Dykes on Bikes: Episide 2: Black Man in the White House

( On August 30, 2007, following the publication of a New York Times article directly slandering Hillary Clinton, a mob of angry feminists stormed the Times headquarters and killed every employee inside. The violence further escaladed across America, with women of all ethnic backgrounds and sexual orientation taking to the streets for vengeance against “those Men.” By December of 2007, the Women’s Liberation Front (WLF) declared Cheyenne, Wyoming their capital city. Along with this came the revelation of Hillary Clinton as a closet lesbian and white supremacist; she rose among the ranks to the position of “Head Bitch” of the WLF.)

The following events take place in the Presidential Office of the White House, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington D.C.

February 2, 2008

“ Ground Hog’s Dog”

3:45 P.M. Eastern Standard Time

(The President of the United States, David Jackson, is in an emergency meeting with his Secretary of Defense, Carl Sueter, his Secretary of State, Peewee Jerkins, and his wife, Barbara Jackson—as well as various other important cabinet members.)

Jackson: Damn it, Peewee! For the last time, I must know the meaning of that message!

Peewee: We’re doing all we can, Mr. President.

Jackson: This is of utmost importance. Will we have another 6 weeks of winter? Think of what this could mean for my golf trip to Maine! You can’t play golf in the fucking snow!

Peewee: Yes, sir. Our best men are trying to decipher the message as we speak. It would help if we hadn’t lost every single record of Groundhog’s Day that ever existed. And the men, sir, well…we just can’t remember if seeing his shadow meanswinter or spring is coming.

Jackson: Have we tried to question this character, this “Puxatony Phil?”

Peewee: Yes sir. He won’t talk.

Jackson: Damn it to hell! It must be the work of those goddamn feminists.

Carl: Sir…we’ve been meaning to talk to you about-

Jackson: What was that, Carl? I can’t hear you. That was sarcasm for shut up.

Peewee: (clearing his throat) What he means to say, sir, is that the Women’s Liberation Front has grown to be something of a problem. I don’t think they can be ignored any longer.

Jackson: Oh, you’d better believe they can. Let me ask you something, Peewee. When you do something that pisses off Mrs. Jerkins—for example, peeing with the toilet seat down—and she starts to give you a tongue lashing, what do you do?

Peewee: I ignore her, sir.

Barbara: (angrily) David!

Jackson: But that’s exactly my point. Listen, these women don’t actually want anything to change. They just need a bit of time to blow off some steam and get through their periods. This is nothing to worry about.

Peewee: I beg to differ, sir. Our latest intelligence report places the death toll of American men at thirty-three thousand, with eighty thousand wounded.

Jackson: Good God! Are you serious? Why the hell are these women so pissed?

Peewee: Something to do with eight centuries of oppression, sir.

Jackson: Ugh, not that again. Well? What do they want from us?

Peewee: Actually, I have a list of demands from their leader, Hillary Clinton—codename “Iron Tits.”

Jackson: To hell with the goddamn list! Get her on the phone.

Peewee: I’m sorry, sir. She refuses to talk to you.

Jackson: What? Why?

Peewee: Because you’re black.

Carl: That’s preposterous! Miss Clinton was a democrat and a liberal before—

Jackson: Carl, shut your fucking trap, for fuck’s sake!

Carl: Sir! Permission to speak freely?

Jackson: No! NO, Carl. Read my lips: Nooooooooo. Sit down. Good. Now Jerkins, read me that list of demands.

Peewee: (clearing his throat) The Constitution and Declaration of Independence must be revised, so that every word “man” is replaced with the phrase “women, the superior sex.”

Jackson: Done. Next?

Peewee: Vatican City must release a formal statement admitting that the Bible was written by “sexist heathens,” and that Jesus was, in fact, a woman.

Jackson: I’ll talk to Ben and see what I can do. Next.

Peewee: All public restrooms must be desegregated. Bottles of both lotion and hand sanitizer must be provided from a dispenser-

Jackson: Whoa! Hang on there, Jerkins. What the hell did you just say?

Peewee: Kim Jong-il looks like that Chinese guy, Jiang Zemin?

Jackson: That was yesterday, you twat! I’m talking about ten seconds ago.

Peewee: Desegregating public restrooms? Well, sir, I think she has a very valid point. We clearly have separate facilities marked “ Women.”

Jackson: But…but that’s for their own privacy! What good is a unisex bathroom? Women can’t even use urinals!

Peewee: That brings me to her next demand, sir. All men must pee sitting down. Anyone caught standing up will have his legs taken from him.

Jackson: That’s ridiculous! Isn’t that ridiculous, Barbara?

Barbara: Not as ridiculous as me sitting in your piss, David.

Jackson: (sighing) Very well. We’ll work on that point. What’s next?

Peewee: A national holiday on January 29th—Oprah’s birthday.

Jackson: Done. Next?

Peewee: Last one, sir. ESPN, of the cable and pay-per-view variety, must hereby be banned from existence.

(Office erupts into pandemonium): “ I object!” “ Don’t do it, sir!” “ That’s insane!” “Why don’t we stick our dicks in a meat grinder while we’re at it!”

Jackson: (furiously) Christ, was that Carl I just heard? Tell me that wasn’t Carl Sueter who just spoke. Was it him, Jerkins? CARL! Shut…your…fucking…mouth!

Peewee: Sir? General “Iron Tits” is waiting for our reply.

Jackson: Tell her that we refuse! Tell her that the United States of America does not negotiate with women. Tell her that we know about her and Martha Stuart.

Peewee: And if she threatens to succeed from the Union, sir? May I remind you that, without women, it will be impossible for men to have families and to procreate.

