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The President's Cup

Chapter Text

Barack stood outside the front door, banging once again. 

“Bill!” he called, exasperated as he checked his watch.  Not getting an answer, he paced back and forth.  “Forty-four fucking minutes late,” he mumbled, kicking the gravel.

He banged again.



Out of breath inside, Bill imagined dismounting Hillary.

“That was great, baby.  Clittie may not be in town, but she sure knows how to make the greatest president who’s ever lived feel special.”  He wiped his brow, staring at his phone.

“Good,” she cooed, kissing her screen. 



He took a deep breath.  “Where’re you headed next?”

She stood.  “Toronto.”  She stretched out her hand, already feeling the ache from the book signings.

“Fuck,” Bill said, watching her button her blouse.  “I hate the patriarchy!”

Hillary grinned.  “What?”

Miffed, Bill leaned back.  “Oprah and Gayle are locked away because some fucker in the 1600s made tits sexual.”

“You don’t find them sexual?”

“Of course, I do, Hillary!  I just don’t think it’s fair that I can’t look at them whenever I want!”



“Bill!” Barack called again, banging to no avail.  He turned around.  “Mother fucking always fucking late,” he mumbled, punching the air as he walked back to the van.

“What’s the rush?” W asked, adjusting his gray wig in the rearview mirror.

Barack turned around.  “It’s called the ‘President’s Cup’, and all of us need to be there—you know, after we attend the official one and have our private cup when the crowds leave.”

W removed his mascara with a baby wipe.  “What do you think?” he asked, turning around.

“About what?”

W furrowed his brow.  “My wig.  It covers the rainbow dye,” he said, patting it.  “Does it look real?”

Exasperated, Barack chuckled.  “Sure, but you still have your fucking piercings in.  What the fucking…” Barack mumbled again, miffed.

W’s lip quivered before he burst into tears.


“You’re just like Forty-one!”


“You think I’m a freak!  That I’m not a good enough son!”

Barack held his hands up, nervous.

“What do I have to do to please you, daddy?!”

“What the fuck,” Bill said, chuckling as he strolled towards the van.  “I chat with Hillary for two, maybe three minutes, and you fuckers start acting like Joe does around fat guys.”

Barack clenched his fist, chuckling to calm down.  “Not today, satan.”

Bill yanked off W’s wig, giggling as he threw it at him.  Content, he got in the van and took a deep breath, before buckling up and spreading his knees.

Barack was stunned.  “Don’t you have a watch?”

“Yep,” Bill said, showing off his Rolex.  “Had this one made when I thought Junior and Chelso were conceived.”  He kissed it.  “Nothing like having a time piece that counts down from conception.”

Barack held his fist to his mouth.

“Dude,” Paul mustered, carrying Bill’s golf bag.  “What the fuck do you have in here?”

“The usual, son.”

Paul dropped the carrier, squinting as he looked inside.

“Putters, irons, wedges,” Bill drawled.

“Sounds like wedgies, dude.”

Bill nodded.  “Hey, did you pack my special bag?”

Paul took it from around his neck.  “Playboys from ’94-’96.”

“Ahh, my travel collection.”

Barack rolled his eyes. 

“I also threw in a few gifts for you guys,” Bill said.  “Forty-four, I know you’re not into porno mags, so I’m giving you my recently delivered Sharper Image catalog.  If you place an order by October 2nd, you’ll get reduced price, standard shipping on any item that costs $600 or more.”

Barack chuckled again, trying not to punch Bill.

“And W,” Bill said, reaching into the bag.  “I got you these.”

W furrowed his brow.  “Synder’s Pretzels?”

Bill grinned.  “They’re the driest available.  Don’t pass out now,” Bill said, laughing as he and Barack fist-bumped.

W’s lip quivered.

“Fuck,” Barack yelled, seeing W’s change.

Confused, Bill furrowed his brow.

W ripped his shirt in two, sobbing uncontrollably.  “I needed water!” he screamed, banging his chest.

