HOUSE CONFERENCE ROOM – MORNING

“Order. This hearing of the House Oversight Committee will come to order. Jordan, stop doing push-ups.”

“Getting my pump on, Representative Cummings!”

“Just sit down. Ms. Ocasio-Cortez, put your phone away.”

“But I’m dunking on a columnist from Reason magazine!”

“Put it away or I’ll take it! I am going to have order for this hearing. Also, the next person that confuses me with John Lewis is getting censured. I mean it. We are gathered here today in this august chamber for a serious matter. We will be hearing the testimony of Mr. Michael Cohen, former personal lawyer to President Trump, and I would like to personally extend a plea, to both Democrats and Republicans seated with me: Please let’s embarrass ourselves as little as possible. All right, let’s get this nightmare rolling. Good morning, Mr. Cohen.”

“Good morning, Chairman Cummings.”

“Son, you’re in about as much trouble as it’s possible for a rich white man to be in.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’ve been disbarred and convicted of several felonies.

“Yes, sir.”

“Issued a sentence for committing some crime.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And bad mistakes?”

“I’ve made a few.”

“Mr. Cohen, would you say that you’ve had your share of sand kicked in your face?”

“OBJECTION! Mr. Chairman, you and this witness are merely reciting Queen lyrics.”

“They are relevant in this case, Mr. Jordan. This is my time. I won’t interrupt during your time. Mr. Cohen, when you last appeared before Congress, were you completely truthful?”

“No, sir. Not completely.”

“Mostly?”

“I cannot agree with that characterization, sir.”

“Partially truthful?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“How about ‘slightly?’ Please say that we can settle on ‘slightly.'”

“Sure, yeah, why not?”

“So. Your last testimony before this House was only slightly truthful, but this go-round you promise to tell the whole truth, etc. Why should we believe you?”

“I have receipts.”

“Spill the tea, child.”

“I have two checks from Mr. Trump, one made out from his charity, for $35,000 to reimburse me for paying off Stormy Daniels. I have a half-used tube of Why Orange You Tan? which is Mr. Trump’s preferred self-bronzing cream. I have a handful of Mr. Trump’s golf scoring cards that are nothing but fabrications. And, of course, I have ten years worth of boxes full of criminal activities.”

“And where are those boxes now, Mr. Cohen?”

“They are with the attorneys of the Southern District of New York.”

“So all you brought is the check and the tanning lotion?”

“Don’t forget the golf cards.”

“No, no. Very important. Mr. Cohen, I thank you for appearing here and warn you that Congress does not like being lied to. A second time.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The Chair recognizes the Ranking Member, the distinguished gentleman from Ohio, Mr. Jordan.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr. Cohen, you’re a slimy little piece of anus grease, aren’t you? Just a worm of a slug of a snail of a creep of a Communist of a man. You’re not even a man, you’re a male mammal. That’s all the gender status I grant you, Mikey. I wanna get you on the mat. I wanna get you in a singlet and on the mat. I’ll cauliflower your lying ears right up, you Five Towns trash.”

“You leave the Five Towns out of it!”

“I’ll kick your assapequa!”

“That’s not one of the Five Towns!”

GAVEL NOISE!

“Knock it off, the two of you. I’m making a motion that Long Island not be mentioned for the rest of the day. Passed by unanimous consent. Mr. Jordan?”

“I just think it’s sad–sad!–that we are wasting the American people’s time like this when there are caravans–caravans!–full of Mexicans and Ecuadorians and CHUDs infiltrating our borders every day. We got doctors doing post-birth abortions and CHUDs in Texas, but this Committee is gonna sit around talking to a convicted liar who went to school at a Taco Bell.”

“Cooley Law School is upstairs from the Taco Bell, sir.”

“Same building, though, right?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I stand by my comments. Mr. Cohen, how long did you work at the White House?”

“I did not work at the White House, Congressman.”

“Oh, that’s right. You didn’t. You wanted to soooooooo bad, but you didn’t get your foot in the door.”

“I never wanted to work there, sir.”

“You totally did. You wanted to work there so hard.”

“No, sir.”

“You gonna cry?”

“I am not–”

“Cry, bitch. Cry about it.”

“–going to cry.”

GAVEL NOISE!

“Knock it off, Jordan. Your time’s up, anyway. The Chair recognizes Ms. Pressley from the great state of Massachusetts.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cummings. Mr, Cohen, I’d like to discuss Mr. Trump’s racism.”

“Have I already talked about his thing with Burger King and the blacks?”

“Yes. Let’s not rehash the Burger King thing. Mr. Cohen: scale of one to ten, how racist is Donald Trump?”

“Solid seven with occasional gusts to eight.”

“On a scale of Mr. Rogers to Hitler.”

“Mel Gibson.”

“Oh, did Mr. Trump also hate the Jews?”

“No, only Buddy Hackett, and that was for a personal reason. Mainly hated the blacks, but he had quite a bit of vitriol left over for the Mexicans.”

“Does Mr. Trump believe–”

“All Latinos are Mexican to Mr. Trump.”

“–that all Latinos…yeah, I figured.”

“Oh, and don’t forget the Muslims. Terrified of shabooboo law.”

“Does he mean sharia law, sir?”

