The President of the United States sits at his desk in the Oval Office. He is leaning back in his brown leather chair, focusing intently on some documents at hand. Suddenly, without knocking, the Secretary of State bursts into the room.

SECRETARY: Mr. President, it’s all over!

PRESIDENT: What is? What’s all over?

SECRETARY: Everything! They’ve finally done it. I don’t understand how, and without us too! They’re really remarkable … undoubtedly years of planning … but who knew—

PRESIDENT: Johnson! What are you talking about?

SECRETARY: The people sir. (a cheeky pause) Well, actually, Patrick.


SECRETARY: Well, now that it’s all over, I feel like I don’t have to really call you Mr. President — my God, it’s remarkable just thinking about it! Even the label itself can reestablish the hierarchical structure of society. We are all leaders! All of us, (relishing saying it) Patrick. And I am no longer, Secretary of State Johnson. Just plain ol’ Johnson for me!

Secretary Johnson gets an idea and walks over to the President’s desk. With one dramatically elegant sweep of his hand, he brushes everything off of the desk; picture frames, miniature statues, coffee mugs, glass objects and a small American flag crash to the floor. He dusts a corner of the desk delicately, and then gracefully plops himself up on the table, swinging his legs comfortably. The President looks on in shock

PRESIDENT: JOHNSON. (sternly) I’m not really following … ANYTHING.

SECRETARY: Haven’t you heard?


SECRETARY: Wow, it’s already begun then! No need for authority anymore—

PRESIDENT: What’s begun? I thought you said it was over!

SECRETARY: It is over.

PRESIDENT: Then wha—

SECRETARY: Our founders found the New World, Patrick, but we’ve just discovered the Newer World.


SECRETARY: The people: they’ve organized and mobilized. They don’t need us anymore. They have become (darkly, yet pleased) self-sufficient.

PRESIDENT: What? Self-sufficient?


SECRETARY (struggling for words, then reminiscing excitedly, almost like a mystic storyteller): They’ve … well … come together … in peace. They’ve … united — yes, united. Just as, just as if, well, that’s it … well that’s really it…. They’ve decided the world order as it is — was — was not satisfying. It was unbalanced. There was disparity: in wealth, opportunity, health and nutrition…

PRESIDENT: Wait, so they’re really, just… all… getting along now?

The President gets up from his desk and starts pacing the room.


PRESIDENT: Look, you’re actually telling me, all the people of the world have finally woken up and decided that these disagreements are futile, that it’s better to just… cooperate… to live in some global commune thing. No. There is no way this is going to work. This is ludicrous. There are so many unanswered questions here, so many poorly thought out plans.

SECRETARY: No, Patrick. It’s really happening. Turn on the TV, better yet, walk around Washington. People are sharing, they’re redistributing. They’re sharing the food in their kitchens, burning the money in their banks… The police stations are filled with knives, guns, explosives — they’re giving it all up.

PRESIDENT: There’s no way people will be satisfied with this. Emotion Johnson — emotion. We’re human beings, not human thinkings. Revenge, greed, desire — it’s the stuff of history. Of government.

SECRETARY: Two words: mass exhaustion. People are just tired. Of everything. Of missed chances, and distant leaders, of violence, of losing. They do have emotions; they want just goodness.


PRESIDENT: Goodness? Goodness? Well that’s news to me.

Secretary Johnson eyes the President, and slowly inhales and exhales an enormous puff of smoke before he ashes his cigar above the pile of the President’s belonging.

SECRETARY: Face it, Patrick. The final revolution already happened. Everyone just, decided to get along.

Slowly, the President realizes Johnson is not bluffing. He goes to the Oval Office fireplace. He lifts a beautiful vase of the mantel, and sticks his hand inside to reveal a small bag of marijuana. He returns to his desk, pulls out a piece of paper, rolls a joint and then motions to Johnson to light it. Reclining on his brown leather chair, he looks at the Secretary.

SECRETARY: That’s the spirit Patrick.

PRESIDENT: What are we supposed to do NOW?

SECRETARY: What do you mean?

PRESIDENT: Well, who am I now? I’m nobody — a hindrance, maybe. No, not even — I’m superfluous! I’m going to disappear! Just waking and baking for the rest of my life; frying my brains into oblivion. Typical. My first day in utopia and I already hate it here.

The President finishes his blunt, puts his head down, and begins to cry.