No. You want to tell the President.

After all, it's your plan. You don't trust Mr. Rydell to sell it properly. So 48 hours later you're sitting in the Oval Office explaining your ideas to the President of the United States. You've met him before, but that was briefly. This is the first time you've ever had a substantive policy discussion with him.

And there he sits, million dollar suit, white cowboy hat. It's been a while since you've really been following the news or the politics of what's been going on. But you get the sense that he's becoming a legend... a national hero even.

He listens in, nodding, glancing over at Mr. Rydell, smiling, grimacing.

Then you finish and it's his time to respond. But not after a lot of thought.

"You know. In my last job, I never had to compromise. It was all just 'shut up and spread your legs.' What I've learned most about this job is that you have to compromise." He says with a wicked twinkle in his eye.

You're not sure how much he's had to compromise. He seems like he's gotten everything he wanted. While a confused and befuddled Congress looked on, doing nothing.

But he goes on. "Your idea here. Your plan for the the American Feminine Transformation Act is better than mine. But I hope you're open to compromise. Because it's not without its problems." He leans forward in the Resolute Desk. "You see, my plan, making bimbos and bitches... you see the progress. Under your plan, what happens? All these moronic nice guy husbands go 'it's okay honey, you can be my pet, and I'll let you do whatever you want.' You look around. Nothing has changed. Understand?"

And you do understand. So you and Mr. Rydell and the President get to crafting some language that combines both plans.

Every woman will have to declare with kind of 'pet' she's becoming. And then regular reports to confirm the transition will be necessary. As will physical indicators. A list is made of acceptable physical indicators: Tattoos, piercings, hair coloring (artificial colors only) or head shaving, weight loss of over 40lbs, weight gain of over 40lbs, plastic surgery, breast implants or reduction, lip injections, facial reconstruction, sub-dermal implants, corset piercings, skin-tone lightening or darkening, and orthopedic braces. Mr. Rydell suggests that last one. You don't ask him where his preferences lie. You don't need to. He fought pretty hard to include breast reduction too.

"And then each new pet will have to do something like three of these things, right?" He suggests.

Your President laughs. "Five... at least."

You nod. He's right. And the new standards are looking good.

"We'll need to fight even harder to get this passed." He says. You nod. "I'm told you have some sort of idea for enlisting official spokespersons... maybe I should say spokespets. That true?"

You do. Although you wonder if this is over the heads of the girls back at the bar in California. The right spokesperson would have to be someone that the American people could see transform before their eyes. You wonder who that could be.

"Who did you have in mind?" Your President asks.

Shit, he wants an answer right now.