“One would assume so, but it’s impossible to truly know.”

“Thank you, Mr Cohen, but just to be cruel…did Mr. Trump ever tell you which of his sons he loves the least.”

“He did, and often.”

“Was it Don Junior?”

“It was.”

“Thank you. I yield my time.”

“The Chair thanks the distinguished lady-gentleman for her questions and recognizes my friend from North Carolina, Mr. Meadows.”

“Thank you kindly, Mr. Cummings, my great friend. You’re one of the good ones.”

“What now?”

“Mr. Cohen, I would like to talk about your untrue, scurrilous, and fictitatious lies about President Trump and his love for all people of this earth who aren’t Mexicans or CHUDs.”

“What’s with you guys and CHUDs?”

“I’ll ask the questions, Lie-chael Cohen. See what I did there?”

“Not very clever, sir.”

“More clever than you. I’m not a disbarred, disgraced liar. I’m not going to the booty zone. That’s what prison is, Mr. Cohen. Booty zone. They coming for your booty, man.”

“Was there a question, sir?”

“Yes, there is. You lied on President Trump just before when you called him racist. You LIED on that beautiful man. Ain’t no sunrise without President Trump, and the sunset asks permission, too. Children grow taller because he wills it. His dreams are our Mondays, man. Over there in that White House? That’s the Alpha and Omega right there, bubba. And he ain’t no racist. I want you to look at something I got here.

SOUTHERN WHISTLING NOISE

“C’mon down here, sugar. This here is Lynne Patton. She works at HUD, real high up. Got a government driver and everything. That’s class, man. Would President Trump allow such a thing if he was a racialist? Nah. Twirl around, hon.

UNQUALIFIED POLITICAL  APPOINTEE  TWIRLING NOISE

“Look at that. Solid stock right there. Good hips. Sturdy, a worker. Hold still, sugar.

LIPS BEING PULLED APART NOISE

“Full set of teeth on the girl. Real good quality. Who’s got the first bid?”

GAVEL NOISE!

“Mr. Meadows, knock it off!”

“What’d I do?”

“Just quit it. We’ll talk later. Your time is up. Ms. Patton, thank you. That’ll be all. Let’s just keep moving. The Chair recognizes Miss Tlaib from Michigan.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Decorum, Miss Tlaib!”

“Congressman Meadows just tried to auction off a black woman during a hearing! That’s maybe the most racist thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, now you did it.”

“HOW DAAAAAAARE YOU!? Racist? RACIST? Mark Meadows doesn’t have a racist bone in in his body! Or a hateful organ! And none of my tendons or ligaments see color! How dare you, young lady? Calling me racist is worse than calling a black person the n-word.”

“It’s not.”

“Like, a million times worse!”

“Nope.”

“I call on the Chair to punch Miss Tlaib dead in her face.”

“The Chair will not do that.”

“Then I call on Jesus to smite the Musselman!”

“Mark, settle down or I’m gonna kick your ass. Miss Tlaib, I’m taking your time away. You know how they get when you call them that. It’s just not productive. I’m going to get all of North Carolina out of the way at once here. Miss Foxx, you have the floor.”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr. Cohen, can you promise this committee that you will not write a book about your experiences lying about the President?”

“No. I’ve had multiple offers for movie deals, actually.”

“And will you promise this committee that you will not accept those offers?”

“Oh, no. I almost certainly will.”

“Will you commit under oath not to appear on any television news channel?”

“Nope. I’ll do that if they hire me.”

“What about scripted? What if you were offered a part in a Dick Wolf show.”

“I would be an idiot to turn that down. Dick Wolf knows what he’s doing.”

“Promise us you won’t do Off-Broadway.”

“I cannot promise that.”

“Give me your commitment that you won’t wear a filthy Elmo suit and stand in Times Square pestering tourists.”

“Who knows what the future holds?”

“Okay, that’s enough, Miss Foxx. Your time is up. We have time for one more. The Chair recognizes the distinguished socialist from Queens, Ms. Ocasio-Cortez.”

CROWD GOING WILD NOISE

FLASHBULBS POPPING NOISE

DISCO BALL EMERGING FROM CEILING NOISE

“Hey! Hey! Knock all that shit off! I will bust some skulls! Ms. Ocasio-Cortez?”

“Thank you, Mr. Chairman. Mr Cohen, I’ll be brief: can you name the piece of paper that would be most damaging to the President for us to possess?”

“Sure. 2010 tax returns.”

“And who would be the most helpful person to speak to?”

“Alan Weisselberg, obviously.”

“Okay.”

“Matthew Calamari.”

“Is that really a person?”

“Tony Scungilli.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Sally Fried Zucchini.”

“No. That’s not real.”

“And Mr. Trump’s personal physician, a Dr. Vincent Boombatz.”

GAVEL NOISE!

“Okay, you know what? We’re calling it a day. Mr. Cohen, I think you’re a hero. I do. Not many men choose to change. That’s bravery, choosing to change. And you did choose to change very soon after being indicted on multiple counts. You plunged right into your new life the instant federal and state authorities forced you to, and I admire the heck out of you for it, Mr. Cohen. Who wants Italian food? Let’s go to Mario’s.”

GAVEL NOISE!