Jackson: Maybe with American women, it would be impossible. But why not do the same thing we do every time we’re in a fix—use the Chinese.

Peewee: Sir, are you suggesting that we—

Jackson: Yes, Peewee. I want a shipment of one hundred thousand Chinese women, paid for in cash, green cards provided.

Peewee: But sir, isn’t that unethical?

Jackson: More unethical than what the Chinese do to them? More unethical than clothes -hanger abortions and illegal immigration? More unethical than genocide, infanticide, and human experimentation in concentration camps?

Peewee: Sir, I believe those last few concerned Germany in the 1940s.

Jackson: My point, Jerkins, is this: We are the United Fucking States of America. If we want one hundred thousand Chinese women, our money had damn better get them.

Peewee s: But is it wise to leave WLF unharmed? Sir, that may be encouraging them resort to greater violence to get our attention.

Jackson: (exasperated) Damnit man, they want to take ESPN from us! Do you even understand the implications this may have on our entire country? No more NASCAR. No more Ultimate Fighting. No more football—my God…don’t you understand, Jerkins? It’s…it’s sheer brilliance!

Peewee: I’m not sure if I follow, sir.

Jackson: By taking away everything that defines manliness, Clinton will slowly be turning us…into them!

Peewee: Into women, sir?

Jackson: Yes! Think about it. Don’t you remember the Rosco experiment last year? Don’t you remember what happened to that man when he was deprived of sex, television, and beer for six months?

Peewee: (realization dawning on his face) …oh my God…

Jackson: Yes, Peewee…his penis shriveled up and inverted into a vagina.

Peewee: Jesus…but sir, what can be done?

Carl: Let the military take action against them, Mr. President.

Jackson: Barbara, can you shut the window please? There’s something dying outside and it smells like shit. Wait, no, it’s only CARL’S FUCKING UNWANTED ADVICE!

Peewee: Sir? May I suggest that the military takes action against these women?

Jackson: But…that’s barbaric. You can’t hit a woman!

Peewee: I understand, sir, but extreme times call for extreme measures. Our spies discovered that the Women have created some sort of monstrous new machine, known only as “The Stretcher.” We don’t quite understand how it works, but it had a notecard taped to it which read: “ Now every man will feel the pain of childbirth.”

Jackson: OH….MY…GOD!

Peewee: Yes, sir. Here, take a look at these pictures.

Jackson: (squints closely) That looks like a black man’s penis.

Peewee: Exactly, sir. Except that’s no man, that’s Oprah Winfrey.

Jackson: (paling) Oprah Winfrey…a closet transsexual? But…but…that means…CARL! I can see you looking over my fucking shoulder! I swear to God if that’s your boner poking my leg—

Carl: Mr. President, I’ve had enough of these crude homosexual references! I demand to know why I’m being singled out with this kind of treatment.

Jackson: You want to know, Carl? Do you really want to know? Fine. Remember three years ago, when we were golfing in Hawaii, and we had one too many beers? We stopped by at the clubhouse to use the restroom after nine holes. The whole bathroom was empty, Carl. EMPTY! And you picked the urinal right next to mine, you cock jockey!

Carl: Sir, I have no idea—

Jackson: Shut up! Jerkins give this man the picture of Oprah’s penis and dismiss him. I never want to see him again.

Peewee: (after escorting Sueter out) Sir, what shall we do about the women?

Jackson: If they want a war, we’ll give them a war! We’ll start right here, right now. What we need to do, first, is make an example on national television. You listening, Jerkins?

Peewee: Yes, sir?

Jackson: Take my wife Barbara outside and crucify her.

Peewee: I’m sorry?

Barbara: What?

Jackson: You heard me. Crucify her. Crown of thorns and everything.

Barbara: Are you insane?

Peewee: I’m afraid we can’t do that, sir.

Jackson: Why the hell not? I’m the President of the United fucking States.

Barbara: DAVID! We’ve been married for twenty five years! We have three children together!

Jackson: That reminds me, Peewee. Find me daughter Susan and crucify her, too. Every man must suffer in this campaign. Why should I be different?

Peewee: Sir, I’m not going to crucify anyone.

Jackson: Well then, just shoot them. Between the eyes. Or hire a gunman or something to inject them with—what is it called?

Peewee: Murder, sir. It’s called murder in the first degree.

Barbara: (sobbing) David, stop! Please, stop!

Jackson: Ah well, just forget about it then. Aww, come on, Barb; it would have been for the good of the country. Jesus, you take everything so personally.

Barbara: (still crying) I want a divorce, David.

Jackson: Hell, no. Not while I’m President. Mr. Jerkins?

Peewee: Yes, sir?

Jackson: Contact Hillary Clinton. Tell her that we refuse her demands. Tell her that America takes will not take shit from anyone.

Peewee: But sir, we have no experience in the matter of suppressing women.

Jackson: We may not, Jerkins, but there are others who certainly do. Get me…………………………….Iraq.

(Later that night, in the President’s bedroom.)

Jackson: Barb, come on. Are you going to ignore me forever? Come on. Coooommee oonnn. Mr. Mustaffolees wants to play…

Barbara: I’m not in the mood tonight, David. Goodnight. (turns over)

Jackson: Ugh, fine. (Stretches back on the bed) Fucking feminists.

WILL BARBARA EVER FORGIVE HER HUSBAND FOR TRYING TO CRUCIFY HER? WILL HILLARY CLINTON PUT ALL MEN THROUGH THE PAINS OF CHILDBIRTH? ANDS WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL BEHIND OPRAH WINFREY’S PENIS?

TUNE IN NEXT TIME FOR THE CONTINUATION OF “DYKES ON BIKES.”