In the (then-near future) year 1998, the United States confronts a drastic oil shortage that reshapes everyday life. With cars left idle, people take to jogging, cycling, and rollerskating as their primary means of movement. Tracksuits become everyday attire, paper money loses value, and gold coins become the currency of choice; even a coin-operated elevator proclaims “Gold Coins Only.” In this altered landscape, the country turns to a political figure to lead them, and the election brings forth Chet Roosevelt, John Ritter, a cosmically inspired former California governor who bears little resemblance to the classic presidents of history aside from his name. Roosevelt’s high-spirited optimism and knack for catchy affirmation slogans fuel a series of public fundraising events, all of which collapse in spectacular fashion.
As the administration flirts with grandiose plans, Roosevelt fixes his attention on Mouling Jackson, a Vietnamese American pop icon whose fame could galvanize a nation in crisis. Zane Buzby portrays Mouling, a figure at the center of political and commercial intrigue, whose star power becomes a key element in the administration’s efforts to rally support. Yet the money that keeps the government afloat seems less and less within reach. A cartel led by a billionaire named Sam Birdwater—who exercises control over Nike, under the corporate label National Indian Knitting Enterprises during the film’s release—lends billions to the government. Birdwater’s involvement raises questions about influence, leverage, and who ultimately owns the country’s future.
Across the country, the federal government—now headquartered in a sub-leased condominium known as The Western White House in Marina del Rey, California—faces the ominous threat of foreclosure. When Birdwater goes public on national television to reveal his loan, he also demands repayment, warning that the alternative would be foreclosure and a return to the country’s original owners. His blunt justification—“Hey, I have to eat, too. Does that make me a bad guy?”—speaks to a larger moral tension at the heart of the crisis and the uneasy calculus of power and necessity.
Desperation pushes Roosevelt toward creative, if risky, measures. He hires a young television consultant, Eric McMurkin, Peter Riegert, to help craft a nationwide raffle as a fundraising tool. Yet the stakes push them toward an even more ambitious plan: a national telethon designed to mobilize public support and financial backing on a scale never before seen in peacetime America. To host this unprecedented event, they enlist the vaunted but vacuous presence of Monty Rushmore, Harvey Korman, a celebrity whose appeal is as much spectacle as substance.
Behind the scenes, a covert political chess game unfolds. Presidential adviser Vincent Vanderhoff, Fred Willard, schemes to derail the telethon’s success, hoping to pave the way for a new arrangement in which the United Hebrab Republic—formed by the merger of Israel and the Arab states—would acquire whatever assets remain once Birdwater forecloses. The plan is not merely financial; it embodies a geopolitical realignment that could reshape the region and the world’s balance of power.
As the telethon looms, the film paints a portrait of a nation scrambling to adapt to a future that is at once comic and perilous. It juxtaposes satire with a sobering look at debt, dependency, and the price of democracy when money and influence cross borders. Throughout, the story keeps a careful, readable pace, balancing character moments with the broader, occasionally absurd machinery of national crisis. The path to salvation, if there is one, hinges on whether a country can rally behind a narrative strong enough to bind a fractured society together—through spectacle, persuasion, and the stubborn hope that a flawed leader might still steer a damaged republic toward a workable tomorrow.
> Hey, I have to eat, too. Does that make me a bad guy?
