President Obama, Meet Mickey Rourke

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In which our president gets a much-needed kick in the ass from America's premier thespian.

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Chris Robbins | August 26, 2011

We don't have 9.5 weeks to save this country, <a href="http://www.artprints.com/-ap/9-1-2-Weeks-Posters_p293235_.htm">via</a>

We don't have 9.5 weeks to save this country, via

While the state of the economy remains perilous and a hurricane prepares to bear down on the already battered psyche of a wounded nation, President Obama is wrapping up his nine-day stay Martha's Vineyard, where he has played golf, “schmoozed” with friends, and caught up on his reading. Thanks to a J. Edgar Hoover-era surveillance camera at the vacation home, we witnessed the President getting a special visit from the country's greatest actor; one that may forever change the course of history. What follows is a raw transcript of the encounter, that perhaps schoolchildren will one day be forced to memorize.

PRESIDENT OBAMA IS SITTING ON THE PATIO. HE PUTS DOWN WARD JUST'S RODIN'S DEBUTANTE ON A COFFEE TABLE NEXT TO HIM

OBAMA: *Groans* I knew I should have just brought my US Weekly. *Shouting* Reggie! Where's my electronic cigarettes? Reggie?

DOOR OPENS

REGGIE LOVE: Mister President?

OBAMA: Where are my e-smokes? I got one of those e-cravings.

REGGIE LOVE: Ha-ha, sir! Damn, you get me every time with that one. I'll grab them. But right now there's someone here to see you.

OBAMA: Oh, come on now Reggie.

REGGIE LOVE: It'll just take a second, mister President. We think it's important.

OBAMA: Every second of this vacation is–Mickey Rourke?

MICKEY ROURKE: Howsit hangin' Barry.

OBAMA: Um, fine! Heh, wow. Just great! You know–enjoying my vacation. Hey, you were great in The Wrestler and Iron Man 2.

MICKEY ROURKE: Thanks.

OBAMA: And you look great! The last flick I saw you in though, you looked like some sort of stocky, Navajo woman. You know, that movie where you were a trumpet-playing drifter, and Megan Fox was a freak-show attraction? Man…

MICKEY ROURKE: Yeah, I know.

OBAMA: What was that movie called? I remember seeing the DVD cover and thinking, “Hey, what the heck? It's got Bill Murray!” But he made it way, way worse. It was like watching a horse getting shot or something, because of their big, expressive eyes–I mean, you had this constant expression of boredom and pain when you were facing the camera, which wasn't often.

MICKEY ROURKE: Mmm-hmm.

OBAMA: And actually, one of Spain's diplomats did shoot himself after watching it. Shot his whole family too. Used his own blood to scrawl “P-L-O-T” on his refrigerator. Yeah, I had quite a geopolitical mess on my hands. Man, what was the name of that–

MICKEY ROURKE: PASSION PLAY. IT WAS PASSION PLAY.

OBAMA: Right right, I'm sorry. And what about that one you did with Chris Walken back in the day? Homeboy, was it? My law school buddies and I used to watch it and drink every time you curled your lip up like a stroke victim.

REGGIE LOVE: Oh, and mister Rourke, why was Harley Davidson and the Marlboro Man set in 1996? I mean, there's like, spaceship cars and shit flying around but it's only 5 years in the future from when you–

MICKEY ROURKE: Hey, got some real fans here, real fans. Mister President I need to speak with you about something in particular.

REGGIE LOVE: I'd better go spraypaint Bo's stomach. EXITS

OBAMA: Well, Mickey, I uh, what can I do for you? Need some signed 8 x 10 glossies? Want to feed me some strawberries in front of the fridge? I do a mean Kim Basinger.

MICKEY ROURKE: Mister President, you're a fucking pussy.

OBAMA: I'm sorry?

MICKEY ROURKE: I know this is hard sir, but I'm here to help. You're a goddamn coward, alright?

OBAMA: Are you saying–

MICKEY ROURKE: You're a yolk-feathered chicken. A priggish poltroon. The Milquetoast Messiah.

OBAMA: Well.

MICKEY ROURKE: You're a shoe I wouldn't shit in, mister President. And I bet you even fuck with your socks on.

OBAMA: Hey now, that's–

MICHELLE OBAMA: *Shouting from inside house* Oh yes he does!

