Have A Cigar
“I can’t accept this Al. I just can’t.” Bill pushed Al Gore’s hands back toward Al’s chest, frowning sincerely.”
“But you have to, Bill. You just have to!”
“I’m sorry. I just don’t feel the same way you do about this.”
A disheartened Al dipped his chin into his neck. “Who else am I going to give it to?”
“If Hillary found out…”
“Bill, I’m begging you! Please take this cigar! I don’t want it to go to waste, and it gets worse too.”
Bill looked toward Al’s hands. It was a big fat cigar, and Bill did love cigars. But if Hillary caught him smoking again, she’d probably make him sleep in Cadillac One for two or three months. Still, Al looked devastated. This was a tricky situation. “Why do you want me to smoke it so badly?”
“Because it’s bad luck if you don’t!” Al responded more loudly than he probably intended. “This was a gift from the Redskins tribe of Washington State. If it doesn’t get smoked, it’ll put a curse on us!”
“The Redskins? The Washington Redskins? That’s not a Native American tribe, Al, it’s a Football team. And they’re from Washington DC, not Washington State.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Bill. The Redskins tribe is an ancient Indian tribe…”
“Native American Indian tribe…”
“No Al, just ‘native American.’ Don’t call them ‘Indians,’ it’s offensive to them.”
“Sorry. Whatever though. They’re an ancient tribe from the Seattle area who grew tobacco. They still make these cigars and they only offer them to important people. But if you don’t smoke them, it’s a curse on your house!”
“Al, they don’t grow tobacco in Seattle. The climate…”
“They do! This cigar was given to me by Chief Bulgy Pants of the Redskins Tribe. He told me all about it!”
“Chief what? Who introduced you?”
“Hillary did. I met him this morning. He almost looked like a white guy, sort of like that one radio guy. Limburg? Lindhurst? But he had the feather-hat thing, so he’s the real deal. Anyway, that’s what I’m saying, Bill. Hillary introduced us. This is legit!”
Bill stopped and thought about it for a moment, and it made sense. Hillary was the most serious person he knew. If she were sincere, perhaps he should take this seriously. “Okay, if you say so. Tell me about this curse, Al.”
“So, the Chief said it needs to be smoked at midnight tonight, while the moon is full. If that happens, we’ll get a thousand blessings upon us. But if we refuse to smoke it, it’ll anger their Indi… native American Gods, and the things I care about the most will be destroyed. That’s the Earth itself, Bill! That’s the environment! That’s our clean air, our clean water… if this cigar doesn’t get smoked, EVERYBODY ON EARTH WILL LITERALLY DIE!”
“Mother of God!” Bill gasped. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“You have to smoke it tonight Bill, at midnight. During the full moon.”
“The full moon? Got it. But wait! What if there are clouds?”
“Then God help us, Bill. God help us all.”
Bill took the cigar from Al. It smelled incredible… or did it? He sniffed it deeper. It smelled almost like a firecracker, mixed with the smell of what would otherwise be a perfect cigar. Would this cigar taste rank? Well, it doesn’t matter, Bill told himself, because if I don’t smoke it… “Why can’t you smoke it yourself, Al?”
“See, that’s my catch-22, Bill. If I smoke the cigar, I’ll be polluting the Earth with unnatural greenhouses gasses and contributing to global warming. I can’t do that. But if I don’t smoke it, the entire planet will be destroyed. But if you smoke it, the world will be safe because it’ll prevent the curse on our house. The White House. Get it?”
“I know, right? You get a cigar, I get to not pollute, the Earth gets saved… everybody wins!”
“Okay Al, I’ll smoke the cigar tonight at midnight. You’ve got my word, brother.”
“Thanks Bill. I knew I could count on you.”
That evening, Bill set the cigar down on the Resolute desk, spun his chair around, and looked through the window. It was a perfectly clear December sky, the bright full moon hung amid the stars and gleaming down on the Earth the way a proud father would watch his newborn. He turned back to the desk. It was 11:03 PM. Monica would be here at any moment. He’d need to keep a close eye on the time for the next hour, to make sure he didn’t miss the stroke of midnight. He hoped Monica wouldn’t be too distracting.
Just then, the door across the Oval Office slowly slid open, and Monica Lewinsky casually strolled into the room, looking particularly stunning in her short yellow dress, her eyes sparkling as she gingerly stepped across the carpet in her fanciest shoes. “Hello Bill.” Her voice oozed with sexiness. This was the most perfect Monica had ever looked.
