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The President – Episode 203

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 02/09/2011

Through a series of unfortunate tragedies, 27-year-old Deputy Secretary of Transportation Holden Jackson became the youngest President in the history of the United States. Now he’s unemployed..

Episode 203 – The Accountant

Jackson: Gary! Gary! Garrrrrrrry!

(Holden throws his hands up and motions toward his former Chief of Staff..)

Jackson: Check behind that cactus.

Chamberlain: I don’t think he’s going to be behind that cactus.

Jackson: Just check behind the damn cactus, Wilby!

Sanchez: (leaning against Holden)  We’ve been out here for hours. So thirsty.

Jackson: This is all your fault, Squirk!

Squirk: What did I do?

Chamberlain: (walking back)  He’s not behind the cactus.

Jackson: What about that cactus over there?

Chamberlain: He’s not behind any of these cactuses. Face it, Holden. Gary’s gone.

Jackson: (after a moment’s silence)  It’s ‘cacti’.


(A day earlier, Holden Jackson, Gary Busey, Wilbur Chamberlain and Jessica Sanchez are exiting the Phoenix International Airport and hailing a taxi to drive them to Flagstaff..)

Chamberlain: I’m still not sure why we have to meet your accountant in person.

Jackson: He says he’s got a business proposition for me. Big money. Enough to fund my entire reelection campaign.

Sanchez: Shouldn’t you be more focused on the unimpeachment before worrying about the reelection?

Jackson: Nah.

Chamberlain: Why is your accountant all the way out here in the desert?

Jackson: He got into a little trouble back in the District. Had to come out here and lay low for a bit.

Sanchez: What kind of trouble?

Jackson: Oh, nothing financial. He just got really addicted to cocaine.

Busey: (eyes light up)  A party boy, eh?

Jackson: No. Remember what I said on the plane, Gary? No blow.

Busey: Oh, I thought you said “lowblow”. That’s why I punched old Wilbur here in the nuts.

Chamberlain: (limping)  Well, that explains that.


(Hours later, the group arrives in Flagstaff at the offices of Edwin C. Squirk Accounting in a strip mall, flanked by a Quizno’s and a Korean nail salon..)

Squirk: (shaking Wilbur’s hand)  Edwin C. Squirk, at your service for all your accounting needs. Pleased to meet you all. Any friend of Holden’s is a friend of mine.  (slaps Holden on the back)  How ya doin’, buddy? Ya doin’ good, ya feel good? You look good. Do you feel good?

Chamberlain: (whispering in Holden’s ear)  He’s talking awfully fast.

Jackson: Shush. Yeah, Eddie; I’m good. How’s the desert treating you?

Squirk: Oh, it’s superb. They got this drink out here, it’s cactus drink. Made outta real cactus. Helluva drink. You guys want a drink? Water? Spritzer? Soda?

Busey: (raises his hand)  I’ll take a spritzer.

Jackson: (lowering Busey’s hand)  We’re fine, Eddie. You said you had a business proposition for me?

Squirk: In due time, Mr. President.  (pointing at Gary)  Do I know you? I recognize you. Were you on Mad About You?

Busey: I’m not sure.

Squirk: I think you were. I’m sure you were. Yes, you definitely were.

Jackson: We’ll IMDb it. Eddie, the business deal?

Squirk: Right. Business. Always about business. That’s why I like you, Holden. We’re gonna take a little ride, let’s pile in my station wagon.

(Eddie puts a hand on Gary’s back as they make their way across the parking lot..)

Squirk: So, tell me:  What was it like working with Paul Reiser?

Busey: Oh, he’s a delight.


(Eddie Squirk is steering the station wagon wildly along a four-lane street, constantly changing radio stations, while everyone holds on for dear life..)

Squirk: So, Holden. Weren’t you being hunted by the FBI or something?

Jackson: Yeah, but they dropped the charges. Turns out I wasn’t actually strapped with dynamite.

Squirk: Oh yeah? What was it? Hot dogs?

