Burbank, California --
Not quite recovered himself, not so much from the loss of the ‘The Tonight Show’ but of the friends he made out of the guests, co-workers and producers that appeared on it, perhaps it is befitting then that Conan O’Brien has reached out to an alienated alcoholic, nicotine-addicted male chimp named Zhora. A former entertainer of sorts himself in a traveling circus that roamed the Ukrainian countryside with gypsies, bringing smiles to the dirty faces of the impoverished children of nomadic tribesman in the radioactive shadow of Chernobyl.
“You see,” said Conan O’Brien in a webcam plea from his kid’s playhouse in his Beverly Hills backyard, asking the Russian rehab facility that is currently treating the chimp, if he can adopt him. “I know what it is like to have lost a career recently, and I really, really miss that. But what I miss even more is the friends that I made while practicing my profession.”
Conan O’Brien then gave a tour of the children’s playhouse he was streaming his show on the web from. Showing off still photographs of his friends that he hung on the walls. Friends that he so dearly missed: ‘Robo Pimp’, ‘The Masturbating Bear’ and ‘Triumph’ the Comic Insult Dog, just to mention a few.
“Ah, here’s a photo of one I miss the most,” said Conan O’Brien visibly shaken by the touching sentiments scrawled on the bottom of the autographed glossy black and white image of ‘Triumph’ the Comic Insult Dog. The caption underneath reading: ‘Here’s to Conan…for me to poop on!’
“Truly, ‘Triumph’ the Comic Insult Dog was this man’s best friend,” said Conan O’Brien, wiping away a tear as he spoke. Then looking directly into the webcam he added, poker faced: “And what a ratings getter too.”
Conan O’Brien then sat back down onto his bright plastic pink child’s chair that was to small for him, adjusting the webcam as he wiggled his way back into it. And lifting up a black attaché case, placing it onto the white plastic table before him that had blue, yellow and orange flower stickers on it, he smiled sinisterly, as he slowly opened it up, revealing stacks of money contained in it.
“That’s right,” said Conan O’Brien, his voice sounding demonstratively villainous. “They’re all Benjamin’s, six columns wide, three rows tall and six inches deep…Now gentlemen…tell me. Do I have a producer for my new ‘Twitter’ show, or not?”
Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Moscow, Russia --
Through his personal Russian sign language translator, Zhora the chimpanzee and former circus performer denies he has a drinking or rage problem, using hand gestures he was taught by his trainer before he was turned over to a zoo.
“I’ve been placed into rehab by my [BLEEP] zookeepers against my will, [hu] man,” said Zhora as he maintains that he is a recreational drinker and that he has a mild-mannered temperament.
“True I would on occasion ask the passer-by for a beer or smoke,” continued Zhora as he pulled out a clove cigarette, motioning the translator for a light. “But that was only because I’d always get carded at the liquor store.”
As the translator struck the matchstick on the black iron bars of the cage, Zhora began screaming uncontrollably at the flame on the tip.
Unmoved by the screaming, the translator continued to reach into the cage with the lit match. All the while the chimp was screaming, it motioned him to draw nearer.
As the translator held out the lit match at arms length, the chimp reluctantly approached, igniting the cigarette in its mouth. Still screaming in between puffs.
“Zhora engaged in a heated debate with the liquor store clerk,” said the translator as he too lit up a cigarette, joining the chimp in a relaxing smoke. “You know, I love this crazy monkey. He taught me how to drink deeply and live life. I’d do anything for him.”
After a five-minute break, Zhora and his translator continued explaining the incident that got the chimpanzee placed into rehab.
“‘Come on [hu] man’,” recounted Zhora through his translator, taking intermittent European style drags on the remainder of his cigarette, cupping the butt of it in the palm of his hand, while picking up the story right where he left off. “’You’re kidding me, right? You’re looking at a [BLEEP] chimp here! Do I look like I have a driver’s license to you? Even if I did, where would I put it [hu] man? Do you see any pockets on me? Or maybe, maybe you’re suggesting I get one, just so I can stick it up my [BLEEP]! Huh, is that it [hu] man? Hey, that’s an idea.”
Zhora was then placed under arrest for assault and battery, his rehab attendance a condition of his release.
“I’m so sorry I did that to that [hu] man,” said Zhora pacing his cage, flicking his spent cigarette to the floor. “I’m sorry…maybe they’re right about my having a rage problem. Maybe…the alcohol only makes it worse.”