“Mon… Monica? My oh my, you look… breathtaking.”
Monica grinned, her perfect teeth glimmering under the room’s lights. “Thank you.”
“What’s the occasion?”
Monica came up to the desk, leaning her wrists against it as she pushed her bosom out toward him. “I want to do something special tonight, Bill. Something we’ve never done. Something… I’ve never done.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Bill gulped. Everything from his bellybutton down started to ache. “Me?”
“Yes, Bill. I’ve never been with a man. Not like that. I want you. I want you to be my first. I want you tonight.”
“But we’ve done so much…”
“Never actual intercourse. We’ve never done that. We’ve done everything but that. Tonight’s the night, Bill. I’m finally ready. I’m ready for you. For all of you.” Bill tried to rise up nervously, his legs trembling, his fingers twitching, his eyes fluttering. “You look ready too,” Monica said through a grin, her eyes locked on his groin. “That, or you have a cigar in your pocket.”
“Cigar?” Bill looked down at the time. It was… what time was it? He suddenly forgot how to read clocks. “Are you… are you sure you want to… you want us to… you want me too…”
“Yes, yes, and yes, Bill. I’ve given this a lot of thought. It took me all this time to know for sure. All of these months of you and me… playing. Now I want us to stop playing. No more games. I want you, Bill Clinton.”
Bill nervously made his way across the room, sitting down on the couch beside her. Monica had glitter in her makeup, so she sparkled legitimately and not just figuratively. Her eyes were bright and wide with wonder as she moved her hand onto his thigh, inching it upwards slowly… slowly…
“GAAAAAAAAAAH!” Bill convulsed on the couch, his legs kicking about like a farm on a pig. No. A pig on a farm? Something like that.
“Did you just…”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry Monica! I’m so sorry! I was… I was just…”
“It’s okay Bill.” Monica smiled, biting her lower-lip excitedly. Most women would be upset about that, but Monica seemed almost happy that it happened. As if she had just accomplished something no other woman on Earth could have done. And Bill knew, watching her then, that she was right about that. “Clean yourself up. We’ll have dinner, and after that… well… you’ll do what you just did again, only harder.”
Bill sprinted off to get cleaned up. By the time he got back to the Oval Office, their late dinner had arrived, and Monica appeared to have shifted her dress a few inches, her outfit revealing even more leg and more cleavage than it had before. But she insisted they eat dinner, and so eat dinner they did.
The silence during dinner wasn’t awkward, but strangely arousing. Monica wasn’t eating for nutrition, but for naughtiness, and Bill watched her every move. She didn’t come across like an adult actress, but more as an innocent girl trying to pretend to be one, and somehow, that made it all the more sexy. Especially when Monica dropped her fork, slipping out of character long enough to feel stupid before slipping back in, standing up, and bending over with her derriere pointing toward Bill while she picked it up, slowly and with a dash of dance in her movements.
After dinner, Monica crossed the room as sexily as a woman could walk, grabbed the cigar from Bill’s desk, and then carried it back to him. That’s when Bill remembered to look at the clock. It was 11:59 pm! he had almost forgot about the cigar completely! And Monica had just happened to pick it up and bring it at that moment? how incredibly lucky was that?
“I saw this on your desk while you were in the bathroom, and I had an idea. I want to dance for you, Bill. And I want you to smoke this cigar, and do nothing else. I just want you to watch.” Monica bent over, pushing her bust forward again, and then slid the cigar into Bill’s mouth gently.
Bill glanced at the nearest clock. It was exactly midnight. How perfect was this night? He reached into his pocket, fumbling a bit to find his lighter, then rushed it up to the end of the cigar, igniting the end of it. Meanwhile, Monica had turned on a small radio she had brought with her. The station was playing jazz music, and Monica danced to it in as sultry a manner as a person possibly could, her chest jiggling as she swung her hips from side to side. Bill puffed and puffed, hardly noticing the strange taste as he watched Monica in total awe. She put her leg up on the coffee table, running her fingers from her toes up to her thighs. She then swung around, slapping herself on her backside as she bent over, her dress riding up her legs to the point where bending her torso another inch would reveal just about everything.
