Why Ari Really Quit
a.f.: Mr. President, I’m not sure you have the correct use of the word.
g.b.: Who’s the president, Ari Atari?
a.f.: With all due respect …
g.b.: Respect or not, who’s the tax-package-proposing, Texas-big-swinging-dick, ride-or-die President of the United States?
a.f.: Do I really have to answer this, Sir?
g.b.: You want me on that wall; you need me on that wall!
a.f.: All right already, all right. No more Nicholson quotes, please. A Texan doing Nicholson is like listening to Andrew Dice Clay woo Rapunzel.
g.b.: Rapunzel, that’s that Gwyneth Paltrow-looking long-haired nursery rhyme chick, right?
a.f.: Sort of, Mr. President
g.b.: What’s that you said Ariola?
a.f.: I said ‘Sort of, Mr. President,’ Mr. President.
g.b.: That’s right, Ari. I am the motherhonkin’ President. You see me land that jet last week?
a.f.: I believe it was more like you landed in a jet, not landed it yourself.
g.b.: Whatchu talking ’bout, Willis?
a.f.: That’s like saying you drove the roller coaster.
g.b.: I did that too.
a.f.: Oy vey—
g.b.: What’s that mean, Ari Safari?
a.f.: It’s Yiddish, it’s similar to when you say ‘oh brother’.
g.b.: Who, Jeb?
a.f.: Never mind, sir. Let’s get back to the task at hand.
g.b.: Right, the speech. Now I was thinking I could just always resort to the whole ‘at least I don’t fellate, heh, heh, I mean relate with my interns’.
a.f.: …and this is the problem, Sir. I think you do want to relate with your interns; that would be a good thing. What you want to say is ‘At least I don’t have relations with my interns.’
a.f.: Yes, Mr. President.
g.b.: Then the joke doesn’t make any sense. I can’t say, ‘At least I don’t have fellations — I mean relations.’ It sounds stupid.
a.f.: Well …
g.b.: Listen Ari-a 51, the President needs to show the public a little humor, you know?
a.f.: You are actually planning on making that joke in public?
g.b.: In public? Hell, I’m going to do it on national TV. Ah, I said ‘Hell’—now I said it twice! Two bucks in the swear jar!
a.f.: I’m at a loss, sir.
g.b.: Hey, Ari, are you Jewish?
a.f.: Is that relevant?
g.b.: Who’s the President? How’s that for relevance?
a.f.: I think I might hate you sir.
g.b.: Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
a.f.: I hate both, sir.
g.b.: Oh Ari, so sorry. Tee hee.
a.f.: That’s it, I quit.
g.b.: Can you get me my chicken potpie first?