As Zhora watches the rehab personnel walk by, he instinctively reverts to a primitive state. Grabbing the bars of his cage with one hand, he thrusts out the other in a begging posture.
Tears run down the translator’s face as he continues to interpret what Zhora is saying with his hands.
Suddenly Zhora stops motioning to the translator, instead he squats down in his cage relieving himself in his hand as he begins throwing the foul smelling contents at the rehab personnel for refusing to give him beer and smokes.
The translator rises to his feet, grabbing the bars of the cage.
For a moment, the translator just stares at Zhora, uncertain how to translate the chimp’s actions.
Eyes locked, the translator unbuckles his belt, drops his pants and squats down to the floor with one of his hands reaching behind him.Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Universal City, California --
Not one to disappoint his fans, Conan O’Brien, former host of ‘The Tonight Show’ and consummate funnyman, used his ‘Twitter’ account to keep in shape since leaving the late night talk show circuit by conducting his first interview from his backyard. His first guest: a squirrel he encountered. However, the cute skit quickly turned ugly, resulting in him having to cut to commercial and asking for assistance.
“Today I interviewed a squirrel in my backyard. Then threw to commercial. Somebody help me,” ‘Tweeted’ Conan O’Brien to his loyal fans who eagerly await his return to network TV, cable or even the Internet.
“Conan O’Brien has never been funnier,” said Wanda Sykes, a comedienne, sitcom TV star, talk show host on FOX and Jay Leno fan when she received the O’Brien ‘Tweet’, thinking it was a joke. “I laughed so hard when I read it. I said to myself, ‘Too bad he couldn’t be that funny on ‘The Tonight Show’.”
Unfortunately for Conan O’Brien it was no joke.
“Due to the limited number of characters someone can ‘Tweet’ to express themselves,” said a spokesman for ‘Twitter’. “Conan O’Brien’s cry for help was misinterpreted by those who received his brief message.”
“He [Conan O’Brien] thought it would be funny to interview a squirrel that lives in a tree in our backyard,” explained Mrs. O’Brien to the fire department that responded to her 911 call, as they attended to her husband who was laid out on the lawn under a tree. “So he sat down at the playhouse we got for the kids and started interviewing this, this squirrel.”
However, Conan O’Brien did not realize that he was sitting across the table having a cup of tea with a rabid squirrel that quickly lunged at him, attacking him.
“I guess his instincts as a professional talk show host kicked in,” said Mrs. O’Brien.
While he struggled to remove the squirrel attached to his face, Conan O’Brien maintained his composure by throwing to a commercial before asking for help.
“All the while he was still ‘Tweeting’ to his fans,” said Mrs. O’Brien.
Mrs. O’Brien managed to scare off the squirrel with a garden hose, washing it off her husband’s face.
“He always puts his fans first,” said Mrs. O’Brien attempting to comfort the crying O’Brien children as they waved bye-bye to their father.
As the paramedics lifted up Conan O’Brien on the gurney, locking the wheels in place and began rolling him out to the ambulance parked in the driveway, he spoke to the EMT’s from beneath his oxygen mask, his pale white face bearing tiny red scratch marks.
“Could you X-ray my stomach when we get to the hospital? I think that squirrel laid an egg inside me, or something,” said frightened looking Conan O’Brien, his trademarked red quaff of a cowlick all a muss. “Wait…did you see that? My chest…did it bulge just now? Or was that the wind blowing up my shirt? Oh my God! Get it off of me! Get it off me! Now back to you Ed…Heeerrreee’s Johnny!” Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Washington, D.C. --
Like President Jimmy Carter, who used the of the office of the presidency as a bully pulpit to demonstrate to the nation his comment to America becoming energy self-sufficient in the 1970s by installing solar panels on the roof of his then residence, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, President Barack Obama has announced he is installing a nuclear power plant up on the White House rooftop to prove how safe nuclear energy is to Americans.
“President Obama realizes that it would be easier to just reinstall the old solar panels that President Ronald Reagan had removed after President Jimmy Carter lost the 1980 election,” said a spokesman for the White House. “However, Obama feels that he has an obligation as the first family to show the nation that nuclear power is just as green as solar power. In fact, it’s greener.”
