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. 

Politics in America 39: What in the Name of Betty Sue Pudding Is Going On? 

The President of the United States was in the Oval Office. He was doing Oval Office things. Like meeting the Ambassador from Some-Godforsaken-Place-He-Couldn’t-Pronounce. It was a dark and stormy night outside but he was all snug and cozy in the White House.

The Ambassador introduced himself. Of course, The Great Man, P F Sneaze, couldn’t understand the language. As far as he was concerned, it was gibberish. It was French.

He shook the dude’s hand and they tête-à-têted for a while. Tête-à-tête is French for shaking hands and making the most out of an uncomfortable situation. Like acting like you’re listening to an ambassador about something or other in French.

The President had to go for a pee. He knew it would be improper protocol to take a bathroom break right then. But it was getting to the point where he had to go bad. Really bad.

Now we all know that, when the President needs to go and take a leak and he doesn’t get to because he’s protocoling all over the place, all heck can break loose. He may accidentally push the red button and take out a country that was minding its own business. That was just about what was about to take place.

About this time, Maynard Gee, the Vice President who had not worked a day in his life, walked in on the President and the Ambassador. He took one look at the situation and he thought it might be a good idea if he got the heck out of Dodge.

One thing was for sure. When Maynard Gee smelled a lick of work, he was real good at getting hisself out of Dodge. He had graduated summa cum laude at the Institute of Getting-the-Heck-Out-Of-Dodge.

The President could hardly control himself. He had to pee that bad. He beckoned the V P over to say a big hey to the Ambassador. What can a Vice President do when a President beckons him over to do this or that? He definitely goes over to do this or that. It’s his job to do this or that, even if it means that he has to take out the garbage. After all, nobody but nobody says nay to the Leader of the Free World. Especially if that Leader is The Great Man.

The Vice President was cornered. So he did what any self-respecting Vice President would do. He walked over. The President indicated that he needed to be excused and he would be right back. When meeting an Ambassador, what does a Vice President talk about. The price of eggs in China, of course.

It was a good thing that the Vice President understood gibberish. I mean French.

The President said, “I’ll be right back.” Then he hurried out of the room. Well, it wasn’t exactly a room. It was the Oval Office. But he did hurry out of it.

So there’s the Vice President tête-à-têting with the Ambassador from Some-Godforsaken-Place-He-Couldn’t-Pronounce and they were discussing the price of eggs in China when, you guessed it–

Next Week: Should Have Gotten Himself Out of Dodge

Politics in America 11: Putting the Vice to President

When the convention looked around for a candidate for Vice President, they didn’t have to go far. Maynard Gee was their man. For a man who did not want to work, Vice President was the perfect job. Since P F was in great shape healthwise, Maynard Gee wanted to be Vice President. He’d wanted the job for a long time. Other politicians hear their name mentioned for the job and they run like hell. It’s no decent job for a grownup. It’s like being the Prince of Wales. You’re waiting for Mommy to die. Mommy never dies.

When Maynard Gee was nominated, he thought he’d just about died and gone to heaven. After all, he worked at his not working. But he loved speechifying. He always said just the right thing. And it was always memorable. As he ended his fifteen second speech at the podium, he said the memorable words that people would remember for generations, “We promise America nothing. Even less than nothing we will deliver.”

P F Sneeze, the Presidential Nominee for the Do Naughties, joined his running mate on the stage. They raised their hands in victory. It was the ticket that would make history.

Sometime later, he called home to give B S the news.

“You went and did what?” B S Pudding said. “They want you for president?”

She put the phone down and about laughed herself silly and all the way to Snort Holler. She couldn’t believe it. A pig farmer for President? And not just any pig farmer. A pig farmer from Weazel Sneeze. And not just any pig farmer from Weazel Sneeze. A pig farmer named P F Sneeze. Who in his ever-loving right mind?

P F said the right thang to convince his wife. “You get to buy a new dress. And a new pair of shoes.”

“I do.”

“You do. On top of that, you will be my campaign manager. What do you think of that?”

“Why would I want to go and do that?”

“Because you can make sure I loose this thang. I gotta loose. And you’re the smart one in the family. I don’t know what came over me. How did I get myself in such a heap of trouble? I got folks around me who have folks around them telling me that I am the greatest thing since peanut butter. I just want to get back to the farm and see y’all and all the little piggies. Here it’s like the time Big Bad Wolf blew the three little pigs’houses down.”

“I don’t want to be First Lady,” B S Pudding said what all the wives say to their ambitious politician husbands.

“And we can’t lose by just a little bit,” P F said. “I want to lose big time. As bad as McGovern.”

“Who?” B S asked.

“See what I mean. Nobody remembers him. I want to be that guy. Then they will leave me alone forever.”

“I’ll do it. I will be your campaign manager. And you can ignore me just like you always do, Hon.”

P F Sneeze hung up the phone, happier than a hog in a pen-ful of slop. He would lose and he would lose big time. Little did he know B S Pudding had other plans.

Next Week Betty Sue Pudding doing her Betty Sue Thang

Politics in America 7: When a party is a party. Not.

Known to one and all as the Do Evies, the Do Everything Party had reigned the last sixteen years. They had bought up Congress. They had stacked the Court with a stack of blueberry pancakes with hot butter and maple syrup. So when the Do Naughties showed up at the Court, The Supremes kept ruling with a you-can’t-hurry-love decree.

And The Big Guy had delivered on his presidential campaign promise. There would be a chicken in every home in America. “Eat Right, Eat Chicken” had been his campaign. He had not only delivered on that promise. He had made sure every household had two chickens. The problem was they were live chickens. Two live chickens were delivered to every household once a year. Folks got their chickens but they had to supply the chicken feed. It ended up that a lot of homes adopted the cluckers as pets. It’s a real heartbreakers when a child appears on the local news crying, “They killed Alice.” Of course, Alice was the child’s pet chicken. It was enough to turn the American people vegetarian. And the beef folks were not happy about that.

So it was time for the Do Evies to get their buttocks kicked out of office but good. After all, there is only so much people will take. There was no way the American people were going to elect Little Twerp, the Vice President, for President. He was like a pimple on the buttocks. On top of everything else, there was the dog issue. Yes, Little Twerp had a dog. Well, let’s just say he had a dog. He went out hunting with the dog. He had been partial to hunting since he was knee high to a grasshopper. Unfortunately an unfortunate happened. He shot the dog the way Dick Cheney shot his lawyer. The lawyer recovered, the dog did not. Let’s just say that if you are a dog or a lawyer you do not want to go hunting with the Vice President. At least, not that little twerp of a Vice President.

There was such an outcry over the dog. There was such mourning and gnashing of teeth, Congress shut down the government. The government ended up burying Spot in Arlington National Cemetery.

All this is to say that Little Twerp should not have gotten the Do Evies nomination for President. But he had the goodies on everybody. As long as he kept them in cold storage, the Do Evies could continue to do what they had been doing for all those years. Hanging on to the chicken concession. It was worth billions.

As you can see there was no way the Do Naughties were going to lose the election. Unless they screwed it up. Fortunately the Party Elders had heard of Murphy’s Law. You know the one that goes anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Or stuff happens. And it happens a lot.

Next Wednesday, Chapter 8: What’s a convention without a convention?