The Bush Said Nothing Chapter 1
"But Dad, I don't want to see the presidential debate. It's boring."
"Then be bored. It will be a learning experience."
"How can I learn anything if I'm not listening?"
"Don't make me hit you again."
Mr. Warner tapped his foot against the concrete as he tried unsuccessfully to coax his son for the fourth time that day. He was a tall man with a conservative haircut, a long rectangular face, sunken cheeks, angular lips, and a grave, forbidding look. He was dressed in a fine black suit, and was well-groomed but not handsome.
He walked over to his son, whose blond hair shined in the sunlight. The kid, whose face was crinkled into a sour expression but who otherwise appeared calm, looked up at Mr. Warner.
"Mikey, eleven-year-olds do not have to act like this."
"But Dad," Mikey protested. "Other eleven-year-olds aren't forced by their dads to go to presidential debates."
"Look, you go to school even though you don't like it. Being here certainly won't kill you. I will kill you if you don't come in here with me now."
"But you told me I'd go to the zoo today!" Mikey said, starting to raise his voice. "Mom told me I'd go to the zoo! I'm gonna tell her you lied to me!"
"What you're about to see is just as good as the zoo," Mr. Warner replied. "I promise."
"That's what you think," the boy sulked. "I'm gonna ask Uncle Bluejay to take me to the zoo tomorrow."
"Over my dead body you are!" Mr. Warner turned beet-red and began to break out in sweat. "Your aunt's commie ex-husband is a bad influence on you. He's no longer part of the family, so stop calling him Uncle! How can you stand the man? He's a nightmare! So arrogant, and condescending."
Mr. Warner grabbed his son's lapel. His voice was becoming distinctly loud, and a tad bit squeaky, as it always did when he became angry. "You know why your aunt divorced him? He was too overbearing!"
Of course, Mikey knew the real reason behind Bluejay's divorce. His wife had found on their computer a hoard of pictures of another woman's nostrils. She apparently didn't realize that all those pictures were from magazines, all of the actress Natalie Portman, and Bluejay had simply cropped them to show only the nostrils. She assumed he was being unfaithful to her, and promptly asked for a divorce. Bluejay once told Mikey the whole story, but Mr. Warner was unaware of it.
Bluejay could be overbearing, though.
Mr. Warner glanced at his watch. "Sh*t! We're going to be late. Just shut up now, and follow me in here."
Before Mikey could respond, Mr. Warner grabbed Mikey's left hand and pulled him along with him, as he rammed open the door and hurried inside the building.
The immense interior of the building spread out before Mikey. He was inside a room at least the size of his gymnasium at school. He was immediately overwhelmed by the sight of a huge crowd of people and.... and....
Animals.
Not the kind of animals Mikey saw at zoos. Not the kind of animals Mikey had at home. The animals in this room were standing upright like people, were dressed in human clothes, and were intermingled with the humans, who themselves did not appear to be the slightest bit bothered by the sight. On the contrary, they were all chatting amiably amongst one another.
Standing a few feet away from Mikey was a seven-foot rhinoceros wearing a checkered business suit and engaged in an in-depth conversation with a female chimpanzee, herself wearing long slacks and a purple turtleneck sweater.
Atop a wooden table stood a bespectacled eagle squawking away before a large white rat in a tuxedo. Beyond the table, a group of zebras stood around three ordinary human beings, all engaged in conversation. Their mesmerizing black-and-white stripes were mostly covered by overcoats and bulky gray fedoras. The humans didn't appear the slightest bit perturbed by the fact that they were talking to a group of zebras.
Left and right, wherever Mikey looked, he saw an intermingling of humans with apparently sentient and surprisingly well-dressed non-human species. Slithery pythons in long tube-like suits, cheetahs wearing mink fur, armadillos in ornate jewelry, enormous squids with tentacles protruding from long gray cloaks, polar bears and panda bears, turkeys and ostriches, tigers and crocodiles, the most active sloths Mikey had ever seen.... It was all too much for him to take. He looked back at his father, whose expression hadn't changed.
"What in the world are these animals?" Mikey yelped.
"Politicians," Mr. Warner replied.
Mikey took another glance at the crowd. "These animals are politicians? You mean, like, our leaders?"
"You bet," Mr. Warner said.
"But I thought...." Mikey began. "I thought that politicians were human."
"You've got a lot to learn, son."
Mikey stood there, speechless for a few moments, just staring at the wide range of living things currently populating the immense place. Finally, he said, "I'm sorry I was difficult before. I thought I wouldn't get to see animals today. Wow! This is so cool!"
"You're forgiven," Mr. Warner said dispassionately. He then grabbed his son's arm again and pulled him into the crowd.
Chapter 2
The crowd had settled down, and everyone had taken their seats in a huge auditorium in the next room. Mikey sat next to Mr. Warner, and they were both fairly close to the stage, where the debate was to take place. Mr. Warner had his notepad on his lap, and held a pencil in his right hand.
The shock of seeing animals walking around like regular people had not fully worn off with Mikey, but he was calmer than he had been upon first entering the building. A leopard in a long silky dress seated herself nearby, and Mikey couldn't help sneaking glances at her. Fortunately, the rest of the audience in his range of vision were human. Otherwise he knew he wouldn't be paying attention when the debate would begin.
As soon as Mikey began to get bored, which surprised him a little considering the night's events, a medium-sized man with thick gray hair and a beard took the stage. He instructed everyone to be silent, and as the audience quieted down, he sat himself down on a chair in the middle of the stage, his back facing the audience.
His voice was deep, resonant, and loud. "Welcome to the 27th presidential debate of this year. I present to you our two participants in this debate, the Democratic candidate Woody Gorebot, and the Republican, who likes simply to be called Mr. Bush."
A faint buzzing sound entered the auditorium. Mikey thought it was his imagination at first, before it became distinctly loud. None of the audience reacted like anything out of the ordinary was happening. Finally, the enormous bumblebee emerged on the stage.
It was the size of a large dog, with bright yellow and black stripes, wings fluttering at unimaginable speed, and a particularly long, pointy nose. A brief sensation of nausea mixed with drowsiness came over Mikey, then quickly dissipated. He looked back up at the stage, and the bumblebee was now hovering below a microphone hanging from the ceiling. It began to speak.
