PASSING SHOT: TOKYO KNOCKS THRICE (III)

at the Summit President Bump is at Kim's red snow-covered Palace. Kim is not there cos he wasn't invited.

Bump: well the official White House line is his invitation got lost in the mail.

what surrounds all the dignitaries in attendance is a countrywide blanket of orange snow.

Bump is checking the scores on his watch. he's also looking at Robert Mueller through his watch complete his meal at Le Diplomate.

Bump: aw, man, this summit sucks. there's nothing to do here. how's it over on your end, Bob? looks busy tonight. how's the Meatball Over Manicotti? that meatball is the size of my ball. i want to be there with you where the action is.

Mueller dabs each corner of his mouth with the longish wool napkin and doesn't touch the food on his goldplated dish.

Mueller: this food is too dry, too bland, too merican, it needs spicing up..

Bump: what is it? like hamburgers?

Mueller: no, that would be German, German is exciting. i need some outside spices.

Bump: that Yasmin from MSNBC is an interesting woman. spices up the weekends. i do opposition-research viewing only. she looks like a bird. an exotic painted bird from a faraway rainbow land. where Toucan Sam lives. i'd love to go toe-to-toe with her, then cheek-to-cheek and finally beak-to-beak. they're right, i need to broaden my palette of taste color, blondes aren't the only fun ones. i'm growing weary of Laura Ingraham. she used to be the model for my Ivanka, i wanted Ivanka to grow up to be just like her, that was the blonde way. but then Ivanka's cosmetics line was one of Laura's sponsors to get boycotted. i'm into browns now. hey is it just me or is it too quiet on the streets? hey did you guys ever find my box of rare Batman comicbooks when you visited my lawyer's home? asking for a friend. i know he took them the fink i've been trying to find those everywhere, sweeping Bump Tower.

Mueller: you see, i have a story to tell. it's taking some time cos it will be a long story. and i won't tell it till my meal matches my story. i won't say a word till my meal is prepared in such a way that time is taken, care is given, and the right ingredients come together after a slow cook. waiter, over here, i'm not ready yet.

The Mooch barges out of the kitchen flaps.

Mooch: yes, sir, right away sir. i'll take your food back again and let it simmer some more in the back a while longer.

Mueller: why can't you wave your magic wand and join me?

Bump realizes this and appears next to Bob at his table-for-one.

Bump: whatcha doin'?

Mueller: oh just shooting the breeze, bumping gums.

a cloud of black smoke dissipates. Mueller quickly barges outside after spotting someone. his mission is to encounter any Russians. he bumps into Putin on the street.

Mueller: excuse me, sir, can I borrow your time? do you know a recipe to spice up an American burger?

Putin: deermeat. trust me.

Bump: can i do it, Bob?

Mueller: no.

Bump: *hands crossed and eyes baby* PUHLLLLLLLLLLLLEEEEEEASSSSSSSSSSE???????

Mueller: okay, one time, keep your voice down, genteel patrons are trying to dine.

Bump stands up abruptly. the North Korean servants who were catering to his every want leap from out of Bump's watch's screen and into the D.C. restaurant. from DK to DC. they hail in a cloud of black smoke and bow profusely but dart their eyes upward just a touch to see if Bump is choking or not.

Mueller: wishbone. my favorite Russian dressing.

Bump points at Mueller with vicious vision.

Bump: YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU'RRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE FIIIIIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRREDDDDDDDDDDD!!! wow. that made my hair stand on end. trust me, i can feel it. my boss is right, there's nothing like the real thing. this is so much more satisfying than tweeting a firing. too cold. i'm a live performer at heart, i need the Broadway stage!

Mueller: satisfied?

Bump eats a Snickers with Almonds for dessert.

________________________

Chrissie: maybe it's just the lighting. dunno. your frame is off. you should have never cut your long hair, Nadal, that gave you strength, not those bad wifebeater shirts you wear with the sleeves cut out. you look like a slob watching tv on the couch.

Nadal: it's not called frame, it's called set. never go bowling on the first date.

Roger: i thought it was an inning. i should have gone into cricket, i have a cricketer's body.

Chrissie: now why YOU cryin? i got ya, my glistening god. jeez. the food better arrive quick.

Li Na knocks with the sweating cuisine. she has a fortune cookie in her mouth.

Li: *giggling* you still haven't figured it out? what ties all these rooms together? they each have the same thing.

Chrissie: soup's on! piping-hot tonkotsu for you Nada and bibimbap for you, Roger That. and here are your chopsticks that are also tamagotchis. i also ordered us some mini-popsicles from the Disney's Frozen line. i got me the white mini-popsicle, you Roger get the blue half-popsicle, and you Raffaelo get the purple wedge.

Roger: *still wiping tears on his elbows* what is this supposed to symbolize?

Chrissie: oh, lost youth. we've all been through it. now let's get down to business.

Chrissie pulls up a lounge chair she folds down by the bed and sets up.

Chrissie: i can't wait to watch. i've never seen you two play before. live doubles.

Nadal climbs on top of Roger and begins shaking up and down. he rides Roger's penis with his butt.

Roger: no need to pick your butt anymore, isn't it freer with no clingy shorts? i still hate that del Potro.

Nadal: easy, amigo, you need to understand the Spanish mind. i can defeat delPo because i speak his language. you see me on top of you? you see me reach high up? i can touch the sky. well the ceiling. you see how high i get? that's the secret. that;s how i'm able to beat you like a drum so many times. like i'm beating you now. my ball has spin which jumps up, over your puny racquet. your little roger doesn't stand a chance, much like your little roger now. don't look up at the ceiling lights, they'll blind you. tenis has been betty betty good to me. notice i said tenis, when it's spelled with one n it's pronounced tenEESE.

after 100 thrusts up and down, with one more for good measure, Nadal's knees firmly buried into Roger's chest nipples that they spill milk, Nadal swings his junk away from Roger's nose and Rafa takes off his fuzzy wristbands and throws them against the huge open window-wall as if he had just finished another performance on court.

Chrissie: *hand on elbow* the court of 40 love. not public opinion.

Roger: *quavering* that was a hard lesson to learn.

no streaks. Fed gets up and sprays all over the lounge chair. with Chrissie in it. Nadal sprays all over the bed, with Roger in it.

Chrissie: that was fun. now for the main course. oh wait no you guys have to have the right shoes on for the atmosphere. right wear for the weather. gotta have the correct footwear to fuck. the right boots to knock those boots. we all gotta wear our heels. i got my boots on. what are yours, Nadal?

Nadal: Tecovas. only the finest leather for my footsies. *he rubs along his ankle to his kneecap*

Chrissie: of course. get them out of your closet. Roger?

Roger: i had Paraboots. but i wore them out. from disuse. gonna have to buy new ones here in this foreign country.

Chrissie: get to steppin. go out into that strange snow. the weather is right. it's not too cold, which is eerie. in the meantime how bout an appetizer?

Chrissie lines up both men's buttocks together and uses the chopsticks to tickle their assholes.

Chrissie: pucker factor. i love being the woman in this situation.

Roger trudges along the edge of the city in the orange snow barefoot looking for boots. it is barely recognizable but still trying to be a Japan snow, however imperceptible, measured and calm and beautiful, lightly drifting as falling. he encounters a huge white boulder on top of which he spots clothes left to wet: a young woman's plain bluejeans and brown loafers, and fuzzy seventies sweater with pink bow.