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Octopussies
James Bond returns — to the Obama White House!


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John O’Sullivan

Coming soon to a theater near you . . . 

Octopussies! 

Starring . . .

Piers Morgan as 007
Chris Rock as The President
Queen Latifah as The President’s Wife
Kathy Bates as Janet Napolitano  
Grace Jones as Valerie Jarrett
Kathleen Turner as Secretary of State
Tom Selleck as Colonel Hawkeye Jones, U.S. Special Forces
Daniel Day-Lewis as Mitt Romney
Written and directed by Michael Moore
With additional dialogue by Rich Miniter and Kevin Williamson

Solyndra Productions would like to thank the U.S. Taxpayer for invaluable help in the making of this film.

Scene One: The Oval Office, Washington, D.C. 

Bond watched the marital quarrel with the self-satisfaction of a confirmed bachelor. He always wondered how married couples found so many things to disagree about. But they never seemed to lack ammunition. The President was on the losing side of this particular squabble.

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“Darling, I don’t like the idea of launching a rocket attack on the Department of Homeland Security any more than you do,” he was saying in that plaintive tone that Bond had come to recognize and dislike. “But what alternative do we have? You heard Colonel Jones. If we don’t strike first, Mitt Romney and Octopussy may well launch a rocket attack on us.”

A woman, glowing with intense energy, stepped forward from behind the President’s chair.

“I agree with the First Lady, Mr. President,” she declared firmly. “How can we be certain that the Homeland Security Secretary is, er, shacked up with Romney? Janet never seemed to be, well, that kind of girl. Nor indeed were her associates in the agency.”

She blushed deeply, but continued: “It’s out of character. I don’t see any of them going for that Alpha Male routine of Romney’s. I say: Don’t strike until we have more definite information.”

“Oh dear, maybe you’re right, Valerie,” said the President. “It’s so hard to know.”

Just then there came a loud crashing sound that continued for two or three minutes. Someone was trying to kick in the door of the Oval Office. Bond wondered where the Secret Service men were. He began moving towards the door to block and kill the intruder (simple maiming was too risky in these days of burglary malpractice suits). But the President waved him back.

“It’s the Secretary of State,” he said, and sighed heavily.

“What the #%@ is going on?” said the stocky blond woman who stepped through the remnants of the door. “Who the &*#+ called a meeting on Romney without including me? This is my $?<!ing patch.”

She gestured towards the President’s wife and the woman the President had called Valerie. “And I suppose these two pussies are counseling no action until we have more definite information.”

“Like always,” she added.

The President put his head in his hands. Bond felt a wave of comradely sympathy, tinged with contempt, for the embattled male. He exchanged an understanding smile with the Special Forces Colonel who had just briefed them on the plans for the rocket attack. He guessed that both men would rather take on a Vietcong division than the grim regiment of women in the Oval Office. Even so, he would have intervened on the President’s behalf if it had not been for what had happened only 20 minutes beforehand . . . 



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