Recently, The One took a family (sort of) vacation on the Gulf Coast. Unbeknownst to him, Rahm “Mr. Charming” Emmanuel had arranged for The One to do a bit of fishing in the Gulf. PRS’s hi-tech microphones were there to catch the discussion.
The One: Fishing? Are you out of your goddamned mind? You know I hate this shit.
Rahm: Look. Your numbers are in the toilet, and, frankly, every time you open your mouth lately, the numbers get worse. This is an important photo-op.
The One: I hate the smell of these f**king boats.
Rahm: Jesus, I had the captain dump all the bait and spray the boat with Lysol. Work with me here.
The One: Are those cretins over there on the boat real fishermen? I don’t want them near me. They’re goobers and they smell bad.
Rahm: Not to worry; they’re actors. We got ‘em from the union.
The One: OK, so what the f**k am I supposed to be doing? Just sitting here with my line hanging in the water?
Rahm: Well, yeah, but looking interested in what you’re doing would help. It’s important for the photographers. Oh, now it’s time that you have lunch.
The One: Lunch? Great! I would like an arugula salad, sprinkled with a bit of feta cheese, with caraway seed dressing on the side. Oh, and a Fiuggi sparkling water, with a twist of lemon.
Rahm: Sorry. Lunch is a bologna sandwich on Wonder Bread.
The One: You must be insane. I don’t eat that shit.
Rahm: Dammit, don’t argue with me. The photographers are waiting to snap the photos and file them for tonight’s broadcasts.
The One: OK, bring me the sparkling water now; I’m thirsty.
Rahm: Sorry, Barack. It’s gotta be beer.
The One: Oh, the f**king optics again. I get it. I’ll have a glass of Pauwel Kwak Belgian Amber Ale, but the glass must be properly chilled.
Rahm: Sorry, but today, it’s Budweiser in a can.
The One: F**king optics?
The One: Holy shit! I think I’ve caught a fish! You didn’t tell me I was going to catch a fish!
Rahm: Well, not actually. We’ve had Simmons from your detail hanging under the boat in scuba gear for the entire trip out here so he could place a fish on your line.
The One: More optics?
Rahm: Damned straight.
The One: How soon will this shit be over?
Rahm: Just as soon as the photographers snap your picture eating lunch with the regular folks and then pulling your fish out of the water.
The One: OK then, get this shitshow moving. I trust that this is it for these bullshit photo-ops.
Rahm: Sorry. Next week you will be attending a NASCAR event.
The One: NASCAR? Have you lost your f**king mind?
Rahm: Again, it’s the optics. You have to be seen looking like a regular guy. Believe me; it’s important.
The One: Optics, my wrinkled nuts! How about next week you spend some time making sure your f**king resume is up to date.
Rahm: The sandwiches are here. Smile!