“And this is the Oval Office,” President Obama said as he and Donald Trump entered together. “Soon it’s going to be yours.”

Trump took a moment to look around and absorb it all in. “Nice. I like this place. Real rustic charm. How much is it?”

“Huh?”

“For this house. I don’t like the color. I’ll have to factor in repainting it on price.”

Obama took a deep breath. “What do you think this is?”

“You’re a realtor, right?” Trump shrugged. “Sorry, I have a lot on my schedule. You’ll have to remind me who you are and what this is about.”

“I’m President Barack Obama. I’m helping in the transition of power since you’re going to be the next president.”

“Oh yeah. I thought I remembered you. You’re that Kenyan guy.”

“I’m not Kenyan! I’m American!”

“Then why do you have that funny accent.”

“It’s supposed to be an elitist accent, not a foreign one.”

Trump started looking over the desk. “If you’re so sensitive about this, you should probably release your birth certificate.”

“I have! Multiple times! Here I keep it on me since I keep getting asked about it.” Obama pulled a piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to Trump.

Trump looked if over carefully. He then tossed it away. “I don’t know what a real birth certificate looks like, so that didn’t prove anything. Now let’s get to business: Where’s the button?”

“The what?”

“You know. The world ending button.”

Obama sighed. “It’s here.” He slid open a panel on the desk showing a big red button. “The important thing to remember is—”

Trump slammed the button with the palm of his hands.

“What are you doing?” Obama yelled. “It doesn’t even work until you enter the launch codes.”

“What are those?”

“Well, they’re two twelve digit sequences you’ll need to memorize. The first is—”

“This is getting too complicated. I think I’ll just call in a bombing strike if that’s easier. Do I do that with this?” He picked up a red phone on the desk and spoke into it. “Bomb someone. One of the ‘stans or something. Let them know America is great again… I know I’m not president yet. Fine. Do it when I am president. And put ‘America is great again!’ on the missiles. Also, make sure they mention the president is now Trump and not Borax Alabama or whatever his name was.”

Obama pulled away the phone. “We need to talk about policy. You’re inheriting a very divided nation. I tried to unite them, but they were all too stupid to follow my leadership or something. Frankly, I don’t care for most of them. But maybe they’ll respond more to you since you talk more their level. You know: idiot.”

Trump walked to the window. “Yeah, everybody loves me. I’m pretty awesome. The best.” He looked out for a few moments. “I don’t care for the view. I may have to move this place.”

“And I need to start thinking what I’m going to do after being president. I need to build on my legacy.”

Trump put his hand on Obama shoulder. “I hate to break it to you, but you don’t have a legacy. You weren’t a good president. I don’t remember exactly what you did, but I remember not liking it. Bad. So forget all this. Do something fun. A great thing to do is open a foundation in your name. You can funnel all sorts of money through that. I learned that from Hillary Clinton. Great chick. Hey, whatever happened to her?”

Obama stared quietly at Trump for a second. “You beat her in the election for president.”

“Oh yeah, I did.” Trump laughed for a moment, but then frowned. “She’s not going to like that. You think she might kill me?”

“I had the same concern after the 2008 primary,” Obama said. “The Secret Service has learned to keep pretty good tabs on her. Anyway, I want to talk to you about the Affordable Care Act.”

“The what?”

“The ACA.”

Trump furrowed his brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Obama sighed. “Obamacare.”

Trump laughed. “Oh yeah, you really took a dump on everyone’s health insurance didn’t you?”

“It was — it is — a very good bill. I’m very smart — ask anyone — and the policy was really smart too. It was just… the people buying insurance were dumb. They did it wrong.”

“Yeah, people will fail you. I never cared for people. Or a lot of animals. Did I tell you that time a chicken attacked me?”

“What chicken attacked you?”

“I have no idea. It was wearing a mask. Anyway, I was just minding my own business — slapping and yelling at a chicken — and suddenly it attacks me. I barely got out of there alive. And since I couldn’t be sure what chicken — because of the mask — I came back with my people and we killed all the chickens in the county. Slaughtered ’em all. And it was a farm county; lotta chickens. Lotta angry farmers.”

Obama raised an eyebrow. “What did you do with all that chicken meat?”

“Huh?”

“You killed the a lot of chickens. That meant a lot of spare meat.”

Trump furrowed his brow again. “You can eat chickens?” Trump shook his head. “Anyway, you’re missing the point. The point is: I will protect this nation.”

“And your evidence for that is you once vengefully killed a lot of chickens?”

Trump nodded. “Exactly. You get me. I like you. But it’s time for you to go. People want the Democrats to take over now.”

“You’re a Republican.”

“Yeah, whatever party I am. That’s the one taking over now. The red one. So I’m going to get to work. And by the time you get back from your vacation, America will be great again.”

“What? I’m not going on vacation,” Obama said. “You are president for the next four years.”

Trump scoffed. “Four years? I’m making America great again. That will take three months tops and then you can have the office back. After that I have a great idea for a water park for dogs. Going to work on that.” Trump looked around. “So do I just leave all your stuff out on the curb or what?”

“You’re not president until January.”

“Oh? Then what am I doing here now. I don’t even get the point of this.”

“Donald, you have to take this seriously,” Obama stated. “You are taking on a grave responsibility. America is a great country — one of my top twenty favorites — and you need to protect and lead it. You have to rise to this occasion and take this seriously.”

Trump nodded. “I want to assure you that — while I didn’t listen to anything you just said — I am going to be great at this. The best. And I will—” He suddenly caught a glimpse of the button again and slammed it with his palm.

“Still not doing anything,” Obama said.

Trump headed for the door. “Well, have that fixed by the time I get back.”

Obama slowly walked to his desk and sat down. “It’s going to be dark times of this nation, I just know it,” he said to himself. “Only one thing can cheer everyone up.” He started typing at a computer. “Another memoir!”