"I am zzo pleeeezd to beeeeee here zis eeevning."
Mikey was not sure, but he thought the people around him shuddered slightly.
"Welcome, Mr. Gorebot," the moderator said.
A bespectacled elephant with a disproportionately long trunk took the stage. Mikey had never seen an elephant standing on two legs before, and he noticed that the human moderator looked like a pixie next to it. At least, Mikey thought this was an elephant. It was dressed in a costume that looked not unlike that of a donkey. Under its trunk it was holding something that looked to Mikey like a collection of leaves and branches.
"Welcome, Dr. Allin Juan Cheneyricefleischer, Etc.," the bearded moderator said to the elephant. "Where is Mr. Bush?"
"Here he is," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said, and as he said it, he unfolded his trunk, letting the bundle fall to the floor. Mikey then saw what the bundle was. It was a bush. A dull-colored one at that. The immense elephant stepped back a few feet into the shadows.
"Now, let us begin," the moderator said. "My first question is addressed to you, Mr. Gorebot, then Mr. Bush may respond. What issues do you support which are in line with the public's beliefs?"
"Well, I am in favor of national health care, social security, affirmative action, a woman'z right to choooze, and I have a reeeeeal strong record on helping keep the environment cleeean. All thoze izzues are zzupported by ze public, and Mr. Bush oppozzez zem. Zerefore you should vote for meeee."
"Thank you, Mr. Gorebot. Now, Mr. Bush, what issues do you support which are in line with the public's beliefs?"
The bush said nothing.
"He means that Mr. Gorebot is completely misrepresenting the issue," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said. "On the contrary, Mr. Bush is far more in line with the values of our country than is Mr. Gorebot. He believes in family values, religious devotion, morality, and personal responsibility. The public is overwhelmingly in support of those things. Thank you."
The moderator went on. "The job of the presidency is a most demanding task, requiring the ability to withstand considerable pressure, to make quick decisions in the most dire of circumstances. It is not for the faint of heart, or the incompetent. The people want a man who knows what he's doing, and won't let the public down in a time of war or a time of peace. So, my question, which is addressed to you, Mr. Bush, is, what past contributions have you made in your career which you think make you qualified to run this country?"
The bush said nothing.
"He means that he's proven his qualifications," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer piped up, "by being governor of one of the largest states in the nation for six years. Mr. Gorebot's only been vice president, and as we know vice presidents don't do anything. In addition, Mr. Bush flew planes while the Vietnam War was ensuing. And damn, he was good at it. I know," the elephant said with a huge wink, "because I was there with him the whole time."
"Very good," the moderator said. "Now I direct the question to you, Mr. Gorebot. What past contributions have you made which you think make you qualified to run this country?"
"Well, well, you zee, I hev a huuuuge amount of contrib-yoooshins which I am responsible for in my pazzzt. To beeeegin with, back as a young beeeee in my hive, I took the initiative in creating honey...."
Before Gorebot could finish, the audience broke out into hysterical laughter. When the moderator responded, the tone of his voice was one of disbelief.
"So....you, Mr. Gorebot, are telling us that you claim to be the inventor of honey?"
"Well, well, zzzat's not ekzzzactly what I meant. What I meant izz...."
"But that's what you said, Mr. Gorebot. You said, 'I created honey.' Is that not what you claim?"
"Well, you zeee, well...." Gorebot was stammering. "Well, it depends upon what your definition of 'create' izz."
"Indeed," the moderator said. "Now where have we heard that before?"
"Well," Gorebot began, but his buzz trailed off.
"Now why don't we ask your opponent for his opinion on your claim." The moderator turned toward the bush, which hadn't moved an inch since Dr. Cheneyricefleischer had dropped it there. "So, Mr. Bush, what is your reaction to Mr. Gorebot's claim to be the inventor of honey?"
The bush said nothing.
"Is that your final answer, Mr. Bush?"
The bush said nothing.
"Very interesting," the moderator said. "I take it, Mr. Gorebot, that he finds your claim to be very outlandish."
Gorebot looked humbled, and the bush continued to say nothing.
Mikey leaned over to Mr. Warner, who was scribbling furiously on the pad in his lap. Mikey nudged him slightly.
Mr. Warner glared at Mikey. "This had better be good," he whispered.
"Why aren't they talking about issues?" Mikey asked.
"They are," Mr. Warner said. "Now shut up and let me work."
From that point on, neither of them said a word to each other.
Mikey didn't know if it was the hypnotic brightness of Woody Gorebot's skin, or the content of what each of the candidates were arguing about. Whatever it was, a few moments after Mikey had nudged his father, he drifted off to sleep.
The next thing Mikey knew, he was being shaken hard. When he opened his eyes, he was staring at his father's angry face.
"How dare you drift off to sleep in the middle of the debate. You slept through the entire thing! That's so rude! What if the candidates had seen you? One of those individuals you saw on stage will surely occupy the Gray House in a few months! The last thing I want is for you to embarrass me in front of him."
"But Dad," Mikey said with a yawn. "It was your choice to take me here in the first place."
"That's irrelevant," Mr. Warner said. "You need to start taking responsibility for yourself. You're a disgrace."
Mikey stretched his body, then slowly rose from the chair. As soon as he was fully standing up, Mr. Warner grabbed his hand and walked off. Mikey had to walk very quickly to keep his arm from being pulled out of its socket.
Mr. Warner stopped abruptly and released Mikey's hand. Mikey fought back disorientation, then looked forward. Standing in their path was a crowd of people all dressed in green, lined up uniformly in a series of rows. They all had the same bug-eyed expression on their face, and their bodies were all in the same erect position.
"What the devil are you folks doing?" Mr. Warner asked.
"Why wasn't our candidate included in the debate," the crowd all chanted together. "This is supposed to be a democracy, yet we don't get fair representation."
Mikey was amazed at how easily every single person in the crowd managed to say the same words at the same time, in the exact same inflection and tone.
"Well, this is the last debate in this election, and it's over," Mr. Warner said. "So why don't you move out of the way and let my son and I advance?"
"You're a reporter, right?" the crowd chanted.