Amazed by the display, Bill leaned towards Paul.  “Son?” he whispered.

“Yeah, Forty-two?”

Bill swallowed.  “Hand me one of my magazines.”

Paul reached into Bill’s bag and pulled out a Playboy.

Bill nodded.  “Uh, W?”

The sobbing man looked up, wig nearly off his head. 

“Here,” he said, handing him the magazine.  “If you turn to page 42, you can see boobs.”

Calming, W took the magazine, transfixed by the glossy pages.

“Whew,” Bill said, wiping his brow.  “Thank God.”

“For what?” Barack asked, checking his watch again. 

Bill looked down.  “There’s still a man in him.”  The men glanced at W.  “Forty-one would be proud.”

Chapter Text

Walking slowly across the green, Jimmy and George looked at the crowds. 

“My, my,” Jimmy drawled, pushing the man’s wheelchair.  “If my eyes are refusing to fable, there seems to be thirty-nine thousand people in that audience.”

“Looks like forty-one thousand to me,” George grunted.

Jimmy took out his knitting needle and stabbed a hole in George’s wheel.  “My stars,” the man said, feigning surprise.  “You have, how do you say, a flat tire.”

George swung his hands in the air.  “Damn unmanicured lawn!”


Pulling up at the venue, Paul turned off the engine before Bill rested his hands on the other presidents’ shoulders.

“If anyone asks, we’re only here to watch the league game.  Got it?”

The presidents nodded.

“Paulie, do that thing you do when you place your finger on your earpiece and look super official.”

“You mean when I move you along like I’m directing traffic, dude?”

Bill nodded.  “Once I’m out the van, their agents can handle them,” Bill said, pointing to Barack and W.  Bill grabbed the door handle.

“Wait a minute,” Barack said, resting his hand on Bill’s shoulder.  “Why should you get out first?”

“Yeah!” W mumbled, taking out his tongue ring.

Bill looked down.  “Fine.  We’ll make this fair.”

The men nodded.

“Whoever balanced the national debt can leave first,” Bill said, grabbing the door handle again.

“Whoa,” Barack said, as W pulled it shut.  “I think we should go by how many Americans gained health insurance through policy.”  Barack placed his hand on the handle.

“Wait!” W yelped, thinking back to his tenure.  “I think we should go by the one who, uh…”  He counted on his fingers, mumbling to himself.  “To the one who has the most presidents in the family!”  He grabbed the door handle.

“Hold it!” Bill yelled.  “Hillary won the fucking popular vote, Forty-three.  We’re fucking even!”

Miffed, the man let go of the handle.

Suddenly, they heard cameras flash and crowds scream. 

“What the fuck?” Bill asked, peering out the window.


Jimmy and George waved to the crowds as they headed towards the entrance.

“Good morning, my fellow Americans,” Jimmy drawled, grinning.

Confused, George leaned back.  “What country is this again?”


“Daddy?!” W yelped, readjusting his wig.

“Use hairpins!” Bill screamed.

Barack laughed profusely before they all got out the van.


Sitting on the sidelines, the men watched the professional golfers under the attentive eye of the media. 

“Forty-four,” Bill whispered, talking across W. 

“Yeah?” Barack said, transfixed on the game.

Bill looked down.  “Guess what?”

“What?” Barack whispered.

Bill grinned.  “Chicken butt.”

Barack clenched his fist.

“Forty-four?” Bill whispered again.


Bill bit his lip.  “Guess why?”

Barack held his fist to his lips.  “Mother fuck…”

“Chicken thigh,” Bill said, gigging profusely. 

Seeing the amusement, W wanted in.

“Hey Forty-four,” he said, giggling.

Barack didn’t answer.

“Guess how.”

W laughed so hard his shoulders bounced.  He and Bill locked eyes.

“Hey, Forty-four,” W said again.  “Guess how.”

“How, damn it!”

“Chicken cow!” W screamed, causing Hideki Matsuyama to lose his shot.

The crowd gasped.

“See what you did?!” Barack yelled, throwing his hat on the green before stomping out.

