[He hails a cab. He and Clarence jump into the back seat.]
GEORGE: [To the driver.] Brownie? What the heck are you doing? Never mind! I'm off my nut! Take me home, quick!
CABBIE: Where's home?
GEORGE: The White House, of course! Take the back route, and we'll dodge the war protesters.
CABBIE: White House? Why go there? To see that commie, liberal Al Gore? That pansy is even too scared to invade Iraq.
GEORGE: President Gore? No, it can't be! No, no! Clarence, tell him I'm president!
CLARENCE: Sorry, George, but you weren't around to beat him—or at least, to have your guardian angels on the court elect you. That means the Democrats have been in control for 16 years.
[The cab stops on Pennsylvania Avenue, and George sprints toward the White House.]
GEORGE: Clarence, put me back! I want to be president again! I don't care what I have to face—special prosecutors, Nancy Pelosi, whatever—get me back!
[A spotlight beam blinds him. He hears a siren and crashes into a wall headfirst. He wakes up later to a light dancing in his eyes.]
TONY SNOW: He's coming to! Mr. President, thank God you're OK!
TODAY IN SLATE
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Americans do. But when blacks exhibit the same behaviors as others, it becomes part of a greater black pathology.
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The disease threatens humanity by preying on humanity.