Maggie Haberman Was Not At All Nostalgic For These Three A.M. Calls

CELL PHONE NOISE

“Wow, it’s been a while. I thought I got replaced by Katy Tur. Hello?”

“Habes, it’s The Bolt.”

“For the millionth time, John, I will not call you that.”

“Everybody calls me that.”

“They do not. I see you’ve come out of retirement.”

“Remember when Han Solo flew in out the sun to blow up the Death Star? Well, picture him with an awesome mustache.”

“What have you been doing since you left the White House?”

“Hot yoga, mostly. You gotta see how flexible I am. You wanna FaceTime?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’m all sinew. Prepared for the upcoming battle. It’s gonna be like retard-rape: hard and sloppy.”

“Please don’t use that word. Or the other word. Y’know what? Don’t repeat any of that thought.”

“I’m surprised the sleazy fuckwit hasn’t started tweeting about me yet. Maybe he choked to death on a McNugget. Christ, he loved those things. He would make the Vice President stand across the room and toss ’em in his mouth. But, you know, he’d get bored quick because he’s a moron and start winging ’em at Pence’s crotch. Veep’d cry every damned time. It was disheartening.”

“Sure.”

“Can you even imagine Dubya doing that to Dick Cheney? No, of course not. There was professionalism. And also Dick would’ve punched him.”

“The man is not known for taking guff.”

“He’s a professional. Not like these lowlifes. The Oval Office was grabassier than a Munich bathhouse during Oktoberfest. When anyone’s in there, that is. Remember the story about John Henry, the steel-driving man? Remember how John Henry worked himself to death? Well, Trump’s the opposite of that.”

“I have heard this.”

“The man takes more breaks than Clyde Stubblefield. That’s a music nerd joke, Habes.”

“If you say so. What was going on with you and Rudy Giuliani?”

“Nothing was going on with us. Shit, I’d dive under desks to avoid talking to that drunken time bomb. I figured every conversation with him was a thousand bucks in lawyer’s fees later on. He may as well have sauntered around the West Wing knocking on doors and asking, ‘You up for some crimes?’ He was the human embodiment of a pinky ring. That’s how it is with those people, I guess.”

“That is incredibly racist.”

“I didn’t mean Italians, I meant New York Mayors. The vast majority have been scumbags and malfeasants.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s true.”

“Rudy would bring these greasy characters by the office. I mean ‘greasy’ in the literal sense: these men were visibly gooey. One of them cornered me and tried to sell me a truckload full of frozen waffles. He told me not to worry where it came from. I said, ‘Sir, we are in the Map Room.’ Not to mention all the counterfeit cigarettes.”

“The what?”

“Rudy and his mid-level goon buddies had some sort of scheme going on with Albania. They kept the cartons in the White House bowling alley.”

“That’s absurdly inappropriate.”

“There were also a toner pro scam being run out of the Press Office. That con where you send out ridiculously overpriced copy toner to companies and then try to get paid? Rudy and his comrades had one of those going, too.”

“Where did they keep–”

“Also in the bowling alley.”

“–the toner? Makes sense.”

“Trump would never go down there. He fears non-carpeted floors.”

“But you had nothing to do with any of this?”

“Habes, I was trying to start a war with Iran. Well, actually, I was trying to start wars with around a dozen countries, but Iran was the meat of my day. And a lot of people don’t realize this, but starting a war is hard work. You know how many signatures you need to go to war? It’s like launching the Space Shuttle. But, you know, way more fun. And lucrative. But mostly fun.”

“War is not fun,  Former Secretary Bolton.”

“Fighting a war is not fun. Running a war is blast. You get to go to Paris a lot. I was getting there, too. I was this close–thiiiiiiis close–to getting troops on the ground in Venezuela. First of all, I told him it was Mexico, so he liked that. And then I told him no American soldiers would die. I promised him. And, you know: he’s a fucking idiot, so he believed me. He had the pen in his hand!”

“What happened?”

“Lou Dobbs called and got him all worked up about those foreign Congresswomen again. Completely forgot about Venezuela, then called me Mustache Mike and kicked me out of the room.”

“A normal meeting.”

“On my way out, one of Rudy’s buddies asked me if I had any money I need laundered. Those were his precise words. I mean, I’m trying to jumpstart World War III, and half the staff is hanging out at gas stations selling speakers out of vans. They have a phrase for this kind of thing in the military.”

“What is it?”

“I have no idea; I never served. But they’ve got a whole language of their own, those folks. Colorful bunch.”

“Uh-huh. I assume you will be testifying in front of the impeachment inquiry some time soon?”

“With bells on my mustache and rings on my toes.”

“Can I go to sleep now?”

“Do you wanna ride Fuzzy Boy?”

“Night.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT