In the White House master bedroom, President Obama tosses in his sleep after a late night snack of pepperoni pizza and chocolate ice cream. Images unreel in his mind: Scoring a game-winning basket…Bo piddling on the Oval Office carpet …and an unsmiling man in a double-breasted blue uniform who…

“General Washington?”

“Yes, you are…?”

“Barack Obama…No. 44…the new guy in the White House.”

“Oh…the White House. I never got to live there unfortunately. What can I do for you President Obama?”

“Call me Barack. If it’s okay, I’ll call you general. When I think of you I see you on a horse. Have you got a minute?”

“This is your dream, Barack. Knock yourself out.”

“Knock myself out?”

“That’s one of Nixon’s expressions. I’ve never figured out why anyone would want to…”

“Please, general! This dream could end at any minute. I need advice. The Republicans are filibustering my choice for White House gardener, there’s more corruption in the Afghanistan government than in Chicago, and I’ve gone stone cold with my three-point shot.”

“Filibuster…? Afghanistan…? Three-point shot…?”

“Never mind. I need advice on how to deal with some problems!”

“Problems…Problems. I guess not much as changed then, Barack.”

“You’re the Father of our Country. How did you manage to deal with the challenges you faced—defeating the British with a rag-tag army, shunning the temptation to be a king, and leading a new nation?”

“Well, the first advice I would give, Barack, is to be patient. Few nettlesome difficulties are resolved quickly. I learned that trying to break in a new set of wooden choppers.”

“Patient?”

“Yes. It’s too easy to get caught up in the turmoil of daily events. What seems like a disaster will appear smaller when seen in the rear-view mirror.”
“Rear-view mirror?”

“Odd expression, that. I picked it up from Reagan. Never have figured it out.”

“Taking the long view is a luxury I don’t have, General. I’m supposed to wave my magic wand and stop global warming, close out two wars, balance the budget when Congress keeps adding pork, and knock heads together for a Mideast peace!”

“Adding pork?”

“Never mind.”

“Barack, I don’t see how I can help you.”

“General, other than patience, what can you suggest? How do I deal with the Republicans? They listen only to the Tea Party and control the House of Representatives.”
“Politicians concerned with tea? How strange. We drank hard cider. John Adams used to have it with breakfast.”

“Forget the tea, general.”

“Well, I’d surround their meeting hall with troops, Barack, place them under arrest, and hang the dissenters.”

“What! I couldn’t do that! Why…”

“Kidding! I always loved a good joke. It really irritated me when Gilbert Stuart painted me as if I were sucking a lemon. Barack, politicians are like wives when you come in fresh from the stables and track you-know-what all over the floor. You’ve got to simply wait until they get tired of complaining.”

“And if they don’t stop?”

“Then buy them a pretty trinket or two.”

“Earmarks?”

“Is that what they call bribes now?”

“No. We call those anonymous campaign contributions. Earmarks are money politicians sprinkle at home so they can be re-elected.”

Washington sighs. “Little has changed, I see.”

“Any other ideas, General?”

“I would avail myself of wise counselors respected for their probity. Be honorable to friend and foe alike, act confident when you feel despair, and try for a good bowel movement every day.”

“Wow, those are great suggestions. I wish our talk could be on YouTube.”

“YouTube?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, it’s been nice talking to you, Barack. My bowling team, The Past Prime Time Presidents, is taking on Napoleon’s Oldie But Goodie Guard. If I’m late again, Lyndon Johnson has threatened to pick me up by the ears the way he did that beagle.”

“Thank you, General.”

“My pleasure, No. 44. Oh…I checked with Ford and he says you may fare better with your three-point shot if you plant your feet more securely after coming off a screen.”