight last night struggling to drag a king-sized mattress across the sidewalk to an Uber in front of EPA headquarters. The driver leaned against the car, arms folded, watching.
“I don’t do mattresses, Mac. I told you that,” he said. “Besides, that one’s a little funky. Somebody throw it out?”
“I got a deal from the Trump International,” SCROTUS wheezed, pointing at the tag.
A golden tag hung loose from one end. A torn-away corner partially exposed another tag underneath, reading MOSCOW RITZ–
Glancing up at the EPA sign, the driver said,“Some sort of toxic waste thing?”
“Not exactly. A history thing. Historic even.” SCROTUS was growing expansive, visionary, gesturing down the Mall. “This mattress is famous. Just like me. And it’s going to make me rich. First I’ll let Mueller have it, authenticate it, show it on TV. That’ll run the value way up. Then I’ll put it on display in Oklahoma City. $50 a ticket, $150 for a family. $500 for a whole Scout troop. There’s a market out there for this sort of thing.”
“Better make it an open-air market. Even in Oklahoma . . .”
“No sweat. I . . .”
“Sweat is not your problem, Mac.”
Ignoring the implication, SCROTUS, goes on, “After the FBI has done their tests, I’ll treat it with this special lotion I got from Ritz-Carlton.
“Then it’ll be all greasy. Even a Scout troop isn’t going to sleep on it then.”
“It’s not for sleeping. It’s for experiencing history. Close up.”
He gives the mattress another shove, scraping it against a fireplug. The mattress tears and out spill paper clips, staples, CDs, and 12 silver fountain pens.
“Perks,” SCROTUS says. “They owe me.”
Received by the White House at 2:22 AM, EST, 6 July 2018