A Gorey Affair
By: Wayne Brown
Oh, the horror! To open up the newspapers, turn on the television, surf the Internet…I cannot get away from the news of it. No, it’s not the spill, although it is fair to say the two incidents might be related in some far reaching manner. No, it’s not Obama but I am sure there are those who wish it so. Heavens no! It’s not Nancy Pelosi! Nothing so scandalous could ever happen to a woman who flies everywhere non-stop in a government plane. No, it’s bigger than all of those things.
Okay, you’re gonna make me say it. Al Gore’s got a girlfriend! There, it’s out. Hardly believable but it is out there in all it nakedness. Al Gore, probably one of the few guys who could come home and tell his wife that he was sleeping with another woman only to have her laugh at him. Well, what can I say? Ol’ Al is one of the boys now I reckon. Get him a beer and move down a stool. Al wants to sit down!
Here I am visualizing a “mad-scientist wanna-be” who spends all his time in the basement of his Tennessee energy-burner of a home calculating how he can make just one more fortune selling carbon-credits to the unsuspecting American public. I could just see this man pouring over piles of books voraciously absorbing the technical terminology of our atmospheric and environmental genre. Studying holes in the ozone, checking out the rain forest, doting over the horrors of shallow-water drilling were just a few of his pastimes.
When Al relaxed a bit, I imagined him moving near the mantle on the fireplace to take down his Nobel Prize and polish it ever so softly with a hermetically-treated carbon-free Sham-Wow. In my mind, Tipper would be standing just out of sight in her June Cleaver high-heels, wrapped in a gingham kitchen apron looking on with love and admiration. Once each dust fiber had been carefully removed, Al would gently place the Prize back to its righteous place on the Gore mantel adjacent to his autographed picture of Bill Clinton.
I can almost hear Bill Clinton commenting on this one, “Hey Gore, I hear they caught ya’ with your britches down. Looks like I’m not the only one playing footsie in the toolie bushes, Al. Now zip up your pants and let’s go look for some women.” You see Al wanted to be a hero ever since he was just a wee boy standing beside his big Senator dad who asked him every day, “Whatcha gonna grow up to be, Al?” Well he didn’t know but he knew it had to be something big. So when it became apparent to him that he was not going to single-handedly win the Vietnam War serving as a photo journalist, he just decided that it was high-time that he go out and invent something. So he did, that is according to him…he invented the Internet. Wow, that’s just one more reason for a woman to chase after him and beg to have his child. Ya got it goin’ on Albert!
To say that my bubble has been burst is probably the biggest understatement of the year 2010. Well, maybe the second biggest, there was that one the President made about “being in charge.” Oh well, I’ll let him have that one and take second place. Anyway, there goes my bubble up in smoke. Just as I thought we had finally found a potential replacement for Ward and June Cleaver, Al goes and pulls a stunt like this. Ward Cleaver never had a girlfriend, not with that high-stepping June waiting for by the front door every night. No Sir!
What are we as people to do? While Al is out prowling the streets looking for babes, we are stuck with trying to figure out how much a carbon-credit is worth and whether or not we can pick them up down at the 7-11 store. Al has really left us in the lurch with these shenanigans. Just when you find yourself a hero nowadays, a man you could watch and follow in his footsteps, he gives you a head-fake and comes up a sinner. Where will America turn to fix the hole in the ozone layer now?
I know this can’t be true but I heard it this morning. They say Al has flown down to Louisiana to have a private session with Rev. Jimmy Swaggart. Supposedly, Jimmy is going to give Al some pointers on how to break down crying on television and confess his sins of the flesh with this woman who was obviously on a mision to bring down this savior of mankind. In those famous words of Rev. Jim Baker, “I was wickedly manipulated by treacherous former friends and colleagues who victimized me with the aid of a female confederate.” “That’s exactly what happened to me,” Al will probably say after his training session with Swaggart.
So you can see my dilemma I am quite sure. Our environmental savior has bitten the fruit of the common man. He hides in the shadows while still chewing at bits of the apple relishing its sweet flavor. The environmentalists of America are truly now like a ship without a rudder. The naked facts hang hideously from the edges of the soiled sheets of false matrimony. Al Gore has gone the way of the common man.
Oh what a future he might have had. Obama might have made Al his new Gulf Coast Energy Czar. He would have led a commission down on the beaches. Al could have come ashore with salt water ringing the cuffs of his suit pants. Al Gore, a pipe in his mouth and a look on his face reflective of MacArthur on his return to the Philippines, coming to the southern land of his birth, his heritage, his love. Al Gore, a leader here to save a nation from the ravages of crude oil. Al Gore, a man destined to one day soar up to sew up the hole in the ozone layer. All of that potential greatness is washed asunder now. Al has traded it for a little skank.
Our lives will go on. We will find another who will rise up; take up the mantra, and lead the common man once again. The sun will shine in the heavens. The carbon-credit formula will be solved. The hole in the ozone layer will be healed. Mankind will bask in the glorious beauty of all the natural wonder. But, not Al Gore, no, not Al Gore. He will forever be banished to his Tennessee farm to sit and rock on the porch pondering what can only be “an inconvenient truth”.
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