Saddened, W looked at Bill. 

“Chicken cow?” Bill asked, shaking his head.  “You took a smart game and fucked it up.”

“I didn’t mean to!”

Jimmy tapped Bill on the shoulder.  “Billy Jeff?” he whispered.

Bill leaned back.

“Guess what?”

Bill furrowed his brow.  “What?”

Jimmy giggled.  “Peanut.”

George burst into laughter, his blanket falling off his lap.

Content with his contribution, Jimmy opened a pack of peanuts, eating one at a time.

Getting a peek at W’s real hair from behind, George’s eyes grew big.  “What have you done?!”

Bill and W turned around.

“Your hair looks like that flag the queers wave!”  He turned to Lawrence.  “Not that there’s anything wrong with that!”

W swallowed, lip quivering.

“W,” Bill whispered.  “Take a deep breath.”

“I’m my own man, daddy!”

“Man?!” George yelled, bringing attention to the group.  “Bill is a man!  Look at him!  Tall, handsome, and by that perpetual grin, licking so much pussy that doesn’t need food!”

Bill nodded, crossing his arms.

“Be more like Bill!  I wish he were my first-born son!”

Sobbing uncontrollably, W ran from the stadium, undressing as he did.

Chapter Text

Later that afternoon, W sat in the bathroom stall looking at pictures of Michelle. 

“You’d understand me,” he said, wiping his nose.  “You laughed that time I said ‘chicken cow’ at the inauguration.”

In the stall next to his, Barack listened in.

“That’s why Forty-four got so jealous,” W said, grazing the screen.  “Because we have a septual—”  He furrowed his brow.  “A peshual,” he said, thinking hard.  “A, uh…a real good relationship,” W finally said, kissing the screen.

Biting his fist, Barack counted to ten.


Paul kicked his way into the bathroom, gun drawn.  He looked around, knocking over the trashcan as he did.  “All clear, dude.”

Bill nodded.  “Thanks, son.  You never know who’s out to kill me while I’m singing ‘Staying Alive’ at the urinals.”

Barack punched open his stall and banged on W’s door.  “Come on!”

Paul’s eyes grew big.

“Barry?” W said, carefully standing on the toilet seat.

Barack rolled up his sleeves.  “Come on!  I’m ready to kick your ass!”

Bill and Paul locked eyes. 

W squatted, turning himself into a ball.  “Uh, occupied.”

“Open up!”

“Forty-four,” Bill cooed, walking slowly towards the man.  “You’re still the president with the most dignity.  If you kick W’s ass, your reputation would be in jeopardy.”

Barack giggled profusely, holding back tears.  “He wants my wife,” he mustered, holding his chest.

“I know,” Bill said.

Barack nodded, laughing harder.  “I wanna fucking kill him.”

Jimmy and George slowly entered the bathroom. 

“My, my,” Jimmy drawled.  “Forty-two through Forty-four.”

Bill rolled his eyes.  “We have business, Jimmy.  Use the ladies’ room.”

Bill and Barack laughed, high-fiving each other.

Jimmy nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a gun.  “Say it again, Billy Jeff!”

“Shit!” Bill screamed, holding his hands up.  Barack did the same.

“Where is the rainbow-haired, ninny?!”

Bill swallowed.  “He’s suffered enough, Jimmy!”

“Show yourself, Forty-three!”


Standing behind Jimmy, Paul attempted to grab the gun.

“By God, I swear if you don’t show yourself in thirty-nine seconds, I will kill William Jefferson right next to the urinals!”

“W!” Bill screamed, kicking the stall.

Thinking fast, Paul tapped Jimmy’s shoulder.  “Elderly dude?”

Jimmy quickly turned around, accidently pulling the trigger.  A small flag reading “Bang” descended, and everyone took a deep breath. 

“My, my,” Jimmy said, chuckling from embarrassment.  “It seems as though my realistic prop has, how do you say, revolted.”

Bill and Barack lowered their hands.

