During lunch in an upscale restaurant near the White House, Betsy Devos and Paul Ryan sat in saturnine melancholy. Things weren't going well for the new Presidential administration. Nor the Congress. They didn't have to say a word, this fact screamed through in vivid colors within the drab bleakness of the rich walnut paneling and the dim lighting of the chandeliers overhead.
"How's about that Jeff Sessions?" Ryan asked Devos.
"Oh, I hate those Saturday Night Live actors. They make me sick," Devos said.
"No, no, no. Jeff Sessions is the new Attorney General of the United States. You know the biggest legal eagle in the land that the big boss hired. That redneck who looks like a small chicken. He's from Alabama," Ryan said.
"You don't need to coach me on such things, you ignorant philistine. I know who Jeff Sessions is - he was sitting on that bus-stop bench with Vladimir Putin on TV a few Saturdays ago. I saw it after a late meeting with a new bridge club I just joined. . .Yes, I remember it well. Vlad the Inhaler wasn't wearing a shirt. Sessions offered Vlad a piece of chocolate. They punched fists in a 'bro handshake', or whatever the other 99.999% do these days in greeting one another. Yes, Sessions looks a lot like Forrest Gump," Devos said.
"No, no, no, You've got this all wrong. That was a Saturday Night Live skit. And the actor you're talking about isn't even a man. She's a she. Her name is Melissa McCarthy. God do we hate her. Get with the program, too, girl," Ryan snapped.
"Well what's so big about Sessions? What is he, a scientist, a doctor, a lobbyist, some sort of lawyer?"
"He's our new Attorney General. Of the United States, Betsy. Don't tell me you didn't know that an Attorney General has a law degree. He has to be a lawyer. He's not a scientist or some G-Man beekeeper. Dah!"
"Don't get smart with me, hotshot. I have more money than God. A lot more than that asshole Donald Trump, that's for sure. . ."
Ryan got a frustrated look on his face and huffed: "Sessions recused himself from the Russian inquiry. That dumb redneck from the woods had the stupidity of meeting with the Russian Ambassador to the United States. Ah, what a mess. There's even some talk about perjury. He recused himself after only holding office a little more than twenty days. Twenty-three or twenty-four, I think."
"Well what was it? Twenty-three or twenty-four days?" Devos asked.
"Oh you're such a bitch, and a control freak, Betsy. What do I look like, an encyclopedia? If I'm wrong, I'll just tell you it's an 'alternative fact'. Call it all up on on Wikipedia. It's got to be there by now."
Devos looked out the picture window with intense eyes, took a nibble of fine caviar and said, "Huh, twenty-three or twenty-four days. That' a little more than a month. That's not really that long of a time. . . ."