[ WP ] After you are elected President , you discover a big red button hidden in your desk in the Oval Office . When you ask your predecessor about it , he said that it had been there for decades , but the secret of what it did died with Kennedy . After a few years , you finally give in and push the button .

I've accomplished a lot for a one-term president. I sort of improved the budget a little bit, I allocated funds for a few nationwide programs, and I even found out a few days ago that they're naming a hospital in Baltimore after me! Even with how above average my approval ratings were, the Democrats still decided to pick McGewan. What idiots those Democrats are, everybody knows that McGewan is anything *but* a Presidential last name. It's got ta be something more... American. Like Lincoln or Jefferson or Kennedy. Never did care for McGewan, even if I did offer him the position of VP. But honestly, that was just to *shut him up*. Probably the only good thing he told me on one of his spiels is that the Truman administration installed a button behind one of the paintings, but it's exact location is unsure. He told me this on my campaign, and when I met with the old President a few days before I was sworn in, I asked him about it. All he told me is that it's been found since the Reagan administration, but nobody knows or wants to know what it does. That, and to *never press it under any circumstances whatsoever*. Evidently, that's the only thing they remember from it. 
 
 Nothing special's come up in what has probably been the slowest day in the past three years of my life. Russia's hushed and probably plotting something, China is too busy focused on the Philippines, Europe is unusually tame, Africa is just Africa, and both the economy and society are pretty stable. Guess now would be a good time to spice things up. But just the thought of finding out what that button does makes my skin crawl and forehead damp with beads of sweat. Maybe it was some type of panic button that was installed when the White House was gutted during Truman's term and it was just misplaced and forgotten when Kennedy restored the place. What if it was something else, though? There's no telling what it could be, but all the irrational speculation clouded my judgement. 
 
 I thought on about what the button could do as I closed the curtain shades and approached the famous portrait of George Washington towards the other end of the office. `` What an ingenious place to put it'', I mumbled to myself. `` Bolted down and everything''. Below it was a small indenture that's been covered with layer after layer of wallpaper and paint. I took my thumb and pressed on the concave dimple just below the portrait's frame. The pressure broke through the layer of paper and paint, and sliding my thumb along the indent to it's end behind the frame, I pressed a cold metallic surface with the tip of my thumb. A sharp *click* followed and the braces holding the painting together were unlocked. I hesitantly grabbed the top of the portrait and plopped it down on the chair next to me, careful to not mess up the 250-year old masterpiece. 
 
 There it was. The fabled `` Red Button''. I gazed at it for a minute or so, still trembling and sweating bullets. This had to have been one of the most difficult decisions I've ever made as President. To press, or not to press, that is the question. Whether't is Nobler in the mind to suffer the anguish and torment of indecision, or to take arms against a sea of repercussions, and by - 
 
 Oh, what the hell. I'm gon na press it. 
 
 Before I had a chance to second guess my impulsion, the palm of my hand was firmly pressed against the plastic red button. I winced, expecting a shock, an alarm, or - even worse - absolutely nothing. And that's *exactly* what happened. It gave me time to think. Specifically, it gave me time to think about how *fucking stupid* I am. I had to talk to some- no, *hell* no! I could n't tell *anyone* about this. I grabbed the painting and attempted to put it back on it's hinges, but the locks would n't budge and it refused to clamp back into place. `` Washington, please do n't look at me like that. I'm in some deep shit,'' I whispered to the canvas. 
 
 -- - 
 
 It's been at least three hours, and I have n't heard a *single* thing. How could there be literally ***nothing*** happening today?! I'm just relieved that I managed to get the portrait back into place, but I'm going to have to figure out how to hide that divot in the wall. I've been staring intently at it for almost an hour. `` Good *God*, man, pull yourself together! ``, I yelled. Quickly and softly slapping myself in the face to try and clear my head, I stood up and walked to the window. `` I just need to let in some light, that's all.'' 
 
 I froze just as I reached out for the window shade. Something was n't right. Nobody at *all* has called or entered my room. For all they know, I could be dead. For all I know, *they* could be dead. I turned around to pace to the door, but I realized I needed to fulfill the task at hand. I threw open the shade an- JESUS CHRIST, WHAT THE HELL?!? 
 
 Mountains replaced the smoggy view of Washington. As far as the eye could see, there were mountains. It was a gorgeous scene straight out of a postcard from Colorado, but- wait. Am... *am* I in Colorado? No, this ca n't possibly be. It had to have been- 
 
 The phone rang. *Beep beep beeeeep*. I slowly turned my head towards the black telephone on the desk. *Beep beep beeeeeep*. Reaching for the phone at a tortoise pace, I surprisingly maintained composure and did n't panic like I had before. *Beep beep beeeeeeep*. I firmly grasped the receiver and lifted it to my ear. `` T-This is the Presi- `` 
 
 ***'' I told you to not press that damn button'' *** 
 
 The raspy voice trailed off deeper and deeper in pitch as the room turned and twisted to the left. The light in the room turned a vibrant pitch and the phone began to melt in my hand. In fact, *everything* was melting. Twisting and turning and convulsing, the room rippled as if it were water or a block of jello, and the faint sound of a [ strumming guitar ] ( https: //www.youtube.com/watch? v=CAcEE6MlHYU ) filled the room. I stumbled towards the window as the guitar grew louder and louder, reaching my hands out to catch myself on the window pane. But to no avail. I fell through the window in slow motion as if it were a stream of water. The valley below grew closer as I ascended from the floating room perched balancing atop a mountain. A gust of wind picked me up, it's euphoric breeze caressing my skin and lifting me higher as the mountains ebbed and flowed. The land grew and shrunk around me as I floated onward through the purple and green valley of rounded peaks and troughs. I stretched my hands out, taking full control of my flight. I glanced away for just a second to admire the mountains, but as I looked back, my left arm had become an eagle's wing. When I checked the right, it had changed just the same. But it was n't the usual white and brown. No, it was far from it. Colors emanated from my core in rhythm to the entrancing melody and body-shaking beat of the drum. At that very moment, I felt... complete. 
 
 [ Go ahead and close that video real quick. Mmmkay, thanks. ] 
 
 `` Fucking damn it, Watson'' muttered the former president. `` I told him, did I not?'' He stood over my convulsing body accompanied by paramedics, secret service members, and an uncontrollably laughing McGewan. He cried and hollered as I tripped fucking balls on the floor of the Oval Office. The portrait had been busted over the arm of the chair, a couch had been flipped over, and the phone was strung across the floor with the dial tone going off. Apparently, Truman had a sense of humor and thought a great precedent would be to prank one of the following presidents with an air horn and confetti drop from the ceiling triggering as soon as the button was pressed. Kennedy got a kick out of it, but took it a bit to far on an alcohol and cocaine-induced night with Madame Monroe. They managed to refit the button to have a small little tidbit that pricked the skin and injected some nice LSD straight into the blood system. On the day of their final departure, every president was let in on the secret by the president before them, tempted to try it out just before they left. Fortunately, panic overcame them and I fell for it after it sat in the button aging for some 50-odd years. It was just as immediate and effective, but from the words of the Surgeon General after the experience ( if I recall correctly ) it was `` 743 % more potent than it was when Kennedy installed it''. And holy *shit* was it an experience. Too bad I forgot what my name is, though. 
 
 -- - 
 
 **TL; DR**: I tripped on LSD straight from the 60's for seven weeks straight.