Jackson: (staring down at the car floor, embarrassed)  Dildos.

(Jessica and Wilbur giggle in the back seat..)

Squirk: Dildos! Why were you strapped with dildos?

Jackson: Well let’s just say if you wanna threaten to blow up the House of Representatives, don’t put Busey in charge of purchasing the explosives.

Squirk: (shaking his head, laughing)  Oh, Holden. You shoulda put Paul Reiser on the job.

Busey: (nodding in agreeance)  He would’ve been all over it.

Squirk: Now, I know why the actor and the British guy are here; ’cause they got nothin’ better to do. But why are you here Ms. Sanchez? Aren’t you a hard-boiled reporter?

Sanchez: My boss, against my better wishes, advised me to stay on this story and see it through.

Squirk: Ooh, you’re documenting all this? You mind using an alias? I don’t really need the people back home knowing where I am right now.

Sanchez: If you don’t mind me saying: that seems awfully shady, Mr. Squirk.

Squirk: Squork! Call me Squork.

Chamberlain: That’ll throw ’em off the scent.

Jackson: So what’s this business deal you brought me all the way out here for. Couldn’t we have done this over the phone?

Squirk: These guys wanna meet you. They’re a cautious people.

Jackson: What people?

Squirk: The Egyptians.

Jackson: We’re making a deal with the Egyptians? What kind of business is this? Mummy refurbishers?

Chamberlain: Pyramid polishers?

Busey: Sphinx wranglers?

Sanchez: Pharaohs-R-Us?

Jackson: (scowling in the rear-view)  That is so racist, Jessica.

Sanchez: What?

Squirk: No, you’re all wrong. They run a clothing company.

Jackson: Oh yeah? What kind of clothing?


Ahmed Fareed: Bras.

Jackson: Bras?

Fareed: Bras.

Jackson: Bras.

(Holden, Eddie and the gang are sitting across from three Egyptian businessmen in a nearby Denny’s..)

Squirk: Can’t go wrong with bras!

Jackson: (grinning)  I thought you guys would be wearing those funny King Tut hats.

Fareed: (smiles politely)  We have come a long way since the days of the Pharaohs, Mr. Jackson.

Jackson: I was at least hoping you’d bring one for me.

Fareed: We can have one shipped to you when we return to Alexandria.

Jackson: Virginia?

Fareed: Egypt.

Jackson: Right, because you live there. Because you’re Egyptians. So a brassiere company, huh? What’s it called?

Hala Chabra  (Ahmed’s Assistant): Nefertitties.

Sanchez: Wow, that’s offensive.

Jackson: It’s okay. She thinks everything’s offensive.

Squirk: Holden, brassieres are where the money’s at. Every girl wears ’em, even some boys. Got breasts; gotta cover ’em up with something. Why not bras? And they’re made from fine Egyptian cotton. The finest in the world.

Fareed: It grows within our poppy fields. Very soft.

Sanchez: So you make brassieres out of cotton grown in heroin fields?

Fareed: Correct.

Jackson: Interesting.

Sanchez: Holden, you can’t be seriously considering this.

Jackson: Play it cool, Sanchez. We’re bartering here.

Chamberlain: We are?

Busey: Shoot. I shoulda brought my pelts!

Fareed: I’m afraid there is no room for negotiation, Mr. Jackson. We have other buyers interested. We need an answer today.

Jackson: You hear that, Jessica? Other buyers!

Sanchez: (shakes her head, picking at her Denny’s Nacho Platter)

Jackson: What do you think, Eddie? Should I pull the trigger?

Squirk: I dunno, Holden. Do you like money?

Jackson: (taken aback)  Like it? Why, I love it!

Squirk: Then buy those bras, Mr. Future President. Buy those bras.

Sanchez: Holden, please. I beg of you. Just think this over for a bit.

Jackson: Fine.

(Holden stares out the window. Rising over the desert, he sees two giant boobs bouncing in front of the Great Pyramid with a mummy in between them, dancing The Robot..)