"Of course I am, and I will report you to the cops if you don't move out of our way very soon."
"You're the problem," chanted the crowd. "It's the media that keeps our candidate from receiving fair representation in this election. If you gave him just as much coverage as you did the other candidates, he'd be much more popular."
"I have a question," Mikey said. "How popular is your candidate?"
"As much as five percent of the public says they will vote for him on Election Day," the crowd chanted.
"But if he has no chance of winning," Mikey pondered, "then why waste your vote? Why don't you vote the way most people in this country are voting?"
"Because," the crowd chanted in unison, "we are independent thinkers."
A seven-foot figure emerged through the door the crowd was blocking. It was clad entirely in green, from head to toe, with an enormous green cape flowing in back, and a large green helmet over its head.
"Our Lord," the crowd chanted.
Mikey stared at the figure, then back at the crowd, who all continued to have the same bug-eyed expressions cemented on their faces. "I don't mean to be rude," Mikey began, "but your man has no chance of winning. Why don't you just vote for either Mr. Gorebot or Mr. Bush, choosing the man you most support?"
The tall figure answered in a deep, reverberating voice and a wave of his hand. "Absolutely no difference exists between the two major candidates in this election."
The crowd chanted in unison, "We believe that absolutely no difference exists between the two major candidates in this election."
The tall figure said, "You are voting your conscience. You do not have to choose between the lesser of two evils."
The crowd chanted, "We're voting our conscience. We don't have to choose between the lesser of two evils."
The tall figure said, "If Mr. Gorebot loses, it won't be because you took votes away from him. It will be because he failed to attract your votes."
The crowd chanted, "If Mr. Gorebot loses, it won't be because we took the votes away from him. It will be because...."
Mr. Warner cut them off, "Just let us the hell through! I don't have all day!"
The tall figure said, "Very well. You will let the reporter and the boy pass."
The crowd chanted, "We will let you and the boy pass."
The crowd merged into one long row, leaving Mr. Warner and Mikey access to the door.
"The nerve," muttered Mr. Warner as he and Mikey passed through the door.
"Are we going home now?" Mikey asked as soon as they were a good distance away from the room they had just left.
"First I need to interview the undecideds."
"What are 'undecideds'?"
"People who haven't made up their mind who to vote for. We want to find out whether watching the debate has helped them make up their mind, and, if so, which candidate they now favor."
"If they haven't made up their mind after 27 debates, why would this one change anything?"
Mr. Warner turned toward his son with a faint look of irritation. "I guess you'll have to find that out."
"Dad, I have a question. Who are you voting for?"
Mr. Warner stopped to look at his son. "Well, I really shouldn't talk about this while I'm on the job, but since you ask me.... well, I'm definitely voting for Bush."
"Why, Dad?"
"I can't go into all the reasons right now, but I almost always vote Republican. Plus, Gorebot is vice president to one of the most immoral administrations in recent memory. Republicans will surely restore honor and integrity to the Gray House. Hey, not too long ago President Wildcat received an inordinate amount of donations from some middle-aged rock star from the '60s."
"What's so bad about that?"
"I'll explain it to you later. Besides, he did something really immoral before, something you're not old enough to hear about. He was sentenced to be dropped out of a 20-story building. How he survived the fall, I'll never know."
Mikey thought to himself for a few moments. "Dad, did Mr. Bush say anything during the debate? It looked to me like he just stood there and said nothing."
"Actually, toward the end of the debate, he rustled quite a bit."
"But did he say anything?"
"Well, no.... but it doesn't matter. Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, Etc., is a more than competent running mate, and he was backing him up the whole time." Mr. Warner added, "I'm sure Mr. Bush could talk for himself if he wanted to. Of course, the liberal media will have you think otherwise."
"What is the liberal media?"
"The media is liberal, son. That's a known fact."
"But Dad, you are the media!" Mikey said. "You're not liberal."
"No, no, no, I'm the exception. Exception to the rule. You understand that concept, don't you, boy?"
"I guess."
"The fact is, most of the major newspapers and television networks in this country are run by liberals. They make the news look like it's favoring liberals, when it's not. I work for a newspaper called the Coyote Times, dedicated to being more fair and accurate in reporting than the liberal papers. It was started by a Republican strategist, and the staff even includes former Republican politicians."
"But Dad, how is that any fairer than the liberal papers?"
"Because conservative Republicans are by definition more accurate than liberals! You don't realize, boy, how far out of reality liberals are!" Mr. Warner was turning beet-red, and his voice was starting to become loud and a tad bit squeaky again. "Liberals are all just communists in disguise, waiting to start the Cold War all over again! They're a bunch of faithless, godless, unpatriotic, flag-burning, wife-swapping, baby-killing thieves and adulterers! Now, tell me, boy, how can you possibly expect people who support those things to report the news fairly and accurately?"
"Well," Mikey said, "I.... I dunno."
"You know what liberals have also caused? They've raised a generation of spoiled brats. They don't spank their children enough because they think it's abuse. Ha! They don't realize how much abuse they're causing by not properly disciplining their kids. You know, I just recently read this story about some boot camp that got in trouble because the liberal media blew the whistle on them. They were breaking the kids' arms and bashing their heads in. Hello? That's what boot camps should be doing! The kids in it are criminals and won't change without a nice whack!"
Mikey stared at his father, afraid to say anything.
"So now I hope it makes perfect sense to you why I vote for Republicans in general, and for Mr. Bush in particular. Also, I'm attracted to his message of compassionate conservatism. I'm sure it will attract some moderates into his camp as well."
"What's a moderate, Dad?"
"Someone who is a little less conservative than I am. 'Moderate liberal' is an oxymoron. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Liberals are by definition extremists."
"Dad, are you going to ask the undecideds what they thought of the fact that Mr. Bush didn't talk at all today?"
Mr. Warner looked at Mikey sternly. "I know what I'm doing. Oh, all right, I'll ask them. But keep in mind, we reporters know a good deal about many things, and we're grossly underpaid."
They approached a group of four young adults standing at the door where Mikey and Mr. Warner had originally entered the building. Mr. Warner no longer looked beet red, his face having returned to its usual stony appearance. He approached the guy at the far right, took out his pad and looked straight at the youth. He asked, "What is your name, Mister?"
