The browning lawn of the White House was feeling the last humming warmth of sunlight as the sun once again gave up on its task of providing the day. In the dying moments of dusk the light glimmered of the perfectly polished barbed wire that separated Mr President from the peaceful protesters outside. They too withdrew from the White House, having had another cold day of active but ineffective defiance.

The White House itself was still buzzing with activity, as the dutiful workers continued to uphold Mr Presidents decrees. Intelligence briefs were being complied and placed into the ever mounting “urgent reading” in-tray, which had files that now dated over a year old. A speech writer was putting the finishing touches on a declaration of friendship between the US and Russia, as the continued war in Libya was going to totally wipe out all the “bad dudes” ISIS had been sending. But the most interesting work was yet to happen. As the inner circle’s inner circle assembled, Mr President was having a tough day. He’d summoned his team of close personal advisers – Kelly-Anne, Ivanka, Mike and Steve.

Mr President was channel surfing as the handful of people who had the Commander in Chief’s conditional trust filed in. After a while of flicking between Fox, CNN and even Russia Today, Mr President put down the remote and faced his team.

“Why don’t they like me?”

Kelly-Anne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Ivanka immediately started cooing.

“Oh Daddy, come on, of course they like you!”

Mr President pointed at the screen. Banner after banner flooded the box with colour and fury. The ticker “California considers succession” yelled into the atmosphere of the room. Kelly-Anne leaned in.

“They’re just over sensitive liberals, they don’t care about America they care about hurt feelings and Muslims. You don’t have to worry about them. You’re great.”

Mr President sat up in his seat, shrugging and pursing his lips.

“Sure. I know that. I don’t need them to tell me that. I’m great. But why don’t they know that? Why are they so dumb?”

Mike cleared his throat.

“Well the problem is, Mr President, that you aren’t showing them, you’re assuming everyone is as smart as you are. You need to show them why your policies are smart, for example, if we could publish a study the emphatically shows that the travel ban has made everyone safer and our alliance with Russia is going to make the world a safer place they might start understanding…”

Mr President’s eyes had glazed over. He was starting to divert his attention back to the TV when Steve suddenly slammed his fists on the table.

“Goddammit Mr President! They should already know, right?”

Mr President immediately whirled his head to Steve and started nodding.

“Those goddamn liberal elitist fucktards don’t know the first fucking thing about running this great country! And you sure as shit do because you’re the mothefucking President of the goddamn united states!”

Mr President was now nodding vigorously and nearly out of his seat. Kelly-Anne interjected.

“It doesn’t matter if they don’t understand, all that matters is that we can do what it takes to make American great Again.”

“Exactly!” snapped Steve, throwing his chair behind him as he got to his feet.

“These liberals are too stupid and too dangerous to know better! They wanted a fucking woman in charge for fuck’s sake!”

“Excuse me!” Ivanka snapped back “And what is wrong with a woman in charge?”

“Sure, if you’re a limp dicked pervert who enjoys a bit of spanking then go knock yourself out, but in the white house we do things properly.

Mr President was conflicted. He loved his daughter, but Steve was right. He figured he could diffuse it.

“Come on now sweetheart, let Steve talk he’s a very smart man.”

Ivanka sank back in her chair. I did it, thought Mr President. I’m great at conflict.

“Mr President you’re too damn good for this country. You’re too nice.”

Mr President nodded again. He loved it when Steve talked. Steve was his favourite.

“We just need to show these liberals we mean business, and that nobody is better at business than you Mr President.”

Mike caught a lump in his throat.

“Don’t do this Steve…” he murmured.

“Shut up Mike! You’re always trying to undermine the president by saying he doesn’t mean what he says! Well he does, and so do I!”

Steve went over to Mr President’s desk and opened a draw. Inside was a suitcase with a handcuffed handle. Steve threw it onto the desk in front of Mr President. Ivanka and Kelly-Anne gasped.

“Put that away,” whispered Mike, his voice barely escaping his throat. Steve smirked.

“You can’t tell Mr President what to do.”

The suit case was deep, shiny black leather, barely worn down. Mr President thumbed the edges. Kelly-Anne took in a sharp breath.

“We shouldn’t open that Mr President it’s… it’s not necessary.”

Ivanka was starting to shake.

“Open it up,” instructed Steve “It’s how we win this. And how we make them lose.”

Mr President could feel the tension in the room. Everyone was watching him. He loved tension. Tension had made him a star.

“Maybe I’ll open it.” He began to flick the numbers on the lock.

“No!” screamed Mike as he dived toward Mr President’s desk, but Steve pushed him back with a firm arm. Mike collapsed to the floor, awe struck but his adversaries surprising strength.

“Mr President is making a decision, so don’t get involved you elitist hack.”

“Daddy, you know you don’t have to do this, right? We can put that way, yeah? Look at me Daddy, this isn’t a good thing.”

Mr President looked up. God he loved her. He really wanted to do so much for her. But the case, and Steve… it seemed like such a good solution.

“Shush honey, Daddy is thinking.”

Steve loomed into Mr President’s personal space.

“If you do this, Mr President, you’ll go down in history as the greatest man who ever lived. If you can wipe out the cancer of liberals in this nation, you’ll be remembered as a god emperor. Doesn’t that sound good?”

Mr President agreed, it sounded terrific. Tremendous even. But his daughter seemed so scared. Mike didn’t like it either, but Mike didn’t like it when he’d ordered they round up the Muslims so Mike didn’t matter all that much. Kelly-Anne was still looking at the briefcase.

“I think,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the pitch black, shining leather, “that it could be good for our numbers.”

Ivanka’s mouth dropped open.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Well, if we get rid of 55 electoral votes…”

“EXACTLY!” cried Steve with delight.

“Don’t…” Mike’s words were lost to Mr President’s focus.

“I think… yeah.” Said Mr President, straightening his tie.

“Daddy please…”

“Not now sweetie, Daddy’s made his decision.”

“Yeah, sweetie,” drooled Steve, “Daddy’s made his decision.”

“I’ll get Sean on the phone, get him ready to brief Breitbart,” said Kelly-Anne as she left the room. Steve pulled the briefcase closer to Mr President.

“Do it, Mr President.”

Mr President entered the 4-digit code, and the case sprang open. Inside a phone, a document and a button. Mr President lifted the phone.

“Whisky Tango Delta. This is the President. I’m ordering a strike on coordinates 36° North by, 119° West. Immediate launch. Of course.”

He placed the phone down as the button went from a dull red to a lit beacon.

“You’re so brave Mr President,” said Steve as he lifted Mr President’s hand off his lap.

“I am.” He concurred, as Steve gently lay the President’s finger over the button.

“You’ll show those fucking liberal elitist in California. They can’t protest a fucking nuke can they Mr President?”

“No, they can’t.”

“And you’re too smart and brave to back down now.”

“I am.”

“So do it.”

Mr President pushed the button. Ivanka let out a horrifying scream.

“It’s OK honey, I got rid of the bad guys.”

Steve’s face was spread as wide as it would go.

“You did Mr President, godammit you did.”

“I’m a great man, aren’t I Steve?”

Steve grabbed Mr President’s shoulders.

“God bless you, Mr President.”