Roseanne can’t sleep, but worries about taking more Ambien. Then her phone rings.
“Yeah? What?” she answers, all politeness and decorum, two of her many good qualities.
“Roseanne?”
“Yeah, asshole, Roseanne. What the fuck you want? You another fucking reporter?”
“No. No. It’s me – the president.”
“Jeez. I’m sorry, sir. Yeah. Thought you were an asshole reporter.”
“Sure, honey. They’re all assholes. Look, I’m calling privately ‘cause I can’t say anything publicly right now, you know? But you got the shitty end of the stick. Really.”
“You think so, sir? Really?”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sure. What the fuck … she really looks like that, you know?
“Wow. Jeez. You don’t know how good that makes me feel. And I understand that you can’t go public, but this call means so much to me that I might go back on Twitter and just double down, like you do.”
“Yep. Fuck them. Give it to them, honey. Look, Roseanne, I been thinking about giving my guy at the FCC a little call and have him look into ABC’s license. You know, First Amendment shit or something. I mean your First Amendment. You didn’t say it on the air. You said it as a private citizen and them firing you violates your First Amendment. Maybe think about pulling their license, at least for a little while. Maybe fuck around with Disney, too, you know? Fucking mouse ears.”
“Jeez, Mr.President, I love it when you curse. It’s so real. Just like the show was. Fuck, I really miss it already. Even those fucking lib writers.”
“Would you go back if I can swing it, doll baby?”
“Jesus, in a hot New York fucking second.”
“Well, we’ll see, honey. And, look, if that doesn’t happen maybe we can get you something here. You know, like Omarosa? Or maybe with Steve and the speech guys. You really have a way with words, kid. You just overdid it a little bit and all those Dems got their panties all twisted. Fucking Obama.”
“Yes, sir, fucking Obama. That’s all I meant. I just wanted to let people know that he was aiding the enemy and is a fucking piece of liberal shit among other things, if you know what I mean.”
“Oh, I know, baby. I know. Yeah. Our people get it. They got it. Don’t worry. You didn’t even have to say the word. And it wasn’t racist, you know. Just the truth. And they can’t handle the truth. Jack Nicholson was right about them. But we can. And you can. You really showed it.”
“Mr. President, tears are actually coming out of my eyes to hear you say that. Jeez, sir, if you can do something, it would be great. I mean all those people on the show are out of work now, you know? Maybe you could say you’re just sticking by your promise to create jobs.”
“Yeah, maybe, kid. We’ll see. How about while I’m working on it maybe you and Johnny Goodman could go on some kind of USO tours like Bob Hope, you know?”
“I’d love that. I’ll ask Johnny. Jeez, I could even sing the National Anthem again at the end of each show.”
“Yeah. Sure. Great. Just no crotch stuff, okay?”
“Sure. That was the Ambien, too.”
“Gotta go. Keep the faith, Roseanne.”
“Fucking A, Mr. President. Love you. Bye.”
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