I found it in the classifieds
Joe Biden, Donald Trump, Mike Pence and I were having lunch at Primanti’s out on Route 60. It was just before Christmas 2022, and everyone had the holiday spirit. But suddenly, Biden turned serious.
“I know you find it odd that I would meet with you fellas,” Biden said, “but I need advice.” He stared at Trump. “Former Guy, I found some classified documents in my sock drawer last week.”
Trump dropped his fork, bent over to retrieve it and came up holding both the fork and a stack of typewritten pages stamped “TOP SECRET.”
“Like these?” he said, spattering ketchup as he waved his fist.
“Good God, man!” Biden said. “Put those away!”
“Don’t worry,” Trump assured. “I declassified them by clicking my heels together three times and saying, ‘Presto Chango!’ Just do that with your stuff!” Biden shook his head in disbelief. “Wait!” Pence said. “I have something stuck in my throat!” He raised his napkin to his mouth and coughed. Seven pages of documents stamped “CLASSIFIED” fell from the napkin. We all howled with laughter.
“Get this!” Pence said. “I’m gonna wait till January, then say I found these on the bottom of my parrot’s cage. That’ll make it look like we’re all guilty.”
“I’m glad I said you should be hanged!” Trump said sourly.
“Will you shut up, man?” Biden said. “Look – nobody in a position of power can say definitively what happens to every piece of sensitive material that crosses his desk. Besides, the real problem is that we classify too many things that don’t need to be kept secret.”
“I’ll second that!” said a voice from the table to our left.
“Barack!” Biden exclaimed, rising to his feet. “How long have you been here?”
“That’s classified, Joe!” Obama said. Everyone groaned. “Now, let me be plain,” Obama continued after he had joined us at our table. “We’ve all messed up with classified documents. In fact, Malia and Sasha made paper airplanes out of the intel that helped us track down Bin Laden. But, ya know … folks just don’t care about classified documents. Take Dave, here. Do you care, buddy?”
“Heck no, Barry,” I said between bites of my corned beef, egg and cheese. “All I care about is if I bought enough milk, bread and toilet paper to get me through that big snowstorm that Channel 11 predicted for tomorrow.”
“A man with his ducks in a row,” Obama said, gravely.
“That’s fine for you,” Biden said. “But you don’t have any classified documents to worry about.”
“Oh?” I said. I set down my sandwich, took a long sip of Mountain Dew and said, calmly, “Have you looked closely at my placemat?”
Biden, Trump, Pence and Obama gathered behind me. “I KNEW Oswald didn’t act alone!” Pence shouted. “How the devil did you get that?” Biden said.
“It was mixed in with maps of the Smithsonian when I toured last year,” I said.
Biden and the two former presidents huddled while Pence circled the group on tiptoe, trying to hear the discussion. Then Biden approached me.
“Dave, there’s no way I can stop any of this from coming out next year,” he said. “But I trust you because you and that really tall dude who always wears shorts and a hoodie delivered Pennsylvania for me in 2020. What should I do?” I stood, carefully folded the placemat and put in my jacket, then walked toward the cashier. “Joe,” I said over my shoulder, “it’s simple. When they catch you, just say, ‘There’s no there there.'”
“Stop that man!” Trump shouted after me. “I want him as my running mate in 2024.”