Jackson: Where do I sign?

(Ahmed whips out a contract written on papyrus..)

Jackson: Ooh, authentico! Do you think the little lady here can get a free sample?

Fareed: (yelling at Hala in Egyptian)  Boolah boolah boolah!

(Hala runs outside and returns with a bra that he hands Jessica..)

Sanchez: Gee, thanks.

Fareed: Do you have the cash?

(Busey slams a briefcase down on the table, sliding it over to Ahmed who opens it up and nods, satisfied..)

Sanchez: You’re paying in cash?

Jackson: (nods, finishing his milkshake loudly)  Has something to do with exchange rates. I think they use beetles over there, right guys?

Fareed: Now we celebrate.

Squirk: And I know just the place!


(The Egyptians and Holden and the gang are sitting in a booth at The Flag Staff, Arizona’s finest gentleman’s club. Busey is getting a lap dance from a pregnant Hispanic stripper, while Hala laughs and claps to the beat. Ahmed is paying strippers cash out of a large briefcase..)

Jackson: (frowning)  Is that the cash I gave you for the brassiere company?

Fareed: (shaking his head)  Different cash briefcase.

Jackson: Oh, good. ‘Cause that would’ve been pretty irresponsible.

Fareed: No need to worry, Mr. Jackson. Your money is in good hands. And I just purchased something from the bathroom attendant that will make this night all the more memorable.

(Ahmed pulls out a large bag of coke and Eddie’s eyes widen..)

Squirk: Hoo boy.

(The doors burst open and dozens of FBI agents pour into the strip club..)

Agent: This is a raid! Is there an Ahmed Fareed in here?

(Ahmed and his thugs drop the bag, snatch the briefcase and head for the back door. Holden, thinking quickly, tosses the coke bag across the booth to Busey..)

Jackson: Gary, hide the evidence!

Busey: Will do, boss!

(Gary opens the bag, leans his head back and pours the entire contents down his nostrils..)

Chamberlain: Oh, dear.

Sanchez: Gary!

Squirk: He’s gonna have a headache a couple days from now.

Jackson: I was thinking more along the lines of flushing it down the toilet. But that’ll work.

Agent: (approaching the booth)  Have any of you seen an Egyptian man in his fifties in this club tonight? He may have been accompanied by some associates?

Busey: (eyes bugged out, losing all control of his volume)  NOTHING TO SEE HERE, OFFICERS! EVERYTHING’S JAKE!

Agent: There’s no need to yell.

Jackson: We haven’t seen anything, sir. If I may ask, what are the Egyptian gentlemen charged with?

Agent: They’ve been grifting unwitting Americans into investing in a nonexistent brassiere company. They’ve made millions over the past couple months.

(Everyone turns to glare at Eddie, who chuckles nervously..)

Squirk: Hehe. How ’bout we all go out for ice cream? My treat.


(Outside the vacated strip club, Gary Busey is jumping up and down in place for no reason..)

Jackson: You mean Nefertitties isn’t real?

Sanchez: It never was real, Holden. Hate to tell you, but that bra Hala gave me was actually just a jockstrap. A used one at that.

Jackson: (squinting out over the desert)  Those crafty Egyptians.

Squirk: I’m really sorry about all this, Holden. They seemed to be on the up and up.

Jackson: Well, you’re fired Squirk. You got a little something on your nose there.

Squirk: (wipes the powder off)  I can understand that. And if it makes you feel any better, I’ll still help you go look for your friend.

Jackson: What are you talking about?

(Holden turns just in time to see a coked-out Gary Busey sprinting out over the desert before disappearing into a forest of cacti, cackling maniacally along the way..)

Chamberlain: There he goes.

Jackson: (sighs)  C’mon, let’s go find Busey.

(The group begins to trudge into the desert..)

Jackson: Hey, Jessica. I had a great idea for the commercial for Nefertitties. It’s just a mummy dancing in front of the Sphinx and the Sphinx is wearing a bra.

Sanchez: Shut up, Holden.

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