LIEBERMAN looks around at the other men in the room, who stare at him impassively. Finally, LIEBERMAN sighs, reaches down into his pants, and detaches his TESTICLES. He raises them up to look them, wistfully, then moves to offer them to OBAMA.
No. Give them to Carl.
OBAMA nods toward one of the Secret Service agents, who is holding up a lunch-sized paper bag. LIEBERMAN drops the TESTICLES into the bag. CARL quickly folds the top of the bag over twice, three times, and once the TESTICLES are secure, hands the bag to OBAMA, whose takes it without looking, having kept his eyes on LIEBERMAN. OBAMA raises the bag, still looking at LIEBERMAN.
These are mine now. I’m keeping them for the next four years. I’m going to keep them in a drawer in the White House desk. And if at any time in the next four years there’s so much as a hint that you might do something to displease or oppose me, then I’m going to take them out, and then I’m going to take this –
(OBAMA raises a large rubber mallet he’s been hiding behind his back)
– and I’m going to turn them into pate, which I will then feed to Malia and Sasha’s puppy. Or maybe I’ll just skip all of that and give them to Rahm.
(eyes widening in abject terror at the thought of what RAHM EMANUEL might do to the TESTICLES, if given a chance)
That’s not going to be necessary, sir.