The president and the press

(My annual Independence Day-ish shot of patriotic satire)

White House briefing room, Aug. 24, 1814.

And, now, the president of the United States.

Thank you, gentlemen of the press, for assembling so swiftly. I come to you with grave and dire news of the utmost importance and urgency, the weight of which nearly is too much for even a president to bear. Washington, our fledgling capital city, now this day, this very hour, stands in imminent peril. British forces have smashed through our brave militias at Bladensburg and likely will sack and burn the Capitol and other institutions of our governmental within hours. I beg you, I implore you, proud, forthright couriers of truth, to tell of this bitter saga to every American with eyes to see, ears to hear and hearts filled with a love of country. Tell them it will take far more than fires and vandals to shake our iron resolve! This dastardly crime against our sovereignty will be answered!

I have but a few fleeting moments for questions. You, Enoch Hiram Meme of the Daily National Intelligencer, may go first.

'Thank you, President Madison.

'We've been hearing lots of buzz around town in recent days regarding your wife Dolley's remarkably expensive tastes in home furnishings. Cut glass decanters, imported red silk velvet draperies, fine English porcelain, pricey artwork, etc.

'Do you think this is the sort of home a fiscal conservative such as yourself should live in? Or should the White House be renamed the Hypocrite's House?”

Wait, just a moment sir. I must gather my dizzy wits. I've just informed you that Washington will burn within hours and the first question you ask is about my beloved wife's taste in draperies?

'Well, with all due respect Mr. President, #fancyjemmy and #spendydolley each are totally trending among all the broadsides, pamphlets, handbills and town criers. Pages are being viewed. It's infecting social conversation as if it's some sort of fast-moving virus, Mr. President. It must be addressed.”

I find it hard to tamp my fury in the face of such frivolous trivialities. The National Intelligencer has become a feckless buzzing gnat, and with our enemies at the doorstep. Astounding. Next question to you, Asa Constant Flabbergast of the Boston Patriot.

'Along those same lines, sir, an anonymous pamphleteer going by the initials TMZ is reporting that you and Dolley have been throwing extravagant parties, where cider, ale, imported wine and fine French sherries flow freely late into the night. Chamber music, according to a source close to the White House, has been played at a heightened volume, sir, and some sketches of a clearly inebriated Henry Clay have come to our attention. Care to comment?”

Gentlemen, please! The sound you hear rumbling in the distance is British cannon fire. They will be here by day's end. Does anyone have a serious query regarding the precariousness of our predicament?

Mr. Isham Flimflam of the Ithaca Incessant?

'Yes, Mr. President. According to extensive polling by Poor Richard's Research, the sacking and burning of Washington could have serious implications for your party's standing in the upcoming midterms. It's likely your approval will plummet among key demographic groups - musket moms, draft horse dads, cider-swilling masons, pewter smiths with a touch of the gout, 18-30 year old chimney sweeps, yeoman farmers, landed gentry, ale drapers, cloggers, clowers, gaunters, pastors, schoolmasters, tallow chandlers and, of course, weary wainwrights.

'Do you have any reaction to these latest numbers, Mr. President?”

I've got a number for you, Mr. Flimflam. There are 4,500 battle-hardened British soldiers fresh from fighting Napoleon marching in this direction. Earlier today, they brushed aside our poorly trained militias of farmers and tradesmen like so many dead leaves in a gale.

Polls? It's entirely possible our heads will be on poles by tonight. And if I spend another second in your company, I'll burn this city myself. No more questions.

'Mr. President … Mr. President … are you saying you don't support the troops? Mr. President, are you allowing the city to be captured to cover up Dolleygate? Mr. President, are you, like Napoleon, just too short to defeat the British? Is it true you recently commissioned an oil-on-canvass selfie? Mr. President, how do you answer reports that you were really born in England?

Mr. President?

l Comments: (319) 398-8452; todd.dorman@thegazette.com