“I’m not so sure about moving my garden up on the roof,” said the First Lady as she lay in bed next to the president reviewing the blue prints for the nuclear power plant and her new greenhouse garden. “Especially next to a --”
“Now, now Michelle,” interrupted Obama, putting down a book he was reading. “How many times do I have to tell you? Nuclear power is completely safe. Besides, now on cloudy days your plants will get all the radiation they need. Only, not from sunbeams that have to be imported from halfway across the solar system but from the splitting of atoms, domestically generated just feet above our heads. I know what I’m doing. I’ve done my research. Okay?”
“Okay,” said the First Lady as she rolled up the blue prints, laying them aside. Ignoring the biohazard warning on them. “You do have a way with words.”
“That’s why I’m the President,” said Obama with a smile as he picked up his book ‘How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying’, tuning to the page where he left off reading. “Now, please. Let me get back to my research so I can be ready for tomorrow’s economic summit.”
Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Washington, D.C. --
In a desperate attempt to reconstitute themselves after melting away and hanging around up in the atmosphere like so much accumulated moisture, glaciers made a successful reappearance back on the surface of the earth. Choosing perhaps the east coast of the United States and Washington, D.C. in particular to make a political statement to the nation in the form of record snowfall this year, giving climate change deniers, and the science impaired just enough rope to hang themselves.
“I wondered where they went,” said Alberto Santiago, Professor of Climatology at the Cassandra Institute of Foresight who has been unsuccessfully tracking the glaciers ever since they began to melt due to climate change. “I mean it’s not like they were giant pieces of dog poo. And God himself took out a giant can of ‘Vapoorize’ like in that movie ‘envy’ and sprayed it on them until they disappeared into thin air. I mean like the dog poo in that movie, it has to go somewhere, right?”
Professor Santiago finally caught up with the elusive ‘evapoorated’ ice packs in Washington, D.C. as he took ice core samples, attempting to verify the origin of the record snowfall. And even, in some cases, the identity of the former glacier itself.
Professor Santiago made his heroic stand as he braved the elements in the noble quest, or perhaps obsession, of his profession: the pursuit of truth. Burrowing in subzero temperatures in near zero visibility conditions, however, straight through the roof of somebody’s snow-covered car, mistaking it for a snowdrift.
“This ice right here is not from any glacier. I can tell you that,” said Professor Santiago, sniffing the core sample, which was covered with human and pet hair, car fluids, carpet fibers, candy wrappers, chewed up bubblegum, cigarette butts and pieces of colored plastic and broken glass.
“See! What did I tell you I folks,” yelled out conservative radio talk show host, Rush Limbaugh from the backseat of a passing custom-built black Hummer limousine with a plow attached to the front. “Global Warming is a hoax!”
“It’s not from a glacier at all,” explained Professor Santiago as he extended his tongue tasting the frozen water, getting it stuck on the ice core sample. “Ethit’s fram an iceberr!”
One that Professor Santiago had been tracking off the Falkland Islands last summer but lost sight of when briefly he went below decks of the research vessel to use the restroom.
“And when I returned a few minutes later, it was gone,” said Professor Santiago, rubbing his belly. “I never should have had those Penguin tacos.”
Carefully Professor Santiago packed up his core samples he took into plastic baggies, packing them away into an ice chest marked: “More Iceberg Samples 2005 – To Present.”
“Well,” said a determined Professor Santiago as he checked the last of his bags at the airline ticket counter. “I’m off again.”
Professor Santiago received a phone call via satellite the night before, informing him of suspicious looking floodwaters in the United Kingdom.
“That could be one of my missing glaciers,” said Professor Santiago, clutching his stomach. “Oh, I don’t think I should have tasted that ice core sample. Oh well, at least I have English cuisine to look forward to.”
Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Hollywood, California --
Not unlike most men, John Mayer has made the mistake every man has made on occasion in that he has allowed his penis to do his thinking for him. Unlike most men, however, he has taken the extra step in allowing his penis to do the talking for him as well.
In a desperate attempt to save his musical career and show his remorse, John Mayer’s agent has convinced him to undergo a radical medical procedure that will prevent him in the future from taking talking points from his “White Supremacist” penis, making racists statements against African-Americans and belligerent comments about his ex-girlfriends’ performances in the sack.
Doctor’s say the medical procedure is relatively a simple one, but like with all operations carries an unpredictable element of risk to the patient.
