Oh, God, no.

“Howdy. Ah’m Rick Perry. You c’n call me Ricky, I don’ mind. Getcha somethin’?”

No, thank you. You’re the Designated Survivor this year?

“How you like that? Way Ah see it, ’til President Trump stops speakin’, Ah hold the powers of the Executive office. Has to do with the Capitol Building bein’ magic. Did you know that there are half-a dozen references to magic in the Constitution?”

No, there aren’t. And you wield no extra authority during the State of the Union.

“I have signed an order authorizing a massive infrastructure project. I call it the Wet Deal.”

The Wet Deal?

“Waterparks, man. Place bah me in Texas does killer business. We gonna plant America with waterparks, Need people to build ’em. Jobs. Need people to run ’em. That’s also jobs. We’ll get the cool teens to be lifeguards. Real hot lifeguards, wave pools, lazy river dealies. Scientists say that the earth’s gettin’ hotter? All right, then. Let’s do somethin’ about that. Let’s build waterparks.”

Secretary, are you taking your back pills again?

“My back hurt.”

Sure. Your order will not be followed, Mr. Secretary, because you have no authority to authorize it. It’s a free-standing tautology, kind of. All you are is the Secretary of Energy.

“Yeah, Ah try to be peppy. Now list’n here, boy: the President is in enemy territory, which means Ah get to fire this list of judges someone gave me.”

No.

“It’s in the Constitution.”

Stop saying that. You are the Designated Survivor, which means you’re the cabinet member picked at random to not attend the State of the Union. Anytime the entire government gets together for one of their little suck-offs, each body leaves somebody back at the office. Just in case a nuclear bomb goes off.

“Now, this is in the Constitution.”

It’s not. I meant the thing about the nuclear bomb. We started doing it in 1947. Plus, the DS can’t just chill at home; they have to be top-secreted off to an “undisclosed location.”

“Oh, yeah. Couple hours ago, a bunch o’ big-ol’ boys came stompin’ into mah office, woke me right up. Dragged me down t’ the car, man, wouldn’ even lemme make mah movement. Ah have two a day. Very regular man you talkin’ to here. First one is real early. Wake up, have some coffee, think about Texas, and then Ah do a splendid coil. You gotta check. You gotta check your movements, ’cause they gonna tell you ’bout your overall health. Color and consistency and various other metrics.”

Please stop talking to me about your bowels.

“Second one is what Ah call Evenin’ Evacuation. It is a contemplative time for me, and Ah bring with me no distractions into the water closet. This sequel movement frees me and lightens the load for whatever the night has planned. And, you know, Ah like to get to it after mah nap. But they was all, ‘Get in the car, sir,’ and one of ’em opened up mah desk drawer and snatched out the pill bottle and put it in his pocket, so Ah had to follow him now. Gestapo-like tactics.”

Terrible.

“Ah was treated worse th’n Fred Hampton!”

Fred Hampton was assassinated.

“Ah stand bah mah assessment. Now they bring me down to th’ car an’ it ain’ no stretch. Just a townie. Ah’m the Secretary of Education–”

Energy.

“–and Ah get a stretch. But there is a motorcade, and thass awesome, man. You ever seen one them sumbitches?”

Not in person.

“Beautiful sight, man. Like an angel takin’ a shower. Big titty angel gettin’ all soapy, man.”

Motorcades are cool.

“Bein’ in one’s better’n seein’ one. Bein’ in one makes you feel like a dictator. You watch them people zippy-zap by and they’re just ants to you, man. You could disappear ’em. For society’s sake, man. You ride in speeding motorcades long enough, you start thinkin’ ’bout genocidin’. It gets to you.”

I have no sympathy for you.

“Though the townie was equipped with satellite radio, the agents would not allow me to choose the station. Mah preference was Outlaw Country, but they insisted upon one o’ them alternative channels. Had t’ listen to Joy Division, man. Thass sissy music, man.”

I’ll just lodge my disagreement with that statement and move on. Is there a point to this, Your Secretariat?

“An’ now we at an undisclosed location. Oh, hi, honey. You lookin’ so pretty tonight. C’n Ah get me a three-piece with extra cole slaw. Ah’m a slaw man, honey! An’ a Coca-Cola, an’ you keep the change.”

Secretary? Are you talking to me?

“Naw, Ah’m talkin’ to the cashier here.”

Is the undisclosed location a Popeye’s?

“Don’ tell no terrorists, okay?”

Gotcha.