“UFOs!” Joe said, his hair mussed in frustration. “They’re back! The fucking aliens are back!”

“Please calm down, Mr. President,” Karine said.

“Don’t you know what they do to our butts?!?” Joe asked, shaking the short woman by her shoulder pads. “My butt can’t take another round of that!”

“Please, sir…” she began. Joe pulled her in and kissed her, his dry tongue trying to pry apart her teeth. She pushed him away.

“Mr. President!” Karine exclaimed.

“We have to repopulate the Earth. They are going to try and kill everyone like last time!”

“I am married to a woman, sir,” she said slowly and forcefully.

“So am I,” Joe said. “Hybrid vigor is what matters now. Half-lesbian Black baby would be very strong. America needs strong babies to fight back against the Grays and the Lizard People!”

“What’s going on in here?” Finnegan asked, the jet engine roar of the Presidential Shitter flushing behind her.

“Quick!” Joe said, “Get pregnant with Karine’s lesbian baby so the aliens don’t kill us all!”

“It isn’t aliens, Grandpa,” Finnegan said, taking his hands to sooth his senile agitation.

“They ate everyone in the city of Machu Pikachu in a single night!” Joe said, snatching his hands away.

“I’ll go get him a few Miltowns,” Finnegan said and dashed back into the bathroom.

“Flight 19,” Joe said, turning and turning in place. “They were the first that tried to fight them in the Bermuda Triangle. Those damn ships burned them right out of the sky!”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Grandpa,” Finnegan said, walking back in the room. She tried to hand Joe the pills and he slapped them from her hand.

“Goddamn aliens. I know. I’ve been on those secret committees. I’ve seen the files,” Joe said as Finnegan and Karine gathered the pills off the floor.

“I’ve been part of the cover-up for so many years,” Joe said, suddenly spent, lowering himself to the Oval Office couch.

“They are just weather balloons, Grandpa.”

“They are ALWAYS just weather balloons!” Joe cried. “I made up the whole weather balloon story myself, back at Roswell.”

“Roswell?” Karine asked.

Joe struggled up off the couch and staggered to his desk, rummaging.

“I was there at Roswell. They got me to call it a weather balloon!” Joe held out a curl of thermofax paper, yellowed with age.

“See! That’s me!” Joe said, stabbing at the fragile paper. “I copied it from some classified documents I took home.”

“You would never knowingly take home classified documents, Grandpa,” Finnegan said slowly and clearly and loudly.

His panic subsided long enough for Joe to say, “Oh, I misspoke,” to the corner of the room above his desk.

“Grandpa, that is clearly a shitty Photoshop,” Finnegan said, dropping back into character, “You would have only been five years old during The Roswell Incident.”

“Time travel!” Joe said. “They must have sent me back in time!”

“This isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this,” Karine sobbed as she scurried from the room.

“I was The Philadelphia Experiment!” Joe screamed after her.