Ralph started barking wildly as soon as he and Bob exited the front door. “What is it?” Bob asked the little beagle. He then looked up and saw a smiling President Obama standing on his driveway. “Oh no,” Bob sighed.

“You’re not busy are you?” Obama asked. Next to him stood a very serious looking woman.

“Well… I was just about to walk the dog…”

“That doesn’t sound busy,” Obama declared.

“Pet ownership is just another symptom of the patriarchy,” declared the woman.

“And who is this?” Bob asked.

“This is Sandra Fluke,” Obama told him. Obama then noticed Ralph sniffing at this shoes and reached down to pet him. “What a cute dog…”

“Don’t touch him,” Bob said. “So what do you need?”

Obama smiled. “Oh nothing much. I just need you to drive Fluke here to a pharmacy and buy her some birth control.”

Bob looked at the scowling Fluke and then back at Obama. “Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

Obama looked confused. “Why? Do you have some religious objection?”

“It would take a while for me to list all the different objections I have to this,” Bob said.

“He wants to oppress and control women!” Fluke shouted at him.

“Come on, man.” Obama nudged Bob playfully in the shoulder. “You need to go buy her some birth control. If you don’t, then later I’ll be back here asking you to drive her to an abortion clinic.”

“Why do I need to do this?” Bob demanded. He then leaned in close to Obama and whispered. “Is she… um… mentally special?”

Obama whispered back, “She’s a woman.”

“And that means…”

Obama furrowed his brow. “Women can’t be expected to do things themselves… I think. Anyway, the single ones are easy pickings for votes as long as I make sure they get their birth control and abortions and stuff.”

Bob backed away from Obama and looked at Fluke. “Okay, there’s a Walgreens on basically every single intersection in this country. You can go get your own birth control; you don’t have to bother me.”

“Women have almost gone bankrupt having to buy their own contraception while at Georgetown,” Fluke responded angrily.

Bob raised an eyebrow. “They’re really teaching life skills at the elite colleges these days, huh?”

“All you have to do is just get her to the pharmacy and buy her birth control,” Obama said. “It’s easy. And then everyone will be happy.”

Bob frowned. “I don’t think my wife will be when she hears I was alone in a car with a girl who nearly went bankrupt on birth control.”

“Are you implying something about me?” Fluke demanded.

Bob shook his head. “Oh no. Sorry. That would be crass to imply things about a girl coming to me demanding things. I should just come out and say what I’m thinking, like that your a whiny, over-privileged idiot.” He turned to Obama. “I’m not doing this, okay? Not going to happen.”

Obama frowned. “Okay. I guess I can’t get you to buy her birth control.” He then took a revolver out of his jacket and tried to hand it to Bob.

Bob backed away. “What’s this?”

“Instead of taking her to the pharmacy to get birth control,” Obama explained, “we’ll just force her health insurance to pay for it. They have some sort of weird religious objection or something, so you may have to point this gun at them to let them know that the government said they have to pay for it and we’re serious.”

“Are you insane?”

“He respects women!” Fluke asserted. “And he–”

“Adults are talking,” Bob interrupted her.

“I’m thirty-two years old and–”

“Adults can get their own birth control. Now shush.” Bob turned to Obama. “Again, not doing this.”

“Well I can’t go pointing a gun at health insurance providers,” Obama said. “It’s undignified. It’s more of lackey thing.”

“I’m not your lackey; I’m not doing this,” Bob said. “And maybe have you tried figuring out some way to get birth control for people without pointing a gun at anyone?”

Fluke stomped forward. “People who fear vaginas have to be made to–”

“I told you to be quiet.” Bob looked at Obama. “You went to Harvard. She went to Georgetown. Maybe if you two put your heads together and think super hard on this, you can get your birth control without having to bother anyone, okay? I mean, isn’t this a private thing? Don’t people like a right to privacy anymore?”

Obama shook his head. “Not since they invented Facebook.”

“I’m walking my dog,” Bob said. “You figure this out and leave me out of it.”

“Okay,” Obama shouted as Bob headed away with Raplh in tow, “but if Sandra Fluke reproduces, it will be on your head!”

Bob sighed, not looking back. “I understand the risks.”