“Men, our country needs you now more than ever…”
United States President Ronald Reagan looked through the window of the Oval Office. It was a warm, sunny day. “Gee,” the President thought, “what am I doing here? I should be out there…riding a horse…somewhere.” He returned to his guests and sat down.
Sylvester Stallone and Chuck Norris remained standing across the desk from the President. “I’m still not exactly sure what it is you want us to do for you, sir,” Stallone respectfully told him.
The President looked at the two men, concerned. “As you know,” he stated, “our country is in serious economic trouble. Do you realize that we have just become a debtor nation? That is, we owe more money to other countries than they owe to us. Mommy explained that to me last night. I don’t think I need to tell you, gentlemen, how bad this is for our people – not to mention my personal reputation…”
“No, sir,” Norris quietly agreed.
“The problem is that our market is being flooded with cheap products from overseas,” the President explained. “We can’t compete because they offer wages too low for us to match, lowering their prices to a point where we can’t compete. Alan Greenspan explained this to me this morning. This foreign competition amounts to an invasion of our shores, an economic invasion that threatens to destroy our entire economy, our entire way of life.
“That’s where you two come in.”
“You know we’ll help in any way we can,” Stallone said.
“Good,” Reagan mumbled, “good. Here’s the plan: I want to send you into China and Japan with the latest military equipment. I don’t want you to destroy those countries utterly, you understand; we still want them as trading partners. But, the United States government would be very grateful if you could do serious damage to their production capability…”
“I…I’m not sure I heard you right,” Stallone said, apologetically.
“Blow up their factories,” the President explained. “Disrupt their energy supplies…do what you have to do in order to reduce the advantage they have because of cheap labour…”
“We can’t do that!” Stallone exclaimed.
“Why not?” the President asked. “Sly, didn’t you destroy half of Vietnam in Rambo? And…and, Chuck, didn’t you single-handedly repel an invasion of terrorist in your latest film?”
“Well, that was a little different, sir,” Norris said, hesitantly, not wishing to contradict his Commander in Chief.
“I think that what Chuck is trying to say,” Stallone added, “is that we’re just actors, sir. Those were just movies…”
“But…but, the explosions seemed so real,” the President sputtered.
“Well, they were,” admitted Stallone.
“But, neither of you killed all those people?” the President asked.
“No, sir,” Norris replied. “It was all done with special effects. You were once in the movies, sir, you should understand…”
The President grew morose, and started playing with an autographed baseball he kept on his desk for just such an occasion. “Do you know what this means?” he muttered. “Do you have any idea?”
“No, sir,” Norris admitted.
“Protectionism,” the President hissed. Well, there it was; the word hung in the air like the smell of rotting cheese. Stallone and Norris looked at each other momentarily, neither knowing what to say. Meanwhile, the President struggled with conflicting ideological impulses: the need to aid failing American commerce versus the free enterprise ethic he so dearly loved.
The issue was never in doubt.
“Well, men,” he said, “I’m disappointed. I’m not going to try and hide it. I really was expecting a lot from you…”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Stallone apologized to him,” but we couldn’t really do much to damage Japan’s productive capacity…”
“Actually,” the President interrupted, “I was thinking of sending Chuck to Japan and giving you China…”
“Why, thank you, sir,” Norris said.
“We’re flattered you would think of us, sir,” Stallone added, “but, your plan just wouldn’t be very practical…”
“Yes, I see that, now,” the President agreed. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
“Was there anything else, sir?” Stallone asked.
“No. Thank you, gentlemen,” the President answered, turning away from them. “That will be all.” Stallone and Norris walked out. Before he got through the door, it occurred to Norris that this might be a great publicity stunt, just the sort of thing that could propel him to the top of the A-list of male box office draws. He resolved to discuss the President’s offer with his agent.
The President sat alone for a few minutes, collecting his thoughts. Eventually, he buzzed his secretary. “Yes, sir?” the familiar voice asked over the intercom.
“Get me Steven Spielberg,” the President demanded. “I need some special effects, and I need them in a hurry!”