"Ronny Radish," exclaimed the youth, a freckly redhead wearing beige pants that looked three sizes too big on him.
"And you were undecided prior to watching this debate, Mr. Radish?"
"Yes, sir."
"Which of the two candidates do you think performed more impressively in this debate, and why?"
A nervous grin spread over Radish's face, and he suddenly pulled his pants up and tucked in his shirt before speaking. "Well, this is a difficult one, I admit.... But from what I saw, I think Mr. Bush got the upper hand. You bet."
"What is your reaction to the fact that Mr. Bush didn't say anything for himself during this debate?" asked Mr. Warner, who briefly turned to Mikey and winked at him.
"Oh, I didn't think that was a weakness at all," Radish said, waving his hand in the air. "As they say, silence is golden. People said he didn't do anything, but this wasn't true. He rustled! Besides, Mr. Gorebot talks too much. Listening to his voice is like listening to a blackboard getting scratched. I couldn't live with that for four years, let alone eight!"
"So, you've made up your mind then, Mr. Radish?" Mr. Warner asked.
"Well, it's been a difficult choice, but in the end...." He paused for a moment, then his nervous grin returned, followed by him once again pulling his pants over his shirt. "....I now know that I will definitely vote for Mr. Bush this November."
Mr. Warner turned to the second youth, a girl in her late-teens. He asked, "What is your name, Ma'am?"
"My name is Delilah Demon, and I think Mr. Bush outperformed Mr. Gorebot by a mile. A light-year even."
"And why is that?" Mr. Warner asked.
"That Gorebot may talk a lot, but he's a liar. Just look how he claimed to be the inventor of honey. Of all things! To think he could trick us into that means he really must be dumb. That Bush has all the qualifications one would want in a leader. He's a strong silent type. I'm sure he'd withstand pressure much better than Gorebot ever would. When he didn't answer Gorebot, it was because Gorebot's statements were so ridiculous he wouldn't even dignify them with a response. Besides, a politician with a stinger is not to be trusted."
Mr. Warner turned to the third youth, who was short and slight. Before Mr. Warner could say anything, the youth piped up, "My name is Jed I. Jetboy, and I think Bush did way better than Gorebot because.... because.... uhhhh...."
The boy suddenly jerked as if someone had kicked him from behind.
"....because I'm allergic to bees!"
Delilah shot Jed a sharp look, and he returned the glance with a sheepish grin.
"But, Mr. Jetboy," Mr. Warner said, "what is it about this debate that persuades you to support Mr. Bush?"
"Well.... you see, I didn't realize Gorebot was a bee until I came to this debate. I guess I don't watch much television. And I could never vote for a bee. It would be an insult not just to me, but to anyone else who's allergic."
A man dressed in a security uniform approached them. "I don't mean to interrupt, but there's a white Buick in the lot with its lights left on. It has a ton of bumper stickers on the fender, all of which say, 'VOTE FOR BUSH' in big capital letters."
Radish perked up. "Oh, that's my car. I'm sorry, folks, but I must excuse myself. I'll meet you guys in the lot."
"But I thought you were an undecided, sir," Mikey said.
"Well, now I am. Or, I was, before I saw this debate. But I wasn't a few months ago. And bumper stickers are very hard to remove," Radish explained. "Of course, now I know I won't have to remove them. What luck! Er....um....I really must go now."
The young man pulled his pants up, tucked in his shirt, then strolled out the door, the security guard following close behind.
Mr. Warner turned toward the fourth and final youth, a girl slightly shorter and more fair-complexioned than Delilah. "What is your name, Ma'am?" Mr. Warner asked.
"My name is Tamara Token."
"Which candidate do you think performed better in this debate?"
"I think it was Mr. Gorebot," Token said. "But it's a close call."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"Yes, sir."
"I think that about wraps things up," Mr. Warner said as he flipped his notepad closed. "I want to thank you folks for your participation. I'm sure your reactions to this pivotal debate will prove very informative to all those other Americans who are still undecided."
Chapter 3
Mikey sat by himself on his bed. A blue parakeet rested on his shoulder and nibbled at his hair. On his lap sat a small cocker spaniel. Next to his bed was a large glass cage in which resided an iguana that was motionless at that moment. Next to the iguana's cage was a goldfish tank.
He heard a knock at his door. "Come in," he said quietly.
A plump woman with blond curly hair entered the room and sat herself down on a chair across from his bed.
"What is it, Mom?" Mikey asked.
"I heard that you watched the presidential debate with your father the other day," she said.
"Dad was supposed to take me to the zoo, Mom."
"But you did see animals, didn't you?"
"Well," Mikey said. "I didn't know politicians were animals. It was sort of interesting. But I like my animals and the ones I see at the zoo better." He paused for a moment. "Mom, why was Dad like this to me? Was this a punishment?"
"Honey, your father is under considerable stress. He has some debts he needs to pay off. Just try to be as nice to him as you can."
"I will."
"You will get to go to the zoo. I've arranged it. Your Uncle Bluejay has agreed to take you this weekend."
"Uncle Bluejay?" The boy's eyes began to shine. "Yes! I wanted to go with him all along. Thanks, Mom. How did you get Dad to agree to this? He hates Uncle Bluejay!"
"He doesn't hate him, he's just afraid of you being influenced by his ideas on politics. Personally, I don't think it's that big a deal."
"Thanks so much, Mom." Mikey placed the parakeet on the windowsill and his dog on his bed, then he walked over to his mother and hugged her.
Chapter 4
"Satanic Republicans," Bluejay muttered. "That's what Republicans are. Minions of Satan."
He and Mikey strolled through the zoo. They had been there all day, and were taking a break from looking at all the animals. It was nearing the late afternoon. Mikey was licking an ice cream cone Bluejay had bought for him. Bluejay was in his late twenties and about six feet tall with a medium build. He had a lively, cheerful expression plastered on his face and wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was Asian, but had an incongruously long upturned nose.
"But Uncle Bluejay, my father's a Republican. He isn't a minion of Satan."
"I know, I know. I'm only joking. I actually have many friends who are Republicans, like my roommate back at Harvard. Nevertheless," Bluejay said, "They are on the wrong side of history."