“I will be transplanting nerves from another part of the patient’s body,” said Doctor Hugo Von Weziel, chief resident surgeon at the Institute of Penis Pacification (IPP) in Hamburg, Germany. “That way we can avoid TISSUE REJECTION!!!”
The difficulty for Dr. Von Weziel and his top medical IPP staff is not to cut the nerves that connect to the brain located in John Mayer’s penis, but to bypass them.
“To be more accurate,” said Dr. Von Weziel. “We’ll be rerouting the nerves from John Mayer’s brain, which is not uniquely located in the penis for a man, to HIS SPHINCTER!!!”
In layman terms: his asshole.
That way, according Dr. Von Weziel. John Mayer will still maintain control over his vocal cords, and yet preserve his outspoken politically incorrect personally.
“After the operation, John Mayer will continue to sing those delightful songs that are so insightful and years beyond his own youthful inexperience of life,” said Dr. Von Weziel. “Of course, a lot of crap will still be coming out of his mouth, but now everybody will know the reason why. And simply IGNORE IT!!!”
Once he regained consciousness after the operation John Mayer was asked by his Black nurse how he felt. To which he replied to her, “Did they really take the dictator out my [BLEEP]? Because right now, it’s telling me it’s hungry for some brown sugar, BABY!!!”
“Oh John,” said the Black nurse giggling, while she was being chased around the hospital bed by John Mayer. “You're so crazy.”
“You see what I MEAN???!!!” said Dr. Von Weziel.Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Nashville, Tennessee --
A new video from the first ‘Tea Party’ convention has surfaced that is certain to fan the flames under Sarah Palin’s address in which she used a homemade ‘telepalmter’ during her speech. The incriminating footage taken from the backstage quickly pans the front row reserved for VIPs, event sponsors and their employees. A close-up freeze-frame shot clearly shows the entire front row audience with cheat notes scrawled across their foreheads.
Handwriting experts have confirmed that it is definitely the rest of Sarah Palin’s speech she started on the left palm of her hand.
“We all knew there wasn’t enough room on her hand for all of her speech,” said a handwriting expert “We just didn’t know where she put the rest of it…until now.”
“I had no idea Sarah Palin was using me as a human teleprompter,” said Homer Johnson, the ‘Tea Party’ attendee that unknowingly had the conclusion of Sarah Palin’s convention speech written on his forehead. “But come to think of it. It kind of all makes sense now.”
Homer says when he got up to use the restroom he wondered why Sarah Palin paused her speech, waiting for his return.
“I thought she was just being polite,” Homer said.
As Sarah Palin waited for Homer to return, she stood silently on the stage biding her time by taking several drinks of water and occasionally interacting with the audience on off topic subjects trying to kill time.
“Excuse me,” said Sarah Palin pointing to her throat as the audience looked about the room wondering what was going on. “I’m a bit dry.”
After holding the glass of water up to her mouth for several minutes, she finally finished drinking. Then while holding the empty glass upside down above her head, tapping the bottom of it to demonstrate to the audience she was out of water, she gestured for some more.
As a man walked on stage with a pitcher full of water, pouring some into her empty glass, the microphone picked up Sarah Palin making an inquiry, whispering into the man’s ear as to the whereabouts of the missing gentleman in the front row.
“I’ sorry,” whispered back the man holding the water pitcher. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But I’ll check into it.”
“You know what,” said Sarah Palin to the man as he was about to walk away with the pitcher of water as she glanced at her wristwatch. “It may be better if you just leave the pitcher.”
That was when Homer finally retuned to his seat.
“Okay,” said Sarah Palin as she adjusted her eyeglasses, squinting to refocus on Homer’s forehead in the front row. “Lets see…where was I now?”
Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Washington, D.C. --
“Now I really want you to look at these computer enhanced images of what your body will look like come 2012,” said President Barack Obama to ‘Obama Girl’ who helped sway the electorate, winning his 2008 presidential election for him and who now sat in the Oval Office with other members of his Cabinet and chief of staff, going over campaign strategies to defeat Sarah Palin in 2012.
“Notice how you’re projected to put on a little weight?” continued Obama speaking to ‘Obama Girl’ as the Surgeon General nodded his head in agreement. “Now it’s not so much that the Surgeon General here is raising any red flags, calling it a health concern. As much as you continuing to look so great as you do in a bikini. So I’ve taken the liberty to ensure that happens.”