Suddenly, the radio scattered, and it was soon playing rock music. Monica must’ve accidentally set the radio to “scan” without realizing it. She was caught off guard, but adapted, dancing a sexy rock and roll dance. Meanwhile, Bill kept puffing away. A few moments later, the scan happened again, this time landing on country music, so Monica adapted again, pretending to be in a rodeo, riding a make-believe bull. When it scanned again, it landed on a news station, and a bewildered Monica tried looking stern, pretending to read the news as she undid the top few buttons of her dress, lip-syncing with the male reporter. When the radio scanned again, it landed on children’s music, and that’s when Monica decided her sexy dance was over.
After turning off the radio, Monica got down on her hands and knees, crawling slowly toward Bill as she bit the corner of her lower lip. Bill took the cigar out of his mouth, looking for a place to put it out, but he was unable to focus with Monica being as completely sexy as she was being. That’s when he heard the strange crackling and hissing noise, loudly enough that it was almost distracting him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Monica, but that noise… did someone just light a firework or something? The cigar. The cigar smelled like fireworks. Bill peeled his eyes away from Monica, glancing over at his hand. The lit tip of his cigar was cracking with sparks. “My cigar, it’s… it’s…”
“Yummy? Not as yummy as me.” Monica put her hands on Bill’s knees, but Bill wasn’t paying much attention beyond that.
“No… it’s… explosive! It’s an explosive! Someone rigged this cigar to explode!” Monica gasped as Bill shot to his feet, holding the cigar a bit closer to examine it. He’d set off enough M80’s in his day to know fireworks when he saw them. Only this was a cigar, and a big one at that. This thing would cause an explosion big enough to kill the both of them! “Shoot! What do we do? What do we do?!”
“Extinguish it!” Monica shouted. “Put the end in water!”
“We drank it all! There’s nothing to put it out in!”
“Champagne! There’s still champagne!” Monica jumped to her feet and darted across the room, grabbing the champagne bottle and dumping some of the fine drink into a glass. Here! Use this!”
“No Monica, think! It’s alcohol!”
“Alcohol is flammable! It’ll make it burn even faster! Oh my God… we’re going to die!”
“Shoot!” Monica was panicked. “We need something wet to dunk it in. Something wet. Wet. What’s wet in here? The bathroom?”
“There’s no time!”
“Wet…” Monica paused longer than either of them had time to pause. The sparks were growing more intense. This thing could explode at any moment. She had to think fast. But what was… “WET! Give it to me! Quickly!”
Bill reached forward, handing the cigar to Monica. Monica stuck the unlit end in her mouth, hiked up her dress, and pulled her underpants off. “Monica, we don’t have time to do that, this is life or death right now!”
“Shush, Bill! I’m handling it!” With this, Monica squatted, her eyes shooting toward the ceiling as she jammed the cigar into the only place she could think of, yelping in pain as it went in. Bill could smell the unmistakable odor of singed hair wafting through the room. Monica, eyes watering, trembled as she kept the cigar in a very uncomfortable place. “It’s out. The cigar is out.”
“It is? How?”
“It needed to be put somewhere wet and where there isn’t any air. I could only think of one place. It’s…” Monica stopped talking, pulling the cigar out and holding it up. “It’s out. We’re safe.”
Bill collapsed onto the sofa, his eyes watery. Someone had just tried to kill them both, and Bill knew deep down that this wasn’t over. Not by a longshot. He also knew that Monica Lewinsky had just saved the both of them. He couldn’t possibly love this woman any more than he already did. “We need to get you to a doctor.”
“And tell them what, exactly? That I just extinguished an explosive in my… in my…”
“Monica, I insist. You need a doctor. You could have serious burns… down there.”
Monica glanced downward. When her eyes came back up, her cheeks were drenched and her makeup was running. “Oh… this hurts. This hurts!”
Bill picked up the phone, ordering the Secret Service into the room. “Monica is sick, guys. Get her to a doctor!”
“Sick how?” One of the agents just had to ask.
“Umm… food poisoning.”
“We’re on it, sir.”
With this, the Secret Service took Monica out of the Oval Office. Bill tried to follow, but one of the agents instructed him to stay put. Someone had tried to kill them. Someone had hurt Monica. But who? Who would want to hurt either of them? No, it wasn’t yours, Bill remembered. Al gave it to you. Why would Al want to hurt you? Was he spending too much time with Monica lately? No, Al isn’t like that. Al’s my best friend… he would never try to hurt me. Maybe someone was trying to blow up Al? But who? Who hates Al Gore badly enough to hurt him?
That’s when reality came crashing over him. He gasped nervously, and then a second time… angrily. “Hillary. Hillary did this.” He knew with every ounce of his being that he was right, too.