"What do you mean?"
"Just look at the recent controversy over immigration from Backwardia."
"I thought immigration meant people coming from another country. But Backwardia's a part of this country."
"No, no, Mr. Mikey, Backwardia is a separate country bordering ours. You're thinking of New Backwardia, which is a part of our country. It once was a part of Backwardia, but split from it over fifty years ago."
"That's confusing."
"Study your geography, and maybe it won't be so confusing, Mr. Mikey."
"What does this have to do with Republicans being on the wrong side of history?"
"I'll tell you," Bluejay said. "In New Backwardia, there's this big building with incredible design on it. It's a work of art, just like my mom's nostrils. It's called the Sealsmith Monument."
"I've heard of it," Mikey said, as he threw the remnants of his ice cream cone in a nearby trash can. "I saw it on TV. It is a beautiful building. Who designed it?"
"Immigrants. People who defected from Backwardia to our country designed the entire thing, and some wealthy entrepreneurs chipped in so they could bring it to completion."
"Okay. So what's the point?"
Bluejay sat down on a park bench, and Mikey did the same. "Republicans at the time opposed immigration, for they thought immigrants were lazy and depleted from the economy. How wrong they were! The Sealsmith Monument takes in millions annually as a tourist attraction. But Republicans never make the connection nowadays. One Republican friend of mine and I were once visiting the monument, and he started ranting about how we must stop the influx of immigrants from Backwardia, because he thought they were ruining the state. At the same time, he was in awe of the monument we were observing. If he had studied his history, he would have known how silly and misinformed his views were. I also think he was inflicted with pregeriatric dementia."
Mikey took a few moments to digest what Bluejay was saying. Then he said, "Why are people running away from Backwardia?"
"It's a communist country. Its citizens have no freedom. Instead of a president being elected peacefully every few years, they have this leader who calls himself 'President' but who is in office for life. The current one is 'President' Dudley Drummond. He was 'president' even when New Backwardia split from the country over fifty years ago. He'll continue to be president until someone kills him and takes over."
"So you're against communism? My father always says you're a communist."
"That's because your dad is severely obsessive-compulsive."
Mikey burst out into laughter, and Bluejay grinned with him. They heard the sound of a TV set, and looked around until they both spotted it on a table outside a food stand. Bluejay said, "It looks like the news is coming on. Let's listen for a few minutes."
Mikey looked at the screen. A weatherman was droning on in front of a map of the state, and Mikey's mind started to drift. He came back to focus a few minutes later when he saw on the screen a familiar elephant talking to a reporter with a microphone, or so it seemed. On the hard ground below the elephant and reporter lay a bush.
"Hey, that's Dr. Cheneyricefleischer," Mikey said.
"You've been learning about this election," Bluejay commented. "Now just listen."
The reporter on the TV screen asked, "So, Mr. Bush, what is your stance on affirmative action?"
The bush said nothing.
"He means that he's in favor of the 'affirmative' part, but not the 'action,'" Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said.
Mikey slapped a mosquito that landed on his arm and for a few moments had his head turned away from the television. When he looked up again, the set showed a crowd of people conversing. In the middle of the crowd was the oddest creature he had ever seen. It had bright orange, rough canvas-like, skin; dark green glassy eyes; a nose that appeared to be curled into a ball; and a pair of antennae. The creature couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and it was dressed in a black suit and tie. It appeared to be having the time of its life talking with everyone.
"What the devil is that thing?" asked Mikey, imitating the way his father spoke.
Bluejay shushed him, and watched intently for about a minute. Then he motioned for Mikey to come with him. They both walked away from the TV set.
"Ind Khdadqlzm," Bluejay said, pronouncing every consonant in the name. "A great barrier has been broken. He's the first Space Alien-American on a presidential ticket."
"A Space Alien? Wow," Mikey said. "I didn't know there were any Space Aliens in politics. Actually, until recently I didn't know politicians weren't human."
Bluejay looked up at the sky. "Man, it's overcast. I guess the weatherman was wrong this time." He looked back at Mikey. "Well, it was bound to happen someday. Actually, there are already a handful of Space Aliens in various branches of government today," Bluejay said. "Most of them are Reform Space Aliens, though. Mr. Khdadqlzm is an Orthodox Space Alien, which means that every third day of every third week in every other month of the year, he gathers up with fellow Space Aliens who all go into a meditative trance and receive abundant theta waves from their home planet located several light years away, thus helping them attain a state of perpetual bliss. They may not be disturbed by anyone for the next twenty-two and a half hours."
"Wouldn't that interfere with his job?" Mikey asked.
"Well, if something's really important, Mr. Khdadqlzm can postpone his ritual for a few days. But as a matter of fact, he has taken off several days from the campaign trail to perform it, and the fact he's done that proves that he has more integrity than the average politician."
"You know so much about everything, Uncle Bluejay. You've been to so many places, and have so many experiences. I think I'm going to name my next bird after you."
"Will it talk as much as me?" Bluejay asked. When he was done chuckling at his own joke, he asked, "What kind of bird do you have?"
"A small parakeet."
"Why yes, Mr. Mikey. The correct word for parakeet is budgerigar."
"I know, Uncle Bluejay."
"And you should take a few tips about pet care from me."
"I know how to take care of my pets, Uncle Bluejay."
"Well, that doesn't mean a little advice wouldn't hurt. First of all, let me tell you exactly what kind of cage you need. And you should line the cage with...."
A loud bolt of thunder cut Bluejay off in midsentence. The two of them jumped. The sky darkened until it looked like night. A second later, the place lit up again. Mikey blinked, for this sudden changing of brightness hurt his eyes. For the first time he had ever seen, a look of fear and uncertainty crossed Bluejay's face.
"Now this is weird," Bluejay said.
"Is this the aurora you keep telling me about?" Mikey asked.
Bluejay didn't say anything. They both looked around, and no one but themselves were in sight. The place was very still and silent, like it had been deserted, until they heard the Voice.
The Voice was so loud, Mikey would have expected it to hurt his ears, but for some reason it didn't. It was a low, deep, reverberating voice.
"Silence, mortals," came the Voice.
