Johnny B – Fawzy Zablah

John Bolton spoke to the General and the General confirmed everything.
-You have to say it just like you told me.
-Excuse me?
-Just now General, just like you described it—you have tell the president the same thing; the same way.
-Well, of course, I mean—
-No, General, it has to be exact — you have to say it the same way, use the same words!
-You need to calm down John. What the hell is wrong with you?
-No, I will not calm down. Can’t you see? This is our chance. This is it! Say it.
-Say what?
-Say it just like you told me when you entered my office just now.

The General looked bewildered.
-Just say it again, for God’s sake repeat the same thing.
-ok, the General said, we need to strike now…before Iran is emboldened.
-No! No! You said ‘must’, you used the word ‘must.’
-ok, ok, ok I got it. Let me start again.

The General took a deep breath and relaxed his face, setting his eyes downward back to the severe gaze he had a moment ago.
-Mr. President, we must strike now before the enemy is emboldened.
-You said enemy?
-Yes, I thought that maybe that would make it sound better.
-It’s great. I like it. I like it. Say it just like that.

The General smiled.
-Okay. So the briefing is in 20 minutes. You have to say it like that. Exactly like that.
-Got it.

Bolton placed both his arms on the General’s shoulders and watched him with glassy eyes like a happy grandfather.

-I will meet you in The Situation Room. There’s just one more thing I have to take care of.

-See you there John. We can do this. We will do this.

-Yes, yes we will.

The General left the office and John Bolton locked the door behind him. He took off his jacket and went into the restroom and made sure the door was locked too.

He then took out two photographs from his back pocket and after taking off his pants and underwear placed them on the floor in front of him by his white lanky legs.

The first photograph was of a map of Iran. The second photograph was of a woman’s thick, fleshy legs in black stockings and nothing else.

After sitting on the toilet, he grabbed a bottle of Jergens Moisturizer that was in the counter, next to the sink and began pouring it on the palm of his right hand and then grabbing his penis began to masturbate.

He started slowly but as his gaze went back and forth from each photograph his pace got faster and faster until he was masturbating with such fury that his legs started shaking and extending, stretched out before him, almost laying on the toilet. His grunts and moans were more like the sad whimpering of a dog than of a 70-year-old man playing with himself.

When he was done, he cleaned up with moist paper towels. He then washed his face and pulled his pants up and sprayed Drakar Noir behind his ears.

The briefing at The Situation Room took about 30 minutes. When he came back to his office he slammed the door and started pushing papers and books and maps and diagrams of Iran from his desk. He kicked a coat hanger and swung his fists into the air and then finally, after wearing himself out rather quickly, he plumped down on the couch and started crying.

-I’m not giving up. It’s going to happen. We can make this happen. You will make it happen, John. Just believe in yourself — you’re Johnny B. Goode that’s who you are. That’s right. That’s who I am. We did it before, and we gonna do it again — why? Cause I’m a bad motherfucker, oh yes I am, yes I am.

His cell phone started ringing and when he stood up to look at the number he saw it was the President.

He stared at the phone and didn’t pick up but instead walked out of the office in haste leaving everything a mess behind him.