The story thus far: GEORGE's attempt to burnish the nation's image through production of an inspirational infomercial has ended in shambles, and the idea has been abandoned, along with his nascent advertising career. As we return, the Sol Hurok of the West Wing is speaking of the events that followed.
 
From: gwb
To: Hank Blakely
Sent: Monday, April 1, 2002
Subject: You never see a chicken in pajamas
 
My fellow Americans. It is with heavy heart that I announce, effective noon tomorrow, I shall resign the Presidency of the United States.
 
Hah! Gotcha! April Fool on you!
 
I figured I'd say the one thing that 'd scare people the most. Nothin' to worry 'bout, though, 'cause I'm gonna be around a real, real long time.
 
Well, actual, how long it's gonna be is a little up in the air right now. There's some fears it could end kinda sudden if certain facts gets known. People 'round here's spendin' an increasin' amount a' time worryin' 'bout stuff like these Enron papers and such.
 
That's what got me so worried when the Big Show idea went nucular on us last week. See, whether it's next month or 2008, I'm gonna eventual be outta this job, still a relatively young man and lookin' for somethin' else to do. Now, that would be just fine for somebody like Bill Clinton, 'cause ever'body loves him — no matter how bad he's been — and he's gonna have opportunities up the wazoo long as he lives. But I ain't kiddin' myself none. Once I'm outta this office, ain't nobody gonna care whether I die or go to the moon. All you gonna hear 'bout me is "George who?"
 
So that's how come it behoofs me to line up somethin' now, and I felt sure it was gonna be advertisin', 'cause I am the perfect man for the advertisin' game.
 
You know what advertisin' is? Advertisin' is gettin' folks to pay you for somethin' they know ain't gonna do nothin', but think they gotta have anyhow. Now if that don't describe government, it don't describe nothin' at all.
 
Here's how it works: All a' us got two people inside our brains. One I call the "Thinker," and the other one 's the "Hoper." Now, these two brain-fellas is always wrestlin' with each other over ever' little thing you think or do. And three outta five falls usual goes to the Hoper.
 
That's 'cause the Hoper's got the home-court advantage: The Thinker can't see nothin' past your big toe, but the Hoper sees waaay beyond that, and the bigger your brain is, the farther the Hoper can see.
 
Here're some examples: The Thinker buys hamburger, but the Hoper buys steak. The Thinker buys deodorant because he don't want people standin' next to him to sudden turn blue and die. The Hoper buys it so that Halle Berry will be drawn to him like he is a magnet.
 
You see? It's all about dreams. And a dream is a product just like any other, 'n it can be bought or sold, rented or stole, just like any other. What's more, you can fix it up anyway you want. You can dress it up in diamonds or paint it purple; it don't matter, you always gonna have a customer.
 
And the best part is — no inventory! Dream-sellin' is the only business I know where you can get people to buy somethin' that already belongs to 'em.
 
Sellin' dreams is what the presidency is all about, and I am the best there ever was at it. It don't matter how much they bad-mouths me, they never leaves my store empty-handed. Reagan was a little bit like that, and so was Clinton., but they ain't never been nobody as good at it as me. It is my one, true, shinin' talent. I don't have a clue how I does it, I just does.
 
But the Big Show dream was no more now than road-kill, so we come up with a new plan: 'stead a' tellin' people how good we is, we decided to tell 'em how bad we isn't — usin' what you call "negative advertisin'."
 
See, a dream-seller's gotta be versatile. When you run outta dreams, all you got left to sell is nightmares.
 
Now when you think a' the word "nightmare" one name might immediate come to mind. I can hear you goin' "uh-oh," and you're right: I mean none other than Herr Doktor Professor Alberich Rheingold.
 
At the time a' my tellin', Rheingold was the Managin' Partner a' the big public relations firm a' Ownly, Wright and Propper. Under the professor's leadership the firm's reputation had took a bit a' downward turn. It ain't no coincidence, for example, that all them rumors 'bout devil worshippin' at Procter & Gamble started after Rheingold took over the account.
 
Since you been followin' my exploitations this past year, I don't have to tell you that Rheingold is more 'n a little squirrelly. His ideas, to say the least, 're pretty far out, but they is always method to his madness. Problem is that it's usual a lot more madness than method.
 
This time, however, he outdone himself. Now, I know this is gonna sound lunatic — and a' course it is - but his plan was to—
 
Sorry. Emergency. Gotta go. Condi's in one a' her depressed states today, and gate security is concerned 'bout somethin' they found in her purse. I'll get back to you next week, God willin'.
 
Your Pal,
George