Head Of State

go on as scheduled. Her husband was so proud of this country and the party he helped found that the last thing he'd want is for people to be distracted by recent events. @Cricketchirps: Don't let the senseless act of 1 violent citizen overshadow the hard work of many others. Candidate TBD. #FreekenDisaster

  So, one week after the shocking events of October 14, 2020, Ben assembles 15 people in the Cry-Erection conference room. Jeffrie, Cricket and Richard stand to the side; Parker chats up the Disney family. He's all over Walt's 90-year-old nephew, Roy.

  "Mr. Disney, is it true some kids threw Mickey into the lagoon and he was electrocuted by the air conditioning unit in his costume?"

  "No," Roy says. He looks overwhelmed. It's unclear whether it's because it's hard to wrap one's head around the idea of one's uncle's head being thawed after 64 years and attached to an assassinated Presidential candidate or because Parker has been firing these questions at him since arriving.

  Ben enters and the room falls silent. "Thanks, everybody, for being here, especially under such unusual and difficult circumstances. I encourage you to embrace the positive in what you're about to see." He walks out.

  Jeffrie leans over to Cricket. "This must be emotional for you."

  The only thing Cricket is feeling is high. "The doctor prescribed… something. My teeth are smmmmmmmmmooth."

  Ben returns, pushing a wheel chair. In it is Walt Disney, he of the famous mustache and Brylcreemed hair. He wears a neck brace and looks a bit dazed.

  Ben leans over and says gently, "Mr. Disney, this is your family. Do you remember your nephew, Roy?"

  Walt looks at his great niece, Daisy.

  Roy scowls. "Is this a joke? Disneyworld has better in the Hall of Presidents."

  Cricket isn't entirely sure what she's looking at but agrees with Roy. "We really should have just gotten one from there."

  Walt tries to speak. It comes out as a squawk. Jeffrie flinches slightly.

  Roy turns to speak privately with his lawyer, Mort. Mort announces, "The family would like the head back."

  Walt looks alarmed.

  Parker lights up as he remembers a question for Roy: "Is it true a guest's head was severed when he stood up on Space Mountain?

  The family is distraught. They hurry toward the door.

  Ben appeals to them as they leave, "Forget that one-fifth is your uncle -- don't you want a President who'll eliminate estate taxes?"

  Apparently, they don't. Walt collapses forward, folding in half like a patio chair.

  Jeffrie says with all sincerity, "We can work with this."

  And they do. For the next six days Dr. Otaku and her staff do intensive rehab on Walt's speech and motor skills. All they need is for him to appear of sound mind and body in his one scheduled debate. His team can handle everything else. Richard works the internal party politics. Ben and Jeffrie tackle the external, like press and public perception. The two find their old, synergistic groove, playing off of one another and generally kicking ass. And so they all arrive, the week before the election, exhausted, but surprisingly hopeful.

  Ben, Jeffrie and Richard ride in the back of a limo.

  Ben sweeps his fingers across the glass partition, scrolling through Walt's medical update. "I never thought the doctors could get him to this point this fast. It's incredible."

  Jeffrie skims the report. "Is he a hundred percent?"

  Ben enlarges a current photo. "He's the Uncle Walt you saw on YouTube."

  Jeffrie voices a question she's held until now: "What if Uncle Walt doesn't want to be President?"

  Richard is blunt. "Does he want a body? We've got the anti-rejection drugs."

  Ben says, "Jesus, Richard. I was thinking we'd sell him on the perks: nice house, private chef, limos."

  Jeffrie looks at him, really? "The man had a Magic Kingdom that held the past, present and future."

  "Had," Richard says. "You can't take it with you. And here's the new twist: you can't have it back."

  Ben tells Richard, "At some point, we should discuss the carrot versus the stick."

  The Four Seasons Washington offers plush surroundings, world-class service and the ultimate in discretion. Its nickname on Capitol Hill is the House doghouse. It's where Congressmen secretly ride out bumpy patches in their marriages. It's where their daughters are sent after abortions. And, now, it's where prospective heads of state hide after head transplants. Walt sits in a wingback chair in the living room of his suite. He's still in a neck brace, but looks a thousand times better. Ben, Jeffrie and Richard sit across from him on the sofa, waiting tensely.

  Richard finally asks, "What do you think?"

  Walt considers. "I haven't been back long, but it does seem they've overworked "Pirates Of The Caribbean."

  Ben clarifies, "About running for President."

