Obama’s Eleven (Scene 1: Framed from the back, bathed in the glaring kleig lights, a lonely lounge crooner stands at a microphone with a trenchcoat slung over his shoulder.)
This is it. The big time. The main room at Uncle Sam’s Capitol Dome Casino. It took 20 years working every fleabag state bar and legislative lounge from Cambridge to Hyde Park, but now this singer is finally grabbing that little ol’ brass ring they call stardom.
That overnight sensation belting out the State of Union? None other than me, Barry Obama. Just a scrappy skinny kid from the mean streets of Honolulu with a silky baritone and a pocketful of dreams. Now I’ve got those high rollers eating straight from the ever-lovin’ palm of my hand. Little do they know I’ve got another dream — the craziest heist the D.C. strip has ever seen.
Spend me to the moon, and let me play around with TARP,
Give the folks some stimulus so they can all buy cars.
In other words, cut the debt.
In other words, fiscal re-spons-i-bility.
Appropriate that cash, just like you’re Johnny Maynard Keynes,
We need jobs and health care and some light rail urban trains,
In other words, tighten belts.
In other words, ef-fic-i-ency.
Spend meeeeeee (hit it boys) to the moooo-oooo-oooooon!
Thanks everybody, you’ve been a wonderful Congress. Remember to tip your lobbyists!
(Amid a shower of roses and panties, Barry sprints to the wings where he is greeted by his managers Twinkletoes Emanuel and Spats Axelrod).
You slayed ’em, Barry! Just like the old days back on the DNC vaudeville circuit! Listen to dat house go wild. Now get out there and take your curtain call!
No dice, Twinky. Rule #1 in fiscal showbiz: always leave ’em wanting more.
Don’t let that ovation go to your head, kid. Remember we’ve got a bigger act to rehearse for. Speaking of which, it’s time to get back to the oval hospitality suite.
Ladies and gentlemen, Barry has just left the theater.
(On the way to the hospitality suite, Twinky and Spats shove aside various autograph hounds and golddiggers)
SHOWGIRLS (Rachel Maddow, Katie Couric, Andrea Mitchell, Helen Thomas, Chris Matthews)
Call us, Barry!
Kid, your act is sensational! Stupendous! I want to sign you for an exclusive 52-week network interview contract!
Scram, Charlie, I was here first! Whatever he’s offering you, I’ll double it!
I’ll triple it!
Honey, I’ll give you a blank check… and all the brown sugar you can handle.
One side, boys! Call the office on Monday. Barry has some personal business to attend to.
(inside the hospitality suite)
Phew! I thought we’d never get through those fucking retards.
You said it. Say, how about those drinks, Pussycat?
Coming right up, Tiger.
Okay wise guys, what’s the big secret? What’s this “new act” business?
BARRY AND SPATS
Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Nyet. No way, Joe-Say. Do I have to remind you jokers what happened with that Annenberg Challenge caper? We barely got out of that jam unindicted!
We got out didn’t we? Besides, that was small potatoes, Twink. What we’re talking about is the biggest heist yet.
The biggest in history, baby.
Which is… ?
The United States Treasury. Okay, that’s one Zima on the rocks for Twinky… one chardonnay spritzer for Spats… and for you, tall dark and handsome, one double Arugula Martini.
Did you remember to make it dry?
Drier than my va-jay-jay, loverboy.
Hey — what gives, youse bums? How come Granma Moses knows more about this caper than me? No offense, Pussycat, but I don’t trust dames. No matter how old they are.
Relax, Twinky. Pussycat helped us plan the whole job. We didn’t tell you sooner because of that big filthy mouth of yours.
Okay, okay, so I drop a few inconvenient f-bombs now and then. So sue me for Tourettes. But I’m tellin’ youse guys, you are nuts if you think we can pull a job on the Mint! We don’t have the manpower!
You worry too much, Twink. As a matter of fact, We were just about to assemble the whole team right now.
Team? What team?
The old Chicago community organizing unit.
The Fightin’ 101st Southside Grifters? Why didn’t you say so… deal me in, Daddy-o!
(montage of Obama’s Eleven getting summoned)
(pulpit of Southside church)
God bless America?? No, God DAMN America! The Chickens are coming HOME to… um, I am sorry, brothers and sisters, it’s my goddamn cell. Gotta take this. Whuuuh?! Huuuuhhh??? Praise Sweet goddamn Jesus, Barry, I’m on the next flight out of O’Hare. Bye. Now where was I? Can I get a goddamn A-Men!
(Inside the Illinois State Prison)
Whaddaya want, you filthy screw?
Yeah, we weren’t doin’ nuttin’.
Pack up your stuff, youse mugs, You just got pardons from Diamond Pat Quinn. Something about a community service parole with “Project 101,” whatever that is.
