Bouffe… Pick up, Bouffe. I need you!
Ben, oui? Baraque? It’s you?
Bouffe, my man! What a relief. I’m in a bit of a pickle here… No, it’s not Sandy the Storm. We can cope with that, we’re Americans…
It’s the women’s vote.
The ladies give you trouble…?
I know you worked wonders with Sarkozy back in the day, before he insulted you and you emigrated to the UK…
Snarf! Do not mention Sarko. I hang up!
No, please hear me out Bouffe, Nico-I mean, Sarkozy is no friend of mine. Allowed his wife to upstage mine in the fashion stakes y’know. We’re Americans, you can’t do that to us, even if we’re on French soil!
OK, I listen to you. What is it I can do?
The women’s vote. May I have the recipe for the magic potion you made for Sarko to win their favour? I need all the help I can get. I’m willing to risk a Lance Armstrong situation…
Barack, listen very carefully, I shall say this only once. The potion does not work. It is like Berlusconi’s hair – how do I say – an illusion…
Oh man. That’s disappointing. What am I to do now?
Easy. You have secret weapon, yes? You are outnumbered 3:1 at home, you know how to win the women’s vote.
Really? Bouffe, d’you reckon so?
Mais certainement. I mean, look at Romney, oui? He has five sons AND the Berlusconi hair…
The Bunnington Post 
Spill your beans here – you know you want to!