Politics in America 41: Another Shot Heard Round the World 

You’ve heard the saying, “Oops, there goes another rubber tree.” Well, it’s that time in this story to say, “Oops, there goes another rubber tree.” And Thomas Jefferson couldn’t have said it better himself.

There was this bullet meant for Bessie Mae Hogg. Big Al Fresco had sent Stever The Cleaver to eliminate the pig. Well, not eliminate the pig. Just give her a scratch. This would take the President’s mind off invading Canada. At the last minute, Big Al realized that The Cleaver was a Canadian.

Rule Number One: When hiring an assassin to near assassinate a Presidential pig, please check where the assassinator is from. Big Al had not done that.

When he realized his mistake, Big Al Fresco decided to take things into his own hands. A second time. You would think he would learn that the Pickled Finger of Fate never leaves a situation alone. The problem for him and us is that we never ever know where it’s going to point. We never know when we will end up as fungus between a dinosaur’s toes. As Old Murphy used to say, “What must go wrong, must go wrong.” Things were about to go wrong. For Stever The Cleaver. For Big Al Freso. For the President of the United States.

It was a dark and stormy night as Big Al snuck up on The Cleaver. Stever was aiming his gun at the pig when whop. Big Al tackled him. The gun went off. Instead of heading for the pig, the bullet headed for the President in the Presidential wee wee room.

It sped through the keyhole just as the President zipped up and turned and lifted his foot to re-tie his shoe lace. The bullet smashed into the shoe and took out the President’s bunion. The bunion that had been hurting for over a week. That bunion. Then the bullet crashed into the Presidential wee wee room wall and there it stopped. P F Sneaze’s bunion was attached to it.

In the Oval Office, the Vice President and the Ambassador from Some-Godforsaken-Place-He-Couldn’t-Pronounce heard a gigantic sigh of relief coming from the President’s wee wee room. For the first time in weeks, that bunion didn’t hurt. The President’s foot finally had some relief.

Needless to say that bunion was not about to become the Comeback Kid.

Next Week It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. 

Politics in America 40: Who Put the Boogie in Boogie Woogie?  

Just as the President was doing a wee wee in the Presidential wee wee room and going aaaahhhhh, there was a shattering of glass in the Oval Office.

The Vice President wasn’t up to talking to an Ambassador. He had had a rough day, figuring out how to get out of some ceremonial things. This job as Vice President had turned out to be more work than Maynard Gee was up for. If they asked him to run with the President for a second term, he was not gonna. He would put his left foot down, then raise his right foot up and shake it all about and turn himself around and do the hokey pokey if necessary.

The Ambassador from Some-Godforsaken-Place-He-Couldn’t-Pronounce was bored. This meeting with the President wasn’t what it was cracked up to be. This P F Sneaze was a dud as far as he was concerned. Why had he taken this Ambassadorship when it was offered?

Because it was his patriotic duty, that’s why. Nobody else would do it. No wonder America was snoozing along. They had a pig farmer for a President. At least, the people of his country had chosen a chicken farmer. He was proud to have a President called The Big Clucker.

While the President stood at the urinal and let it all hang out, his bunion was putting a real hurt on his foot. His shoe was killing him. He was going to have to do something about that bunion.

In the meantime out in the dark and stormy night, things happened as they often do despite every precaution we take to ward off the Pickled Finger of Fate. Big Al was wrestling Stever the Clever, and Stever the Cleaver was wrestling Big Al. Then The Cleaver did a couple of early sixties dance moves. He twisted and he watusied and he broke loose. He was up on Bessie Mae Hogg so fast that even he was surprised.

Big Al barely saw The Cleaver through the dark night. It was so dark that Big Al could have cut the darkness with a knife.

In fact, that is exactly what he did. He took out his Jim Bowie knife and sliced the indigo in two. The rip in the curtain of the night allowed Big Al to spy the pig assassinator. He reached The Cleaver in two seconds flat.

Big Al was on The Cleaver like a dog on a bone. Lickety-split. He tackled The Cleaver and brought him down. The Cleaver crashed onto the rain-soaked grass nose-downward. He pulled the trigger on the gun.

Now of all the gin joints in the world, that bullet just had to walk into the President’s joint. The bullet sped out of the barrel of that gun. It crashed through the French doors, then whistled right by the Vice President’s ear, missing the Ambassador by a nose. It headed straight to the President’s john.

The bullet crashed through the keyhole and dashed toward the President just as he zipped up and turned.

Next Week Danger, Will Robinson. Danger, danger.