They both looked around to see where the Voice was coming from, but couldn't figure out where. Other than the Voice, the zoo remained as silent as ever. No animal sounds, no people talking, no birds chirping, no wind blowing, no nothing. It was as if time had stopped.
"Who's there?" Mikey shouted. He looked again at Bluejay, who appeared frozen in terror.
"It is the Lord Almighty," spoke the Voice.
Bluejay's face suddenly lit up. "You mean, we're talking to...God?" He spread his arms out, and jumped up and down. "Yes! I'm a prophet! I'm a prophet!" He put his hands down and looked at Mikey severely. "This is what comes from years of hard work."
Mikey looked at Bluejay, then turned toward the sky, even though it wasn't clear that's where the Voice was coming from. "What is it you want with us, God?"
"The Lord Almighty GOD wants you to build an Ark," said the Voice. "This Ark should be made out of gopher wood, and it should be three hundred cubits in circumference, and fifty cubits high."
"Why do want us to do that?" Mikey asked.
"The Lord Almighty GOD is angry," said the Voice. "There is too much idolatry in society. People have turned away from worshipping Me, and are instead worshipping stone idols. Because of this, I shall make a great Flood that shall encircle the earth."
Mikey said, "Wait a second. I don't know anyone who worships stone idols. And what the heck is gopher wood?"
"No, no, you're interpreting it all wrong, Mr. Mikey," Bluejay said, wagging his finger at the boy. "You should never interpret Mr. God's words literally. Otherwise, you're making the mistake of countless fundamentalists through the ages. They were listening too much to the exact words He was saying and not paying enough attention to the spirit of what He was saying. Remember, Mr. God works through natural causes only, and all so-called 'miracles' have rational explanations. He's merely talking about a metaphoric flood, He's only upset about metaphoric idolatry, and He's only asking us to build a metaphoric ark." He looked back up at the sky. "You know, Mr. God, maybe the ark should be only two hundred cubits around, not three hundred?"
Before the Voice had a chance to reply, Mikey said, "Wait a second. Wait a second. If what he's saying is only metaphoric, then what exactly is he trying to tell us?"
The Voice let out an audible sigh. "Contemporary thinkers ask so much of Me. The truth is, the Lord Almighty GOD is angry because of the destruction of the environment I created, because of the lack of equality among human beings who were all created in My image, because of the increasing gap between rich and poor, because rich people aren't paying their taxes, because GODly government programs are under attack. And, most of all, because of Republicans."
Mikey wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Republicans? I didn't know that God was a liberal."
"What else would you expect?" Bluejay asked rhetorically.
"But the Lord Almighty GOD is angry at even liberals now. They are using money in a corrupt, depraved manner, not for the sake of representing all the people who were created in My image, but for their own self-interest. I considered destroying the earth, but I realize that these sins, while serious, do not rise to the level of meriting Armageddon." The Voice paused for a few seconds. "Most of all, the Lord Almighty GOD is upset because the leader of this country was doing disgusting things with a cigar, knowing a woman not for the reason knowing was meant for."
"Ah," Bluejay said. "So Mr. God is upset about President Wildcat's affairs. I guess he's not so liberal after all."
"Silence, mortals!" yelled the Voice for a second time. "I have yet to explain what I mean by sending a Flood, and what I mean by asking you to build an Ark."
"We're waiting," Bluejay said.
"The punishment for the President doing disgusting things with a cigar is that the Democrats shall lose the presidential election this fall."
"Darn!" Bluejay said. He looked genuinely disappointed.
"Wait a second!" Mikey shouted. "Why should Mr. Gorebot be punished for President Wildcat's sins?"
"You are all sinners," the Voice replied.
"But why is one man punished for the sins of another?" Mikey asked.
"Collective responsibility, Mr. Mikey, collective responsibility," Bluejay said. "If you paid more attention in your Sunday school classes, you wouldn't be asking such questions."
"But what if the voters choose Mr. Gorebot? Whatever happened to free will?" Mikey shouted at the sky.
"Even though the voters have the will to choose," said the Voice, "I have affected their minds so that they do not notice Mr. Bush's inadequacies as much as they would otherwise. And as a punishment for what one woman did to President Wildcat, the voters shall blow Mr. Gorebot's inadequacies out of proportion. The truth is, however, despite the voter's ability to choose their candidate, my omniscient powers foresee that the voters shall, in the end, choose Mr. Gorebot as president. But he still shall lose the election."
"You're trying to tell us that he'll get more votes and still lose the election?" Mikey asked. He turned to Bluejay. "I thought you said God only worked through natural causes, and that everything had a rational explanation."
"But," said the Voice. "The punishment shall not be permanent. I am, after all, a merciful as well as all-powerful GOD. Mr. Bush shall disappoint the public, because he will not be moderate enough."
"But I thought Mr. Bush was a moderate," Mikey said. "He always talks about how he's a compassionate conservative."
"A problem," said the Voice, "but not an insurmountable one. I shall harden his heart."
Mikey and Bluejay looked at each other for a few moments. "Sounds reasonable," Bluejay said. He turned back toward the sky. "So, Mr. God, what is it you want us to do?"
"You shall find out in due time. I will give a sign," said the Voice.
"You were being so clear before," Mikey said. "Why can't you be clear about it now?"
"I have said all I need to say," said the Voice.
"Mr. God," Bluejay said. "With all due respect, I do not think you are doing your job as Supreme Ruler of the Universe. We deserve to know what you have in mind."
His question was met with silence.
"Mr. God, I think you're suffering from a severe case of CWS."
"CWS?" Mikey exclaimed. "What's that?"
"Creation Withdrawal Syndrome," Bluejay replied. "You've had it before, Mr. God. That's why you committed irrational acts in the past such as telling Abraham to slaughter his son or telling the Jews not to eat pork. It really must be boring to stay in the sky that long with nothing to do. Perhaps you should get out more often, you know, intervene in nature a bit, and stuff like this wouldn't happen."
Once again, his question was met with silence. Mikey looked around, and noticed that the zoo didn't seem as motionless as it had before. He looked toward Bluejay and said, "I think God has left now."
Bluejay ignored him and stood up. "I think it's time we go now. Your mother will be worried."
"But come on, Uncle Bluejay, admit it. That's not how you talk to God. You were kind of, well, arrogant. And condescending, too."