MICKEY ROURKE: From your debt-ceiling fiasco to the half-assed health care reform, you've been nothing but a letdown. You refuse to hike taxes on your Wall Street pals meanwhile the government can't print enough food stamps. Your campaign for government “transparency” is a joke, and so is the idea that you project “cool.” You're not cool, you're flaccid. You wanna know who's cool? You wanna know who's NOT flaccid? Me. And probably Hillary, she looks hard 24/7.

OBAMA: OK, but—

MICKEY ROURKE: Oh, and what's that pathetic new campaign slogan?

OBAMA: Winning the Future.

MICKEY ROURKE: Right right, “Winning the Future.” My buddies and I play a game where every time we hear that phrase, we take a drink and then slap a bald eagle in its face, because that's pretty much what you're doing by trying to sell that crap to the American people. We've been through sixteen fucking eagles since your inauguration, mister President. Tito can't breed 'em fast enough.

OBAMA: Listen, Mickey, governing requires compromise. It requires sacrifice. You have to choose your battles wisely. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. If you think about it, the arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice. Now I believe if you'd just give me a little more time, we can get there. We can accomplish what we set out to do when I first ran. And it is my solemn promise, that–are, are you eating a sandwich?

MICKEY ROURKE: *Chewing* Omn, mmyeah, yeah. Sorry. I needed something to wash down all the BULLSHIT with. Now I've been to the top, brother. Back in '84 I spun gold right outta my ass. But I've hit rock bottom too. The point is, I came back. And you can come back too. You just need some piss in your blood. Know what your problem is?

OBAMA: I'm not centrist enough?

MICKEY ROURKE: You don't know when to take a stand.

OBAMA: That's not true.

MICKEY ROURKE: *Lights cigarette* No, you don't. Even I don't say “yes” to every script that I'm handed. Just because they'll put a pinball machine in my trailer and strap cute little bacon-dispensing backpacks on my dogs doesn't mean that I'll always agree to act in heaping pile of shit. You gotta draw the line somewhere (ED NOTE: This may not be true).

OBAMA: I don't think I follow you.

MICKEY ROURKE: Say, d'ya want a drag of this cigarette?

OBAMA: No, no I can't. Really. Thank you.

MICKEY ROURKE: Aw, come on. Loosen up.

OBAMA: Fine, yeah, you're right. Sure, I'll take a–

OBAMA REACHES FOR CIGARETTE

MICKEY ROURKE: Nope!

MICKEY ROURKE PUNCHES OBAMA IN THE MOUTH

OBAMA: AH GEEZ, MICKEY!

MICKEY ROURKE: See? You think I'm just gonna hand you something? You think I'm your friend?

OBAMA: No, but–

MICKEY ROURKE: What kinda hat is this?

MICKEY ROURKE TAKES OFF OBAMA'S HAT

OBAMA: Vineyard Vines, it was a gift from the mayor of West Tisbury.

MICKEY ROURKE PULLS OUT LARGE ELECTRIC CLIPPERS, PULLS DOWN PANTS

OBAMA: What are you– BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

MICKEY ROURKE: *Yelling over razor din* Trimmin' the purple bassoon! Needed something to catch the clippings! Christ, look how matted they are!

OBAMA: DAMMIT MICKEY I'VE HAD ENOUGH.

RAZOR FALLS SILENT

MICKEY ROURKE: Oh, yeah? How 'bout you reach down in your hat and grab some fluff to plug your divots on the links? I hear you can't hit a–

OBAMA PUNCHES MICKEY ROURKE IN THE JAW

OBAMA: Now give me that fucking cigarette.

MICKEY ROURKE: *Licking blood off lips* Mmm boy, that's better.

MICHELLE OBAMA: What the hell is going on out here? Barack are you smoking again? Thank God.

OBAMA: Baby, I'm back. Cancel tonight's screening of The Smurfs–we're flying to DC. Thank you, Mickey.

MICKEY ROURKE: No problem. Oh, and one more thing. About Passion Play, do you think you could–

OBAMA: Destroy all the physical evidence of its existence and quietly murder everyone who saw it, effectively erasing it from the annals of history?

MICKEY ROURKE: Yeah. OBAMA: You got it, pussy.

UPROARIOUS LAUGHTER

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