Heh heh heh.
FAT TONY AND BLAGO
Hah hahhah hahaha haha!!! Heee ho hahhahah!
(A lecture hall at the University of Illinois-Chicago)
“BILLY THE BRAIN” AYERS
… and now, to perform an interpretive dance commemorating Amerikkka’s racism against the indigenous peoples, my wife, Professor Boom Boom Dohrn. Pay close attention, for this material will be on the midterm and… what in the name of Charles Manson is the meaning of this rude interruption? Can’t you see we are learning here!
I’m sorry Professor, but you just received this emergency telegram from Washington DC. It seemed like it could be important.
It better be — or I’ll stab your eyes out you filthy white bourgeois secretary pig of empire!
Washington, you say? Let me see that… mmblmbm. hmbmlm? mlmbmbm! Alright, class dismissed. But I want those genocide essays on my desk by next Tuesday! Five pages, double-spaced!
(A back office the Illinois State Capitol in Springfield)
ALEXI “DAGREEK” GIANNOULIAS
Litsen, my friend, I’m nad ganna wase yer time wid a ladda small tak. I gadda ladda invintory I gadda move, en I’m ready ta wheel en deal. So lemme aks youse, whadda I gadda do to get yer iss into dis fine luxury Illinoise state candract today?
I don’t know, maybe I should talk it over with my slush fund manager before… is that some sort of dollar sign light in the sky? Outside you window?
Holy skata! Dass da signal fer the ol’ 101! Barry must be puttin’ da old gang bick tagedder. Litsen, pal, I gadda go. But call me next week about dat candract, I’ll trow in free unnercoating en a two-year briber’s pertection plan.
(inside a Southside confessional)
Fergive me fodder for I hiv sint.
Bless you my son. Now what kind of sinnin’ have you been doin’ then?
Let’s see, I tore up Meigs Field wid some bulldozers, dere was that hiert truck ting, and a couple cost overruns at O’Hare. Oh yeah, I took da Lord’s name in vaint.
Well now. If it isn’t little Richie Daley. Tsk tsk, Richie, what would your late sainted mother say about all of your mischief? Now for your penance I want you to say 10 Hail Marys, 2 Acts of Contrition, and give me 5% of the gross on those truck contracts unless you’ll be wantin’ to see me parishioners picketin’ outside City Hall.
Pssst…. heist meeting tonight at Barry Obama’s.
Errr…. was dat message fer me or you?
Why don’t you take it Richie. I’m picketing against the US military occupation of Haiti this weekend.
(Outside Keebler Headquarters, Elmhurst, IL)
JESSE “PUSH” JACKSON SR.
The voices of our community cry out. For too long. the Keebler Company has engaged. in the bigoted policies. of. Jim Crow. Elves of color continue. to be denied. cookie baking. opportunities. Ernie Keebler. must step down. as the tiny cookie cracker Bull Conner. of this. hollow tree. of shame. We call on the community. to boycott. Keebler. until they apologize. with $200,000. in small unmarked. bills.
(aide whispers into ear)
Or. best offer. I must. go now.
(back inside the Oval Hospitality Suite, Obama’s Eleven is gathered around the boardroom table, drinking cocktails and getting neck massages from the Congressional Showgirl Caucus)
Refill on that Cosmopolitan, Fat Tony?
Don’t mind if I do, doll. Make it a double. I gotta hand it to ya Barry, you’ve come a long way since Hyde Park.
Yeah, dis Washington sure is da life! Maybe I’ll move here somedime.
Sorry fellas, it’s time to get down to business. Okay dollies, time to go take a nap.
Must we, sugar? We were just getting all comfy and cozy-like with your big strong friends from Chicago.
I do declare, these boys have political muscles on top of their political muscles.
You heard me, ladies, scram. Here, take a billion and go buy yourselves some pretty little earmarks.
Oh Barry, aren’t you the sweetest thing! Come on girls, let’s get to K Street before it closes. I’m gonna buy my momma a Tiffany freeway bypass.
Dames. Whattaya gonna do.
We appreciate da high roller treatment, Barry, but why don’t you tell us what youse guys got up yer sleeve.
Gentlemen, I don’t have to tell you that inside this room sits the greatest assemblage of bag men, shakedown artist, fixers, and demolition experts that Cook County has ever produced. And deep underneath this humble Potomac Casino lies the ultimate whale: the United States Treasury. And, as the headliner in the main lounge, I have the combination. Together, gentlemen, we are going to liberate it.
Tell us something we don’t know, fool! You talkin’ crazy!
Crazy like a fox, Preacher. In fact, this job will be like taking candy from a baby. An entire generation of babies.
Dat’s what you said about the Olympics caper.
Yeah, dat place is crawlin’ wit dem Tea Party Pinkertons. They got security webcams everywhere!