  Walt is instantly animated. "I'm in! I wanted to go against Truman in '48. They picked Dewey, who said things like, 'Our future lies ahead' and 'You cannot have liberty without freedom.'"

  Jeffrie nods. "We had one of those in 2000. 'Families is where our nation finds hope, where wings take dream.'"

  Ben stands, ready to get started. "We're thrilled you're in. Sorry to move fast, but we've got a week to bring you up to speed on the last fifty-four years and sell you to the American voters."

  Walt gives a 'thumbs up'. "Copacetic!"

  Ben says, "Let's start with that."

  Jeffrie holds up a traditional bride and groom cake-topper. Walt nods.

  Jeffrie holds up another bride and groom. The bride is white, the groom is black. Walt looks mildly surprised. Well, alright.

  Jeffrie holds up two grooms. Walt looks confused. Jeffrie mashes them together, making them kiss. Walt didn't see that coming.

  Ben talks Walt through a Google search. Walt pulls up Disney's stock price (wow) porn (wow!) and the box office losses for "John Carter." (my eyes!)

  The team puts in two days of rigorous coaching, covering everything from Thurgood Marshall becoming the first black Supreme Court Justice to Russia mining helium3 on the moon. The thing that rattles Walt most, aside from the deaths of so many loved ones, is that November is now Movember. He doesn't care if it's for charity, a month of rampant facial hair growing is a month too long.

  So, two short weeks after having their candidate re-capitated and re-animated, the Bull Moose Party is ready to re-introduce him to the press. With fingers crossed, Jeffrie, Richard and Cricket stand at the back of the Four Seasons ballroom as Ben addresses the throng of journalists.

  Ben talks into a mic. "Today we're presenting both an old and new candidate. Using medical advancements, we've combined Jack Freeken's stamina with Walt Disney's vision. Under his leadership, we can make this country The Happiest Place On Earth. Ladies and gentlemen, Walt Freeken Disney!"

  A door opens and Walt walks in. Walks! It's had to believe he was recently a frozen head above the shoulders and a corpse below. An awed hush comes over the room, then everyone bursts into applause.

  Ben tells the press, "Mr. Disney is still recovering; let's keep this short. Three questions for the future President. You, ma'am." He points to a woman sitting in front.

  A microphone is passed down the row to her. "Is there life after death?"

  "No."

  Everyone goes bat-shit.

  Walt chuckles. "Kidding. I'm kidding."

  Ben takes Walt's mic. "Any questions on gun laws? Global climate change?"

  A Newsweek reporter raises her hand. Ben points to her, yes?

  "I backed over my dog. Do you know if he crossed over?"

  Walt starts to respond, but Ben cuts him off, "Please keep all questions to this plane of existence. You, sir."

  "Is this the only plane of existence?"

  Ben blows through the ballroom doors, into the lobby. Jeffrie follows.

  Ben walks quickly, needing distance himself from the press. "They're treating him like a novelty, not a candidate."

  Jeffrie keeps up. "Have you se
en the Republicans' latest ad?"

  Ben stops. Jeffrie pulls up the spot on her iPhone and they watch. A holographic image of a coffin is accompanied by an evil laugh. The coffin lid rises.

  A male voice says, "You always knew Freeken was pro-life, but isn't it getting ridiculous?"

  Jeffrie clicks off her iPhone and tucks it away.

  Ben is at a complete loss. "His own family doesn't consider him human."

  "We need to address that discomfort - which a lot of people have. I'll get us a special with "Larry King."

  "Perfect. The guy's barely alive himself."

  God bless Larry, he's the same marionette of a man in 2020, just more literally so. A tilt sensor and gyroscope in his chair aid his movement. Jeffrie sits across from him on set at CNN. Two remote-controlled cameras are suspended from the ceiling. One is pointed at Jeffrie, the other at Larry. Larry looks every one of his 87 years.

  There's a slight hydraulic sound as Larry turns his head. "The Disneys call your candidate an abomination."

  Jeffrie nods. "They're upset. This is primal stuff. But emotion is clouding their judgement. Most of your viewers have lost a loved one and would probably give anything to bring that person back. I don't think they'd call this an abomination, they'd call it a miracle."

  Larry wipes away a tear. Whir.

  A few nights later, the three candidates stand together on stage at Georgetown's Gaston Hall for the live televised debate. Michelle Obama wears a red, cap-sleeve J. Crew dress. George P. Bush -- "P" -- is very JFK Jr.-meets-Ricky- Martin in a navy suit with an Afghan War Vet pin. And Walt has traded the Brylcreem for some solid politician