By: Wayne Brown
The debate ends and Chris Matthews’ contorted face immediately fills up the television screen. The agony this man is suffering is something beyond a tingling in the legs. This is a man who has been shaken right down to his commie-colored underwear seams. He just cannot believe “The Savior” went out on to the field of battle only to fumble the football so badly and oh so many times. The look on Chris’ face lets the viewing audience know that he is truly feeling a bit “Waltonesque” fighting the urge fall down crying like John-Boy Walton discovering that his latest book manuscript has burned in the fire. His awareness that he has hooked his wagon to a self-proclaimed star which is burning itself out right before his media-biased eyes suddenly flashes a future reality that maybe Barack Obama will have some enduringly long effects on the career of Chris Matthews is rather unsettling. The thought keeps racing through his head, “Quick, Robin…to the Bat-Phones….We must alert the Commissioner at once !” Can the day be lost?
Al Gore stares into his shaving mirror adding yet another dab of Brill-Crème to his already drenched scalp and rakes the greasy hair straight back until he is more than satisfied that his “mad-scientist” look is firmly in place for the camera. Before stepping away from the mirror, he winks and reminds himself that he too is a Nobel Prize winner and Nobel Prize winners can wear their hair any way they desire. He slips on his suit-coat and brushes off the lint on one sleeve while carefully scanning all areas for any “hanging chads” which have gone unnoticed but will surely show up on the television cameras awaiting his arrival. Al watched the debate and smugly laughed knowing that, had he been in the President’s shoes, there could have been many angles from which to counter and distract Romney’s position. My God…who wants to talk about some stupid old economy when there is so much to be said for climate change and Cap N’ Trade. Much can be said for it in the Land of the Ignorant, where the “Half-Truth” man is King! Al smiles remembering his latest bank balance. Then it was back to reality and focus. It was time for Al to walk out on that television stage, face the cameras, and save Obama’s ass. It was time to look America square in the eye and relate the “Inconvenient Truth” of the matter…President Obama was suffering from oxygen deprivation. Only a Nobel Prize winner could pick up on that tiny detail.
Harry Reid looks at the television in disgust and flips no one in particular the bird. This action on his part has become his response to almost everything these days. Here he has been busting his hump over in the Senate fighting off the Obama critics and literally shutting down the legislative branch of the federal government and this is the thanks that he gets? Obama walks out on the stage, throws out a lie and then cannot find enough other lies to make it stick to Romney. What an amateur showing on the part of someone that Reid has hung his hat on….an action which may well cost Reid his lucrative Washington post in the near future. Yes, he had put every ounce of political muscle and energy into ramming Obama-Care down the throats of an unwilling America only to see this performance as a reassurance that the man he had mentored was not turning in a very convincing argument for “coming back to Washington”? Harry rubbed his eyes trying to erase mental images of the Obama Express making one last long leap off the track and plunging down the high walls of the Grand Canyon. It was not a pretty sight and in all likelihood, he, Harry Reid, had been on that train. Harry quickly began to wonder where the basis of discussion strayed away from the joy of electing the first black man to ever serve as President. Did that not matter to the American people? Why, that point should be the central focus of the campaign. Harry kept mumbling the question, “How, in these times, can America turn its back on a black man by tossing history aside and elect to make choices based on what is best for the country…how can that happen?”
Nancy Pelosi smiled and clapped her hands with satisfaction as the debate ended. The President had done so well! This surely cinched his re-election bid and just might open the door for her to have yet another run at that coveted Speaker’s seat. She would indeed get her 757 airplane back from that cry-baby, Boehner. Now that the President had shown that Mr. Romney just wanted a $5 trillion dollar tax cut for all his rich friends, the election should be in the bag. Of course, she was rich and no friend of Romney yet it would have been oh so nice to have shared in that tax cut…if there really indeed was one. Suddenly she felt torn between her own selfish existence and her perceived welfare of the country. Maybe, just maybe, she could get a look at that Romney Plan and see just how good that tax cut would be. She wondered if it would cover her off-shore investments in American Samoa….a tax break for tuna processors. Then, she quickly snapped back to reality remembering how President Obama continued to add people to the unemployment and welfare rolls. That could only stimulate the economy and a strong economy would make up for a tax break. All that fell right in line with her theory that anything that was sagging could be fixed with a big shot of Collagen. Oh thank ya, Jesus, thank ya, Jesus, she said over and over realizing how close she had come to considering a switch of party affiliation.
Michelle Obama touched up her makeup in the Powder Room back behind the debate stage. Barack had dropped yet another one short of the end-zone tonight. She was contemplating sending him to the penalty box,the Lincoln Bedroom, as punishment for looking like some kind of rank amateur community organizer in front of seventy-five million Americans. He was supposed to be the President…the Black Messiah….The Savior of Mankind….all those things, yet he had handled himself on the debate stage like an out-classed weight-lifter with a swollen prostate gland. God! How she hated amateurs and their stumbles. Was it not bad enough that Barack was surrounded with a bunch of dim bulbs that came up with all these ideas? Stupid ideas….like the one currently running with her face plastered all over it and proclaiming that folks should join Michelle to “Tell Barack… you’re in! ” Could it really say that? She cringed at the thought….just one more idiot piece of work. No wonder she held such distain for this mentally- handicapped country she was forced to call home. One thing she knew for sure, once back at the White House, someone is getting bitch-slapped!
John Boehner looked at the empty stage now on his television screen and thought back on the debate. Oh-My-God, Romney had handled himself well…watching his performance tonight was enough to bring tears of joy to his eyes at just the thought. Oh, but the poor, poor President, he must be devastated. Boehner began to tear up at the thought of how damaged the President must feel after such a poor outing on the public stage. A tear rolled down his cheek on both sides….one of joy for Romney and one of sadness for the President. Lord, he thought, I must get a hold of myself and regain my composure…what if a pack of reporters were to come knocking. Why they surely could not have him answering the door with red swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks…not the man so close to the Presidency should unforeseen tragedy arise. No, he had to get it together. He checked his watch. It was past eleven o’clock…too late for reporters tonight. Ah to hell with it, he would just get his jammies on, get in bed, and have a good old John-Boy Walton cry. That would make everything all right until tomorrow.
President Barack Obama struggled up the steep stairwell to the entry of Air Force One, entered and immediately threw his tired frame into a recliner chair in the sitting area. David Axelrod sat close by quiet as a mouse. The President groaned to himself causing Axelrod to look his way, his greasy scalp reflecting the glow of the overhead lights through the thinning dyed hair that topped his head. “What is it Mr. President? ” He asked in a quiet voice. “What is it, hell? I can’t breathe in all this thin-ass air up here. I almost passed-out upon that stage from the lack of oxygen. Tell me how I am supposed to get my wits about me when I cannot get enough air, Axelrod? Hell, I’m the President over these 57 United States….I can have all the damn air I want….the EPA told me that! And to top it off, I was stupid enough to play that line you gave me on that $5 trillion dollar tax cut that Romney is not planning but we claim that he is. Well guess what genius? That claim of yours must have had super glue on it because it stuck all over my ass….never touched him with it! Oh and don’t you ever check your damn phone….I sent you three texts during the debate….nothing….I need answers….got nothing. I’m starting to look like a clown here, Axelrod, and I’m beginning to think that it might be your fault because you know as well as I do that it has to be someone’s fault ‘cause it damn sure ain’t mine….that’s a fact, brother! Axelrod looked confused then opened his mouth to attempt a reply to the President’s accusation only to be cut short by the man….”don’t waste your breathe, Axelrod, don’t waste your damn breathe.” Just get this damn airplane fired up and get me down off this hill….I need some air!”
Joe Biden has passed on watching the debate. He preferred to get his information from the mainstream media rather than to do any factual witnessing of the live event. Tonight he had elected instead to go out behind the White House and pitch pennies with some of his crony lobbyist friends who had bought into Joe’s action long ago. There was a lot of opportunity in pitching pennies with these guys but it had little to do with the pennies themselves. One of the lobbyist remarked, “Hey Joe, I caught a bit of the debate before heading over here. It looked as if Romney was mopping up the floor with Obama .” Joe tossed the penny in his hand and watched it bounce off the stone wall and into the dirt. Seeing the results, Joe immediately shouted, “I win” before scrambling over to pick up all six pennies. He then turned to the lobbyist who had made the remark and said, “Don’t you ever talk to me about things like that when I am pitching pennies…you will destroy my concentration! When I go out to play, brother, I go all out cause you see, I’m a winner…I know how to win. If the President is losing it is probably because he got bogged down in the facts. I learned a long time ago to stay away from those things. When I do encounter them, rather than act surprised, I just say something stupid and off point and the media gives me a guffaw credit. They’ve come to expect it from me you might say. I’ll say this….you can call me dumb if you want to but I I’m the one who has been hanging around up here in Washington for an entire career just guffawing my way right on through from one election to the next. That’s my strategy for the Vice-Presidential debate…just guffaw my way through it. Ol’Ryan…he’ll be up to his ass in facts for weeks. To hell with facts, they are too restrictive to work with. I have found that it is much easier to lie and hope that no one questions your point. If they do, just give a big grin, roll your eyes a round and cross ‘em, stick out your tongue and say, “I thought that was exactly what I said…if it’s not, it news to me!” Works every time! Now, get your butt over here and get in the game…baby needs a new pair of shoes!”
It was well beyond Big Bird’s normal bedtime as he paced the floors of his chicken coop long since giving up on the media banter taking place on the big screen television behind him. That Romney, he didn’t mince words. Right out of the box he tells Jim Lehrer that “he’s comin’ after Big Bird”. For years now, the Bird had experienced the comfort of a warm nest cozily provided for him at the expense of the Public Broadcasting. The federal government had been paying off like a hung-up slot machine since PBS had launched its efforts to provide programming to the public at no charge. Over four hundred million dollars a year in government assistance can keep a “Bird” pretty warm and well-fed, and at no expense to the Bird. But Romney wants to stir the pot…wants the Bird out on the street pedaling his wares like any product of commercial value. It was certainly an option but the Bird would incur additional overhead in the process which would cut into all those lucrative sideline profits which had been going right into the old bank account. Truth be known, “The Bird” was one of those wealthy types which the current President was looking to bust. But, the Bird, just like Warren Buffett, had found ways to appear innocuous in his wealth hiding behind his “child-loving” television persona. Who knew that the taxpayers were picking up the tab while “The Bird” got richer and richer and richer….and, without any real competition except maybe from that smuck, “Barney”? No, no, ,no…Romney has swung the door open now and in the ensuing debate, the facts would come out…The Bird would be exposed and it would be ugly. There was not time for sleep…this looked like an all-nighter that would require The Bird to boil up some of Dale Grubber’s Mellow Yellow to face it. When word hit the streets as to how much money the Bird had made while riding the public dole, the feathers would fly! Bird didn’t feel good…chills fever…could it be the onset of “Bird Flu”?
Joe America snapped off the power switch on his remote cutting the television screen to black. The debates had not gone as Joe had predicted before-hand. From all appearances Mitt Romney had just mopped the floor with some clown without make up. Apparently, the President never showed up. Could it have been Ronald McDonald or possibly that idiot who plays Jack with that round white Styrofoam head sporting eyes, a nose and lips? Then again, it could have been a mime…he didn’t say much and what he did say made very little sense. Regardless, whoever the dude was, Joe was sure that he had seen more floor tonight than a boxer with a glass chin. Joe smiled….that was the great thing about living in the good ol’ USA. It truly was like Forrest Gump’s proverbial box of chocolates…”one just never knew what you were going to get.” With that thought he snapped off the lamp and headed for bed. Joe was a working man and a taxpayer…he needed his rest. But truth be known, he really was anxious to move “forward” to tomorrow and find out more about that clown that Romney used to mop the stage.
©Copyright WBrown2012. All Rights Reserved.
9 October 2012