Bluejay sighed. "Mr. Mikey, there are a lot of things you have yet to learn in life. Many people act arrogant and condescending, and when you're in the real world, you have to learn how to handle it without getting upset. That's what growing up is all about. And I'm sure Mr. God has had plenty of time to adapt to that reality."
Chapter 5
"You let him what?!" Mr. Warner shouted.
"I let Bluejay take him to the zoo," Mrs. Warner repeated as she continued to scrub the kitchen counter with a sponge.
"Just stop what you're doing for a minute and let's talk!" Mr. Warner shouted.
Mrs. Warner put the sponge down, turned toward him, and placed her arms across her chest. "You really are too uptight about Bluejay, you know. He's a responsible young man, and knows what he's doing."
"Are you kidding me?" Mr. Warner squeaked. "Have you ever listened to him? The man's a walking propaganda machine for the Democrats. I'm convinced he's infecting our son with radical, extremist ideas!"
The doorbell rang. Mr. Warner turned and stomped off in the direction of the door. "One thing's for sure, that Bluejay is never going anywhere with our son again! You can bet on that!"
"Oh, come on, you know you're exaggerating," Mrs. Warner said as she came after him. By the time she reached the living room, Mr. Warner was busy unhooking the latch to the front door. "Mikey's a smart boy, always questioning things. It's not as if Bluejay's brainwashing him or something."
Mikey sprang through the door with a beaming look in his eyes. "Mom! Dad! Guess what I found out today? God is a liberal!"
Mikey's statement was immediately followed by a long pause in which everyone in the room fell silent, Mikey's parents staring intently at him, his father looking as though his head was about to disattach from the rest of his body. Mikey glanced at his mother, but didn't say anything. Finally, Mr. Warner took a deep breath, and plopped into the nearest chair. He wiped his brow before looking up at Mikey again.
"However, he's kind of moderate," Mikey added.
"A moderate liberal?" Mr. Warner muttered. "I thought I told you...."
"He thinks what President Wildcat did with a cigar was 'disgusting.'"
Mr. Warner thought to himself for a minute. "Actually, that is kind of moderate," he admitted. Then he looked Mikey straight in the eye. "Mikey, you listen to me. I do not want you seeing Bluejay ever again, you hear? No if, ands, or buts."
"But Dad...."
"I said...."
He looked at his mother, who winked at him.
"All right, Dad, whatever you say," Mikey said. He stomped off in the direction of his bedroom.
Chapter 6
"Mikey, the phone's for you," Mrs. Warner shouted.
Within several seconds, Mikey came bursting into the den. "Who is it?"
"It's Bluejay," she said.
"But I thought Dad...."
"Never mind, Mikey, he doesn't have to know about it," she said. "You may have to cut the conversation short. Your father will be home any minute."
She handed him the wireless phone and walked off. "Uncle Bluejay?" Mikey panted.
"How's it going?" came Bluejay's voice from the receiver. "You're not busy with any homework, are you?"
"No."
"Good! Then you can come with me to the Federal Supreme Court tonight. An historic decision is being handed out."
"Wait a moment, wait a moment, what is this all about? I don't want to see a boring court case."
"It'll be good for you."
"Now you're starting to sound like my dad."
"Mr. Mikey...."
"All right, what is this court case about?"
"It's about the election. Mr. Gorebot won."
"And?"
"And....well, the Satanic Republicans don't want to accept it. So they've taken them to court. It's a long story I'll tell you on the way."
"Taken it to court?" Mikey repeated. "Hey, I know I don't know a lot of things, but isn't that kind of unusual?"
"You bet! That's why it's an historic case."
"So I guess God was wrong. You know, about Gorebot losing."
"Actually, I'm seeing God's hand in it," Bluejay said. "And that's what worries me."
Mikey heard his father's voice from the living room. "Oh no, my father's home!" Mikey whispered into the receiver. "I got to go! I'll talk to you later!" He hung up.
Mr. Warner peered into the den and saw his son holding the wireless at arm's length. "Mikey, I want a word with you."
"What is it?" Mikey asked innocently.
"I want to take you tonight to the Federal Supreme Court. An historic decision is being handed out."
Mikey eyed his father. "What...is this decision about?"
Mr. Warner raised his eyebrows slightly. "My, you seem more interested than usual. I'm proud of you. You're finally coming to your senses and caring about what's important?"
"Okay.... uh, well, what is this decision about?" Mikey repeated.
"The presidential election has taken place. Bush won, but the radical, extremist Democrats don't want to accept it, so they've taken the Republicans to court over it."
"Wow," Mikey said.
"The case started in New Backwardia's state Supreme Court, which they've been replaying on television all day. You should see it. In fact...." Mr. Warner paused, then walked over to the television set, and pressed the on-button. "They should be playing it right now."
As Mr. Warner sat himself down on the couch, Mikey stared at the TV screen. As his father had predicted, what he saw was clearly a courthouse. A group of donkeys, dressed in long black cloaks and white powdered wigs, stood in a row. The TV screen changed, and Mikey saw Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, Etc., at one side of the room. At the other side hovered Woody Gorebot. Next to him stood Ind Khdadqlzm beaming bright orange.
Mikey sat down next to his father, who made a shushing noise and pointed to the TV set.
"Now, we will hear Mr. Bush's arguments," one of the donkeys announced. It was then that Mikey noticed that this justice looked slightly distinct from the rest of the justices. Unlike the others, he did not have long ears popping out of his wig. Mikey soon realized that it was a horse, not a donkey. "Where is Mr. Bush, by the way?" the horse inquired.
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer paused for a moment. "Oh!" he said suddenly. "He's here!" With that, he turned his back toward the camera, picked up something, and turned around. He clutched the bush with his two flat forefeet in front of him. Then he let it drop to the ground.
"Mr. Bush, why are you here in court today? What is your contention with Mr. Gorebot?"
The bush said nothing.
"He means that he won the election fair and square," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said. "The numbers are clear. In the state of New Backwardia, he demolished Mr. Gorebot by a margin of millions of votes. He received exactly 62,414,913 votes; Mr. Gorebot only received 829. But Mr. Gorebot doesn't want to admit he lost, so he makes up this excuse that it hasn't been counted properly. We request that you throw his case out of court immediately, for the good of the nation."
