Mr. Speak’s Week...
Mr. Speak sat inside his Oval Office musing to himself: “This city of Wayschwingtown be a pretty illogical place. And these Earthlings be too illogical.” He looked around at the Oval Office, cocking his Vulcan eyebrow with disdain and growing revulsion. He smacked the intercom button to the White House Department of Emergency Decor and ordered them to redo the Oval Office as a nice, symmetrical Cubical Office.
He sighed. What a week! Why had he taken this illogical job?? What was worse: the White House Homecoming Dance was tomorrow and his Vulcan side had procrastinated about asking some babe, though his African-Earthling side was dying to do a little Presidential break dancing.
He sighed again, and telephoned the Secretary of State to do the dirty work and ask Ma Chete to the dance. Secretary of State Pillory Klingonton called him a coward and that he must do the dirty work himself, and suggested leaving a balloon with his name in it at the front doorstep of Ma Chete’s fancy lair over in Gorgetown.
Mr. Speak decided to leave a balloon with HIMSELF in it. He quickly ordered a take-out balloon, and soon he could see it through the Oval Window come floating down into the Rose Garden -- there was a loud pop, and just before the rapidly deflating balloon covered the gondola hanging beneath, through its window Mr. Speak spied a suddenly angry man who appeared to be throttling a little boy -- the little boy barfing in self-defense.
Pillory Klingonton showed up, patched things up like a good Secretary of State should, and officially dubbed the flying balloon: AIR BLOAT ONE. Mr. Speak boarded it and flew off to ask Ma Chete personally to Homecoming Dance.
He stood on her doorstep after pressing the doorbell, and listened with mild Vulcan amusement to the sounds of mayhem and carnage within, as, he assumed, she was getting her 13 kids whipped into shape for an impromptu visit from the President of Americopious. Little did he know that her gal pal Oprulent, High Priestess of Americopious and Deputy Supreme Being of the Continuum, had already been tipped off by Secretary of State Pillory that he was going to pop the question, and Oprulent had shot a quick text to Ma Chete.
Mr. Speak began having second thoughts about dating a gal with 13 children. That would be a lot of baggage -- could it all even fit aboard AIR FORCE ONE?
Suddenly, all was quiet.
The door flew open and there stood Ma Chete, and she be decked out, and with a nasty clove cigarette smoldering and sputtering at the end of her long, fancy cigarette holder! She blew a smoke ring that got caught on one of Mr. Speak’s pointed ears, and just hung there, rather suggestively.
Mr. Speak stammered that he needed a date for Homecoming, but understood that she was probably busy with all the kids. But he didn’t see any kids at all. Ma Chete explained: “Honey, I’m an emancipated Klingon and single again! I ate them kids all up!...” At which point, she suddenly belched loudly, holding up an embarrassed paw to her mouth.
President Mr. Speak congratulated her on her emancipation, having read about this odd Klingon custom back in Vulcan school.
He took her for a tour of Warswingingtown aboard his new AIR BLOAT ONE, and found himself telling her everything, really opening up, as if he could really trust her. But he kept hearing a tapping sound.
(Over at DrudgeReport.com, Matt Drudge stared in disbelief and growing ecstatic excitement at the text message page of his Blackberry revealing secret after secret of the inner workings of the mind of the President and the shockingly bizarre longings of Vulcan libido mixed with African-Earthling mojo. Matt raised an imperious finger and commanded his sidekick Breitbart: “Quick -- to the web page, Boy Wonder!”)
Geez, what next?!
Would Ma Chete keep Mr. Speak N. Bomba distracted long enough so that the Demandcrat Party could finally achieve its holy grail goal of eradicating capitalism from the face of the Earth by over-spending the federal budget enough to sink the Americopious economy into oblivion??
Would the Repatrician Party who knew the righteous way to do everything ever become politically effective again by achieving peace between its warring factions: the blue-blooded power elitists secretly suffering from Demandcrat-Party-Envy-Syndrome, and the red-blooded Americopious patriotic laissez-faire guns-rights conservatives, and the white-blooded evangelical angels just trying to get everyone aboard the love train to the a better world??
Would High Priestess of Americopious Oprulent succeed in her secret plan to divert that love train to her mansion in Montecito, which was bigger, so she claimed, than God’s own mansion -- and with a wet bar in every room?
Waiting patiently at the door to the CUBIC OFFICE, not knowing that the President had floated away aboard AIR BLOAT ONE, was a long string of congressman waiting to persuade the President to rubber-stamp their latest ideas to stimulate the economy, each idea more thrillingly enthralling than the next: healthcare, foodcare, carcare, clothingcare, watercare, aircare, gasolinecare, winecare, beercare, lovecare (floated by recently elected Hollywood congressbabe Monica Lewinsky), pagecare (floated by Barney Fwank), Viagracare (the most stimulating idea of all, floated by Rush Limbaugh, defacto congressman), and brushcare floated by the final congressman in line adamantly demanding, to all who would listen, that the federal government brush everyone’s teeth for them.
by DoUgLaS kEnDaLl
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Email comments to: doug@DougKen.com
:-) <-- Required humor impairment warning.