Obama then called in a personal trainer into the room, introducing him to ‘Obama Girl’ who was busy stuffing her face with chocolate chip cookies at the time.
“Sven,” said Obama with a smile on his face as he rose to his feet zipping up his jogger’s jacket with the Presidential Seal embroidered on it. “How are you old buddy? Hope the windy city is treating you well. Say, I’d like you to meet ‘Obama Girl’. She’s been a faithful and most useful member of Team Obama. But now, as you can see by the computer projections, she won’t do me much good in the years to come if she doesn’t get control of her diet. What do you recommend?”
“The pain!” replied Sven in broken English as he flexed his bulky arm muscles so that it caused the veins in his neck and forehead to bulge, flooding with blood.
‘Obama Girl’ started gagging and choking on her chocolate chip cookies in response.
Sven, mistaking ‘Obama Girl’ for having need of the Heimlich maneuver, lifted her up from out of her chair and while positioned behind her, began squeezing her like a tube of toothpaste until she fell to the floor unconscious.
“Oh no,” yelled out Sven with his hands on his cheeks. “Not again!”
“There goes my reelection,” said Obama throwing his face into his folded arms on his desk.
“Is she dead?” asked Sven to the Surgeon General who was checking ‘Obama Girl’ for a pulse.
“No,” replied the Surgeon General. “In fact, she’s coming to.”
“Thank God!” said Obama jumping to his feet, throwing Karate punches in the air. “I’m back in business!”
“What do we tell her happened to her?” asked a concerned Sven, kneeling on one knee gently stroking ‘Obama Girl’s’ cheek.
“I know,” said Obama snapping his fingers. “Lets just put her back in her chair and pretend like nothing happened.”
“You mean like in that ‘I Love Lucy’ episode?” jokingly asked the Surgeon General.
“Yeah,” said Obama, nodding to Sven.
Sven then lifted up ‘Obama Girl’, returning her to her seat, arranging her body to the position it was in before. Even placing a chocolate chip cookie in her mouth.
As ‘Obama Girl’ regained consciousness, Sven was unable to look ‘Obama Girl’ in the eyes and looked nervously around room instead. Not knowing what to do next, he resumed his posing, causing ‘Obama Girl’ to gag and choke on the chocolate chip cookie in her mouth.
Sven instinctively rushed in plucking ‘Obama Girl’ out of her chair, performing the Heimlich maneuver on her.
“Oh no,” cried out Obama throwing his arms up in the air. “Not again!”
Sure enough ‘Obama Girl’ fell to the floor unconscious again.
“Is she alive?” Sven asked the Surgeon General who was checking ‘Obama Girl’ for a pulse again.
“Just barely,” the Surgeon General said. “In fact, without an immediate –”
“Wait!” interrupted Obama, throwing his hand out in the air.
“You got another idea?” sarcastically remarked the Surgeon General.
“Yeah,” said Obama as he paced the Oval Office. “I saw this movie once about a bachelor party where the prostitute they hire dies on them.”
“Oh no,” said Sven, shaking his head. “Not again.”
“Now, now, Sven,” said Obama patting Sven on his back. “Remember?”
“Yes, I remember,” said a resigned Sven, picking up the still unconscious ‘Obama Girl’ from the floor. “What happens in Chicago stays in Chicago.”Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Washington, D.C. --
In the first of what could become a series of last ditch efforts to rehabilitate his tarnished image as a liberal and progressive after losing Ted Kennedy’s Senate seat and his party’s filibuster proof (though still possessing a so-called supermajority in the house) to Republican, Scott Brown, President Barack reluctantly decided it is time once more for ‘Obama Girl’ to work her magic, regenerating the faithful.
“Are you sure there is no other way,” said President Barack Obama as he sat in the Oval Office behind his desk. His back turned to his chief of staff, Rahm Emanuel and company as he stared at his own reflection, which shined back at him off the surface of the windowpane, D.C. city lights twinkling like stars in the dark outside in the distance.
“No. Mr. President,” replied the president’s chief of staff as he motioned with his hand for a Naval officer with a black attaché case handcuffed to wrist to step forward. “There’s no other way.”
Removing a metallic blue key that hung from his neck by a silver chain, Obama turned his chair around to face the locked black attaché case lying on his desk.
Obama looked up at his chief of staff who while shaking his head no mouthed with his lips in utter silence: “There’s no other way.”