“Well,” Jimmy said, tightening his wool coat.  “Are you all ready for the festivities?”


Alone, the men stood on the green, each throwing their jewelry into the pile.  Bill begrudgingly tossed his Rolex on top.  Once finished, Paul collected the items.

“Alright, the real President’s Cup begins.  This year, we only have three presidents playing.”  He turned to Jimmy and George.  “Smart move sitting this one out, fellas.  No need to break your weak asses while swinging the fucking club.”

Bill and Barack laughed, high-fiving each other again.

“Ahem,” Jimmy said, clearing his throat.  “He who talks a big game tends to be compensating for something else.”

Fuming, Bill turned red.

“And if memory serves,” Jimmy said, pausing to open a mint, “It was you who made a series of bogeys at our last tournament.  ‘Oh’,” Jimmy mocked, swatting the air like Bill.  “’There’s something wrong with the wind’.”

“It was blowing like fucking crazy, Jimmy!”

“All lies!” the old man yelled.  “Earth, wind, and fire were perfectly still that day, Billy Jeff!  Do you remember the 21st night of September?!”

Barack and W held Bill back.

Paul blew his whistle.  “Okay, numbered dudes.  We only have two hours.”

Miffed, Bill nodded.  “You’re up, Forty-four.”

Barack nodded, grabbing his club and positioning himself.  The men watched him from the side.

“Forty-one,” Jimmy whispered.  “Have you prepared your wager?”

George nodded.

“I’ll place thirty-nine hundred on Forty-four,” Jimmy drawled.

“Fine,” George said. “I’ll put forty-one hundred on Forty-two.”

Listening in, W’s eyes filled with tears.

“I always back a winner!” George said, eyes widened.

“Surely,” Jimmy drawled, watching Barack position himself.

Bill was exasperated.  “Hurry up!”

Barack clenched his fist.  “You know what, Bill?  You go first.”

“Finally,” Bill said, stepping to the ball.

Just as Bill swung the club, W screamed at the top of his lungs to sabotage his father.

“Shit!” Bill yelled.

“Damn it!” George grunted.

Satisfied, W grinned.


With fifteen minutes left, Bill and Barack’s scores were tied.  W had chosen to declare defeat, choosing rather to sabotage Bill.  Getting comfortable, W took out his pocket mirror to apply eyeliner.

“What are you doing?!” George screamed as Bill swung again.

“What the fuck?!” Bill yelled, throwing his club across the green.

Chucking, Barack looked down.

“I’m being who I am, daddy!”

“You’re a Bush!  The only thing you should be applying is shaving cream!”

“Only when necessary,” Jimmy drawled, sipping tea.

Chapter Text

All the men stood on their toes, watching closely as Barack made his last putt.

“No need to make it,” Bill said, miffed.

Jimmy grinned from the side, waiting with bated breath.  “Forty-one hundred dollars to buy a new scarecrow for the peanut farm!” he said, clasping his hands together.

“He’s not done!” George screamed.

“There’s no coming back for Forty-two!  He’s a loser!  A two-termed, deficit-lowering, corpulent loser!”

Bill slammed his club to the ground, storming towards the man.  “Fuck you, Jimmy!  Fuck you, I’ll kill you!”

Jimmy hid behind George’s wheelchair.  “Billy Jeff, no need to activate the heart troubles…”

Paul ran towards the man.  “Calm down, dude!  If you kill Jimmy Carter, Hillary’ll destroy your shed!”

Bill looked down.  “You’re right, son.  Last thing I need is for my fucking fortress of solitude to be…to be—”

“Charred to oblivion?” Jimmy interrupted.

Bill nodded.  “Yeah, charred to oblivion—just like how Joe burned down your peanut farm.”

Jimmy clenched his fists.

Bill chuckled.  “To and fro with the bucket of water, right Jimmy?”

“You weasley…!

“Yes!” Barack yelled, winning the tournament.

“Fuck!” Bill screamed, slapping his own thigh in frustration.

Barack held his hand to his ear, dancing towards the men.  “Who’s the greatest?!”