That’s why we’ve cooked up a little wing-a-ding-ding distraction.
It’s a new bossa nova number we call… shutting the lights off in Vegas.
Dat’s right boys. In fact, thanks to Ol’ Brown Eyes here, Glitter Gulch is already running on half power. After Andy Stern and the Nevada SEIU boys go on strike and Barry doobie-doobie-doos another anti-Vegas press conference ballad, then, pow! Lights out, baby.
And for a little added insurance, Barry has some emergency stimulus funds for Brain and Boom Boom to do a little deconstruction on Hoover Dam.
Burn baby burn!
Wild, man! I’m hip, I’m hip!
Like I’m diggin’ your arpeggio, Daddy-O. Keep croonin’.
In the confusion, that’s when the rest of you boys get to work. Little Richie is gonna crack the lock. Preacher and Push, you’re gonna back a couple of disguised ACORN buses to the loading dock. The rest of you mugs are gonna make like Teamsters with the forklifts.
It’s so friggin’ crazy it just might wirk.
Gentlemen, a toast to Lady Luck… and to the reuniting of the Rat Pack.
To da Rat Pack!
Now… (slamming palm on the pool table) who’s with me?
(one by one, Obama’s Eleven stack their hands on top of Barry’s)
(at the Press Conference lounge, where Barry is performing an early dinner show)
SPATS (backstage on lapel mic)
Come in Team O. This is leader base. Sychronize Rolexes at 1900 hours.
(montage of Obama’s Eleven at designated locations, wearing jumpsuits and cat burglar gear)
PUSH AND PREACHER
BLAGO, FAT TONY, DAGREEK
BRAIN AND BOOM BOOM
SPATS (to BARRY)
All systems are go. You’re on, kid.
Ladies and Gentlemen, and media nutsack swingers of all ages, please put your hands together for America’s favorite entertainer, the Chairman of the Board, Mr. Barry Albert Obama!
How lucky can America be,
they elected little ol’ me,
Like the fella once said,
Ain’t That a Kick in the Fed?
Your future was completely black,
’til you hugged me and I hugged you back.
Like Soros said quote,
Don’t that make your interest rate float?
Your head keeps spinning;
You go to sleep and keep grinning;
If this is just the beginning,
Your life’s gonna be beautiful.
I’ve stimulus enough to spread;
It’s like the fella said,
Tell me quick, Ain’t love like a kick in the Fed?
Ain’t thaaaat… a kick in the Fehhhhd!
Tell us Champ, what’s your latest take on the economic situation?
Lemme tell you. The big problem is we got too many of these big shot corporations throwin’ around their money. They gotta stop wastin’ their cash at dese fancy schmancy conventions.
Conventions? Like where?
I’m glad you asked that. I’m talking specifically about…
SPATS (backstage on lapel mic)
Go go go! We have lift off!
(jump scene inside Hoover Dam; Brain and Boom Boom are wiring a bomb)
Roger that Spats! Now, where’s that wire…
Off the pigs! Hey, what’s this button for?
(jump scene back to press room; lights flicker)
Holy crap! Those two beatnik morons blew up the wrong power supply! Barry’s TelePrompter just went out!
…about… places like… uhm… it’s right on the tip of my… inside-mouth lick-thing…
SPATS (sweating profusely)
Come oooooonnnn… you can do it… think, Barry, think!
… place like… um… is it Vas Legas?
You mean Las Vegas?
Yeah, yeah! That’s it! Las Vegas, uhhhh, bad. Bye bye, I go now!
Phew! Dat was too close for comfort.
You said it! If my calculations are correct Vegas will be going dark in precisely 47 seconds. Come on Barry, let’s get you to the motorcade pronto.
Exnay on the Teleprompter! No time! We gotta rendezvous with the boys at exactly 2130 hours.
(inside the Treasury vault)
Left 33… left 21… left 666. Bingo! Come on youse clowns, open dat door.
Holy mackerel, feast your peepers on that pile of cabbage!
14 trillion… 14 trillion bucks… 14 trillion sweet simolian smackerinos of legal tenner! Come to papa!
And how. Now dat kinda dough would buy a lotta rental slum property in Englewood!
If you goons are finished playin’ pocket pool, get busy loadin’ that dough on da pallets.
Hurry it up youse mugs! Push and Preacher are here with the buses!
(Outside, at the loading docks)
Where are them goddamn crackers? I got a goddamn sermon to prepare for Sunday.
I am. going to. put in for. overtime.
(Barry, Spats, and Twinky are hurtling down the Pennsylvania Avenue Strip when a mysterious Prius races by and cuts them off. They are forced to stop. A strange figure exits the Prius, wildly waving hands)
What the hell is going on? Is that some kinda cop?