A now decisive Obama with a quick turn of his metallic blue key opened the black attaché case. Reaching inside, he removed a red plastic coated keycard and without hesitation broke it in half, pulling out a piece of paper from inside.
Written on it were a seemingly random sequence of letters and numbers.
As another Naval officer handed the president the red crisis line phone, Obama paused a moment to look over at Rahm Emanuel once more. Again, his chief of staff mouthed to him the words, “There’s no other way.”
“NORAD?” said an assertive Obama. “This is your president speaking. Be advised I am ordering you to release agent code name, ‘V’ –”
“-- That’s ‘V’ as in Valkyrie,” said the chief of staff, pulling away the red phone away from Obama’s ear. “Execute emergency shadow government executive order code name ‘Valkyrie’.”
“That’s not what I meant,” said Obama, taking back the red phone from Rahm Emanuel before correcting himself. “I meant ‘V’ as in ‘V for Vendetta…No. Wait. That’s not what I meant, either. I meant ‘Obama Girl’.”
“Sir?’ came a shaky reply from the voice of a young inexperienced officer on the other end of the red phone.
“You heard me!” yelled out Obama, attempting to exude confidence by raising his voice. “That’s an order! Confirmation code is as follows: Echo, Charlie, Whiskey, Bravo, 1,0,1. Now release ‘Obama Girl’. You got that solider?”
“Yes sir! Echo, Charlie, Whiskey, Bravo, 1,0,1,” repeated the voice over the red phone. “Immediately, sir!”
Afterwards, Obama just sat there with the red phone at his ear long after the dial tone and recorded operator message played into his ear, as his chief of staff cleared everyone out of the room.
“Now it’s time to activate the signal, Mr. President,” said Rahm Emanuel as he slowly removed the red phone from the president’s ear, placing it back on its receiver.
“Already?” said Obama shaken out of his daze like state as he looked around the empty Oval Office. “Hey. where did everybody go?”
“You did the right thing, Mr. President,” said a reassuring chief of staff as he guided Obama’s hand to the upper drawer of the desk. “Now you have to activate the signal.”
A still seemingly dazed president attempted to resist, wrestling Rahm Emanuel to the ground, but his chief of staff easily overpowered him.
“Now, now, Mr. President,” said Rahm Emanuel as he cradled and rocked Obama in his arms, stroking his head. “You knew one day it might come down to this. Now activate the signal.”
Too weak to walk on his own strength, Obama was carried in the arms of Rahm Emanuel back to his presidential chair. Obama reached under his desk, pushed on an unseen panel and out slid open a hidden drawer with a flashing red button in it. Slowly the president reached out to push it, but he froze.
“Here. I’ll do it,” said the emboldened chief of staff but even he paused, hesitating a moment before finally pushing it. “There…. See, nothing to it.”
“My God,” said Obama with his chief of staff standing at his side looking out the window of the Oval Office at the signal spotlight that shined over Capitol Hill reflecting the silhouette of the ‘Obama Girl’ off the clouds in the night sky. “What have we done?”
“I am Shiva,” answered Rahm Emanuel paraphrasing Robert J. Oppenheimer director of the ‘Manhattan Project’ quoting ancient holy Hindu text when he witnessed the explosion of the first atomic bomb, lighting up the skies of New Mexico with a power thousands of times hotter than that of the surface of the Sun. “The destroyer of worlds.”
“How long…how long do you think we got?” asked Obama recognizing the same quiver in his voice that belonging to the young officer he spoke with over the phone moments before, but now seemed like an age ago.
“It will be a matter of seconds now,” replied Rahm Emanuel as he calmly lit up a cigarette. “She’ll be here in a matter of seconds.”
“Is there… is there --” hesitated and stuttered the president.
“Is there enough time to can you call in your wife and children and say goodbye?” interrupted the chief of staff.
“No,” said Obama reaching his hand out to Rahm Emanuel. “Is there a chance I can take a drag on your cigarette?”
“Sorry, Mr. President…” replied Rahm Emanuel as he causally tossed the mostly intact cigarette to the floor, extinguishing it with a twist of his shoe. “Not enough time.”
“I use to rule the world…” Obama began to sing himself the lyrics from the song ‘Via la Vida’ from the rock group ‘Coldplay’ as he sank from his chair to the seeming safety and security under his desk. “Seas would rise when I gave the word. Now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I use to own….”