Jimmy clapped, dancing along, thrilled the man won.

“Uh,” Barack said, slapping an invisible ass.  “Who’s the greatest president who’s ever lived?!”

Bill kicked George’s wheelchair.  “Me, fucker!


“Hey!” W yelled, shoving Bill.  “That’s my daddy!”

Bill shoved W back.  “Fuck you, Forty-three!”

W shoved him again.  “No one touches the Bushes!”

“Why not?” Jimmy drawled, licking a Tootsie Pop.  “Nothing’s better than a bush—at least back in the ‘70s.”

As Bill and W tumbled to the ground, George stared at the men, tears filling his eyes.

“Everything alright, Forty-one?” Jimmy asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Lawrence wiped away the old man’s tears.  “He’s—he’s finally fulfilling the family honor.”

Bill and George pulled each other’s hair, screaming like little girls.

“All I’ve ever wanted was for the boy to protect me—to keep the Bush name alive for generations to come, even if that meant that he’d have to start two, unnecessary wars and suffer eight years with Dick Cheney.”

Jimmy patted George’s shoulder as Barack claimed the winner’s pile.  “I suppose this is your greatest moment,” Jimmy drawled.  “After all, you can no longer jump out of planes.”

“But I can still lick BB.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow.

“Barbara’s Bush.”

Jimmy nodded, watching as Bill and W continued to tussle on the ground.


Bill sat in his study drinking coffee as he clicked through the Getty Images website. 

“Dapper ass, ass man,” Bill said, grinning at himself.  “Who puts their hand on their heart the best?  You do, Forty-two.”  He looked down.  “Fuck, I’d vote for him.”


Bill looked up.  “Baby.”

Hillary grinned, walking towards him.  She sat on his lap before carefully kissing his lips.

Bill closed his eyes, completely content.  “Fuck.”


He licked his lips.  “Just seeing you is like looking at a smorgasbord of deliciousness.  I may have enjoyed Clittie in theory, but nothing compares with an in-person makeout session.”

“Gosh, Bill.”

“It’s true,” he drawled, whispering in her ear.  “I went to bed hungry.”

She licked her lips.  “How do you think I feel?”

His eyes grew big.

“Me, alone, in a hotel room in Canada, watching clips of you from the Presidential Cup.”

“Did she miss me?” he asked, finagling his hand into her pants.

She nodded.  “Especially when you bent down to pick up your keys.”

“Fuck,” Bill said, remembering.  “I always forget how much you like this sweet ass.”  He looked down.  “Wanna hump it?”

“God, Bill.”

“I’m serious, Hillary!  I want hump your ass all the time!”

She grinned, shaking her head.  “You’re sick.”

“Tell me something new!”  He tickled her, watching as she laughed profusely.  “Fuck,” he drawled, so enamored.  “I’m jealous of that Canadian mattress.”

“Don’t be.  It didn’t get any action.”

“Not even a little ass?”

She shook her head.  “Hey, how was your game with the other presidents?”

Bill looked away, miffed.


He took a deep breath.  “Fucking Forty-four won.”

“Oh, honey.”

“And now he has custody of my Junior and Chelso Countdown from Conception watch!  Now how will I know when you’re ready to give birth?”

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head.



He looked down.  “You don’t think I’m corpulent, do you?”

She grinned.  “You’re the picture of health, Billy.  Why do you ask?”

“Because fucking Thirty-nine called me corpulent!”

“He only says things to get under your skin.”

“Well he did it!” Bill screamed, pointing to the dairy-free Ensures.  “Next time I see him, I’m gonna be ripped!”

Hillary stood up, walking towards the pile.  “You won’t be, Bill.”

He swallowed.  “Do they have dairy?”

She licked her lips and shook her head.  “I like your ass the way it is.”

His eyes grew big. 

“Forget about Jimmy.  Come help me unpack.”

Bill shot up, grabbing her hand and running towards their bedroom.  “Can I make you come, too?!” he screamed, slamming their door.