Obama's car, or "whip" as he calls it in the 'hood vernacular, is quite fast. That's why, when he, Bubba Clinton and George "Dubya" Bush heard that Donald Trump was actually going to build that wall he had been talking to during his whole campaign, they knew they had to get back over the border into Texas from their vacation in Acapulco, where Bubba had set a personal records for "digits" collected, George Dubya won a tequila drinking contest (waking up with a "tramp stamp" tattoo on his lower back) and Obama had used his "stimulus package" excessively.
For now, though, time was short, and they had to get back in the States before Trump followed through. Obama, with his birth certificate questions abounding, couldn't take any chances. George Dubya was in the back on the phone with Dick Cheney, asking what he should do if they got pulled over. Bubba was smoking a joint filled with Acapulco Gold, but he wasn't inhaling - he didn't like it, he said. Obama was nursing his hangover with a Styrofoam cup filled with gin and grapefruit juice, going an excessive 111 miles per hour.
Suddenly, and unfortunately, police lights started blazing in the Mexico night behind them. "I think we've got company," Dubya said nervously. "I can't get arrested again. My dad will kill me."
"Don't worry," Bubba said. "Just ask them what their definition of speeding is until they go away."
"Well … uh … at the … uh … risk of playing the race card," Obama began, "but you've never … uh … been pulled over as a brother."
"Just be cool, fellas," Bubba said, "you've got Slick Billy here."
Obama pulled his "whip" to the side of the desolate highway. There was no one around, just the three politicians and a Mexican cop. The officer sidled up to the car. He told them to get out of the car. Bubba tried to finesse the cop but he was told to shut up. The officer then explained that his wife hated him and never paid any attention to him. And then he's stuck out in the desert all night. He needed some "attention."
"That depends on your definition of 'attention'," Bubba said, but was told to shut up again.
Then, the officer offered the three men a deal. "If you guys can give me a little attention, you know, then I might let you go."
"Like what?" Dubya asked, scared to get grounded to the family farm again. "We'll do it."
"Okay," the policeman offered. "If you can show me 15 inches of meat, I'll let you go."
Obama was shocked. "You mean 'man meat'?"
"Exactly," the officer confirmed.
The three Americans huddled up by the car and decided they could do it. Obama went first. He exposed himself and confirmed at least one stereotype about African-Americans. He measured out at 11 inches.
"Good start," the officer said with a tone of excitement in his voice. "You're up next," he said to Bubba.
Bubba confirmed another stereotype about the old Irish Curse. He measured out at 3 inches.
"Come, Dubya," Bubba cheered his pal on, "we got this in the bag."
Embarrassed, Dubya turned away from his friends so they couldn't see the "result." They could only see the cop measuring him. The cop looked disappointed. With a shrug of his shoulders, he said, "Okay, you can go."
Whatever had happened, the math worked out and they were free to go. They all sighed in relief.
"Thank God I … uh … had 11 inches," Obama said oh-so deliberately.
"Thank God I had three," Bubba added with his trademark smirk.
"Thank God I had an erection," Dubya said.
(Do the math)