Hundreds of miles away in a fallow field somewhere in the state of Wyoming, the surface hatch of a missile silo slides open. A monument later, a scantily clad ‘Obama Girl’ emerges, oblivious to either her recent captivity or release, dancing and swaying to the iTunes playing on her iPod plugged into her head. Catching a scent in the air, however, she stops in her tracks and with a single bound takes flight to the star studded heavens above, moving across the midnight sky like a streaking comet, headed in the direction of Washington D.C. Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Washington, D.C. --
Hey kids, remember ‘I’m Just a Bill’? That cute adorable rolled up talking piece of unsigned legislative parchment from those two-minute animated ‘Schoolhouse Rock!’ short features that aired in-between Saturday morning cartoons on ABC in the early 1970s to the early 1980s that educated you on subjects of grammar, science, economic, history, mathematics and civics better than your teachers ever did? Well he’s back! But this time he is no longer melancholy. Nope. He’s pissed off!
“Hi kids!” says ‘I’m Just a Bill’ in the opening scene of the new ‘School House Rock!’ video as he sits on the steps of Congress as Congressman and women pass him by, ignoring him. “Yup I’m still here. After all these years, right where you left me last. Still waiting to be signed so healthcare reform can finally become the law of the land, providing Americans with health insurance, even a public option like Obama promised in his campaign and again on ‘YouTube’ after he was elected. Yeah, I know, it’s hard to believe that I know about ‘YouTube’ I’m so old. But not too old that I haven’t finally seen the light and mended my arrant ways.”
Dog-eared parchment turning yellow with his patriotic red, white and blue ribbon tied around his waist anchored by his name tag ‘Bill’ faded, ‘I’m Just a Bill’ that sits on Capitol Hill not only looked his age, but the consequences of years of healthcare neglect as he attempted to mask his ocular disease behind dark shaded sunglasses, but his white cane with a red stripe on the bottom tip of it betrays him.
“I bet y’all are grown up now and with kids of your own too,” continued ‘I’m Just a Bill’ as he struggled to rise to his feet using his cane to assist him. “Oh, I don’t need any of your help now. You see this cane here is not for tapping the sidewalk but for helping me get up. I got it back when Medicare was still paying for ‘tings that old folks like me needed. See, I was a Socialist back then and didn’t know any better. But now I do. In fact, I’m going to throw away these symbols of oppression that robs me of my independence and dignity. Right here and now.”
Slowly a crowd of Republican and Blue Dog Democrats Senators and Congressman stopped and gathered in a circle around ‘I’m Just a Bill’ to listen to his sidewalk sermon of conservative conversion to fiscal responsibility.
“In fact, I don’t need these taxpayer subsidized subscription eyeglass neither,” said ‘I’m Just a Bill’ on a roll, as took off his eyeshades, throwing them to the ground alongside his white red striped cane. The crowd of conservatives let out a cheer. But then quickly recoiled in horror at the sight of the thick foggy gray cataract membrane that coated ‘I’m Just a Bill’s’ eyes. “Yeah, I knows I’m not a pretty sight to look at, but I’m a free man.”
The crowd of Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats applauded.
“See, I’ve changed,” said ‘I’m just a Bill’ with his arms wide-open, expecting to be embraced by the compassionate conservatives. “Now will you sign my forehead, making me into a law?”
The crowd of Republicans and Blue Dog Democrats looked around among themselves as if silently debating their individual conscience. They were about to give their answer when they all received a text message alert warning them that ‘I’m Just a Bill’ was a suspected lobbyist working for the people. Then looking up from their BlackBerries, cell phones and pagers shouted out in unison: “No!”
“God damn it!” said ‘I’m Just a Bill’ in his frustration. “Sorry kids, and not about my French neither. I’m sorry you and your children aren’t getting any healthcare or healthcare reform from your dully-elected representatives you deserve. Maybe next time when the Democrats are in the White House again and control both Houses of Congress with a filibuster proof supermajority.”
‘I’m Just a Bill’ then returned to occupying the steps of Congress, his portion of marble where he sat polished with wear.
“For I’m Just a Healthcare Bill,” ‘I’m Just a Bill’ resumed signing to himself as members of Congress shuffled by him again oblivious to his existence, purpose and urgent need. “Stuck up here on Capitol Hill.”Copyright © 2008-2010 by Robert W. Armijo
Burbank, California --
