"Motivation? How about I am motivated to NOT SHIT MY PANTS?"

"Obama Made Me Shit My Pants."

So I'm at this Diner with some friends, and -- midway through the meal -- something doesn't settle in my stomach quite right. I excuse myself from the table and head with purpose to the restroom, when I am stopped at the door by two men in black suits.

"Sorry, sir, you can't go in there."

"What? Why?"

"We're Secret Service. President Obama is currently in there."

"I promise I won't bother him or anything; I just really need to use the bathroom."

"Not while The Man is in there, sir."

"He'll be done in a minute, right? 'Cause I REALLY need to take a crap."

"President Obama is currently occupying the stall. For as long as he believes it necessary."

"Obama is in there? Taking a shit?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's funny. You never think of a President taking a shit."

"WE think of it constantly, sir, and it is our job to be prepared and to protect him while he is indisposed."

"Was it the food? Because the food here is getting REALLY funky in my stomach."

"We are not at liberty to say, sir."

"How about the Women's Restroom? Can I use that? 'Cause I'm about to explode, if you know what I mean."

"'Explode' is not a good world to use in the proximity of the President. It has connotations: we might have to write a report."

"Okay, okay: what I meant was I'm about to fucking shit my pants, all right? Can I PLEASE use the Women's Restroom?"

"We can't let you do that, sir. ALL facilities are closed when the President is conducting his business."

"What the Hell am I supposed to do then? Shit in the parking lot?"

"If you do that, sir, we'll have to file a report. We report on all suspicious activity surrounding the President."

"Suspicious activity? There won't be anything suspicious about it -- it'll be a MOUNTAIN of crap."

"We cannot be sure of your motivations with such an action."

"Motivation? How about I am motivated to NOT SHIT MY PANTS?"

"Sir, your tone can be construed as threatening..."

"Sorry -- sorry: my mistake. Uh -- how long does he normally take?"

"We document the duration of his visits, but the Information is Classified."

"You time how long it takes the President to shit?"

"It helps us in Our Planning. We keep a strict schedule."

"Oh God, this is crazy! This is -- uh oh..."

"Sir?"

"I'm shitting my pants."

"You are?"

"Yep."

"Sir --"

"Wait -- Still shitting, here..."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to file a Report. I'll need to see some Identification."

"Not finished yet..."

"Sir --"

"It's still going. I haven't been like this since I was a tourist in Mexico..."

"Sir -- be quiet for a moment -- they're talking to me on the earphone."

"Is something wrong?"

"It looks like we got a Code Eight."

"Code Eight?"

"Yes. The President has signaled that he requires Air Freshener..."

I am Laslo.

https://althouse.blogspot.com/2017/03/diners-at-upland-california-inflected.html