No.. it’s some fat ugly blonde broad in an evening gown… with a butcher knife!
That ain’t no broad! That’s dat lunatic autograph stalker Freak Olberman!
I knew it! Oooooh, I just knew it! I knew it was you, Barry. I can see you in there, even behind the delicious smoked glass. Mmmmm, llll-lll-lll. Do you know what this means, Barry? This can’t be chance, it’s destiny! No matter what Mother says, we were meant to be together. Forever. That’s why I will always defend you on my television show. That’s why I always carefully and lovingly save my stools to send to your enemies. Have you get my latest Countdown Special Comment stoolcam video? Mother promised she sent it to you by certified mail, but I don’t believe her. Just like Mother doesn’t believe in us. She says it’s silly for me to keep a wig and gown in my car in case I see you. But we proved her wrong. Didn’t we, Barry? SEE, MOMMY??? Ha hah hah heh. Heh! And now, for your birthday, I would like to writhe on your big black hood and perform a special comment in song. Happy birthday toooo yoouuuu, happy birrrr-iiirrrthdayyyy to you, happy birthday mister Baaaarrryyyy O-baaa-maaa, Happy birthdaaaaay to yooooou. Giggle.
Fer God’s sake hit the gas!
(at the loading dock)
Come on you dopes, get da lead out! Dis ain’t no union shop! We got one minute to load that last trillion.
Aaaiiieee! My back! I tink I broke it!
Congrats, Tony! Lemme get you in touch wit a personal injury lawyer friend of mine.
Leave ’em for the cops you moron! We gotta go – now. Get these buses rolling. And Tony — remember what we do ta snitches.
PREACHER (struggling to start his bus)
This goddamn thing won’t start!
(the team gathers around to inspect the disabled bus)
PUSH (reading the bus registration plate)
“This vehicle is a product of General Motors. Detroit, Michigan and Washington DC.”
Dammit Blago, what’d I tell you about buyin’ two bit government equipment for this heist?
It’s Dagreek’s fault, Richie! I swear! I wanted to buy some good buses but Dagreek said we could skim the rebates.
Shaddup you lousy rat!
Shaddup da two of yers! At least we got one bus dat wirks. Everybody get on dat one. And dis time, I’m drivin’.
(at the deserted Washington Mall rendezvous point, Barry, Spats and Twinky are pacing around the limo)
SPATS (on the radio)
Where the hell are youse guys?
Keep your shirts on, we had some trouble. Fat Tony went down and we’re short about 8 trillion. Aw crap, cheese it! Da cops!
BARRY (grabbing radio)
Dammit! The Manchurian bond syndicate must have tipped them off. Can you outrun them?
Not under full load. This bus is a freakin’ hybrid!
Then you’re gonna have to lose some weight. You know the drill, Richie.
(One by one, Blago, Dagreek, Preacher and Push are thrown under the bus as it speeds down the Strip)
Heh heh hah! I lost ’em! I lost da cops! I should be at da rendezvous point in 30 seconds!
Richie. Listen to me carefully. Did you remember to unload all those firebombs that Brain was hauling on that bus?
(The rear of the ACORN bus bursts into flames, engulfing the $6 trillion cargo. Little Richie white-knuckles it on to the Washington Mall. The flaming bus hits an inexplicable ramp at 85 mph, spirals three times, and t-bones into the Reflecting Pool where it makes one last incendiary explosion. Little Richie swims to safety.)
TWINKLETOES (pulling a scorched and dripping wet Richie from the pool)
You okay dere Richie?
Eh, no big deal. I ride the CTA sometimes.
SPATS (looking morosely on the $6 trillion going up in smoke on the flaming bus carcass)
*Sigh*. So close.
We’ll get ’em next fiscal year, Spats. You gotta admit, though, it is kind of a pretty sight. Kinda peaceful even. Like some kinda abstract sculpture, with them flames reflectin’ in the water.
Yeah. Maybe we could dedicate it as the Barry Obama Memorial.
(Twinky, Spats, Richie and Barry walk glumly down the sidewalks of Pennsylvania Avenue with their hands in their pockets, to a bluesy harmonica theme)
VOICE OVER (BARRY)
Just another day at the craps tables in this nutty kookoo casino we call Washington DC. Sometimes you’re rolling sevens, sometimes no matter what you do you come up snake eyes. But Mister, that just means it’s time to dust yourself off and tip the cigarette dolly. Because in this crazy City of Dreams a jackpot is always one pull away. And there’s always a sequel around the corner.
Show me a man without a dream, and I’ll show you a man that’s dead.
Reeeaaal dead. Daddy-o.
Once I had me a dream, but that dream got kicked in the head.
By the Fed.
Some electors say, I’m puttin’ you away,
Three more years not seven.
In the meantime,