"And what is your defense, Mr. Gorebot?" the horse justice asked.
"Well, well," Gorebot said as he fluttered. "You see, theeezzzz foolzzz think it's all settled, but it izzzzzn't. Azzzz you well know, New Backwardia has a policy of having animalzzz carry people's votes over to a central state agency, where they are tabulated there. Usually the animalzzzz chozzzzen as messengerzzz are camelzzz and horsezzzz. But for some reazzzzon, it seemzzz that many heavily Democratic districts were given lemmingzzzz to do the job. Lemmingzzz! Out of all the animalzzz they could have chozzzen, they choze lemmingzzz! It was later reported that many dead lemmingzzz were found at the bottom of several cliffs, and that's why we've been searching thoze placezz for ballots. In fact, we have found a whole lot of them! Sure, they're torn up a bit, but they still should count!" Gorebot paused to wipe his forehead with a tiny handkerchief. "It's possible that millionzzzz of votes have been lost. They must be recounted, for the good of the nation."
"Don't listen to him!" Dr. Cheneyricefleischer shouted. "These allegations of lost ballots are completely unfounded! What the Democrats call lost ballots is just miscellaneous litter and trash they picked up off the ground at the bottom of some cliffs!"
"So, Mr. Bush, what do you propose to do?" the horse justice asked.
The bush said nothing.
"He means that you should just throw this case out of court," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said, "and let the election happen as the voters of New Backwardia originally intended."
"And you, Mr. Gorebot? What is your proposal?"
"My propozzzzal izzz to have the ballots found at the bottom of cliffs where lemming carcasses have been found counted as valid votes," Gorebot said, "so this election can be decided based on what the voters of New Backwardia originally intended."
The horse justice placed his hoof on his chin. "Hmmmmm...." he ruminated. All nine justices congregated around each other, and began to whisper amongst themselves. After a few moments, they spread out once again, and the horse justice walked forward.
"After carefully thinking over both sides of the issue," the horse said, "we have come to a decision. Our proposal is to have the ballots found at the bottom of cliffs where lemming carcasses are found counted as valid votes, so this election may be decided based on what the voters of New Backwardia originally intended."
Gorebot and all the people and animals surrounding him broke out into cheers and whistles. Mikey heard Dr. Cheneyricefleischer yell, "This is an outrage!" but his voice was all but drowned out in the commotion.
"That's what you get when socialists run the country," Mr. Warner remarked as he flipped the television off with the remote. "Those so-called justices were so blatantly partisan, they ought to be impeached! My only comfort is that this is being brought before the Federal Supreme Court, who have a long history of being far more reasonable. I'm sure they'll rule in Bush's favor this time. The ruling is tonight, and we're driving over there to see it."
"Okay, Dad."
Mr. Warner smiled. "Remember, son. It'll be a learning experience."
Chapter 7
Mikey and Mr. Warner were on their way to the courthouse, when Mikey asked if he could stop to use a restroom.
"I guess we have enough time," Mr. Warner said, glancing at his watch. He pulled into a gas station.
"I'll be right back, I promise," Mikey said.
Mikey walked into the building. An attendant sat behind a counter, reading a magazine, and on the other side were stacks of food and drinks.
As soon as the attendant saw Mikey, he put the magazine down and said, "May I help you, sir?"
"I....I'd like to use the men's room, please."
"Just go around back."
Mikey left the store and walked around the building, briefly glancing at his father, who was still sitting in the car. As he turned the bend, his father's car was no longer visible, but he could still see the gas pumps. He turned toward the wall where the restrooms were. He finally saw the door with the men's sign on it, but it was closed. Before he had a chance to reach over and try to open it, the door opened by itself, and a man with a familiar face stepped out.
"Uncle Bluejay!" Mikey exclaimed.
The man turned to him. "Why, who? I'm sorry, young lad, I'm afraid you must have me mistaken for somebody else. My name is Raven." He extended his hand to Mikey.
Mikey was shocked. The man had the same face as Bluejay; there was no mistaking it. Like Bluejay, he was in his late twenties and was about six feet tall, with a medium build. He had a lively, cheerful expression plastered on his face, and he wore wire-rimmed glasses. He was Asian, but had an incongruously long upturned nose.
But there were some differences, too. For one thing, the man - or Raven as he had called himself - spoke with a decidedly English accent.
"And I'm Mikey." He extended his hand toward the man, and shook nervously. "I mean, you don't look a little like my uncle. You look exactly like him."
"It happens," Raven murmured.
"Where....where do you come from?"
"Why, I'm from D.C."
"You're from this country? Sorry, I thought...."
"No, no, I don't mean your District of Columbia. I'm talking about D.C. in England."
"Yeah, you sounded like you were from England."
"You don't say."
Mikey thought to himself for a second. "Do you like it here?" he asked.
"Oh, I love it here. I came to live here after graduating from Oxford University. Only one thing I hate about your country."
"And what is that?" Mikey asked.
"Liberals. Bloody liberals, the lot of 'em, with their interfering social policies and high taxes. I'm absolutely delighted that a Republican shall take office next January."
Mikey guessed that the similarities between Raven and Bluejay must not extend further than their looks.
Mikey and Raven both took notice of a pretty woman several yards away pumping gas into her car. There was a gust of wind, and the woman's nostrils flared for a second.
Mikey looked back at Raven, who seemed to be staring into space.
"Um... Mr. Raven?" Mikey asked, waving his hands in front of Raven's face.
Raven shook his head a few seconds. "Oh... what were you saying?"
"Well, you were talking about how you were happy a Republican was taking office," Mikey said. "That might not happen, by the way, Mr. Raven, if the Federal Supreme Court rules in favor of the Democrats. In fact, that's where I'm headed right now, to watch the decision be handed out. My father is a reporter."
"Ha! I bet he's a liberal too."
"Actually, he's not. But I'll tell you who is."
"Who?"
"God."
Raven paused, then scratched his chin. "My dear boy, you are woefully misinformed. The Lord Almighty is most surely a conservative."
"But I talked to Him! He said He's against Republicans!"
"This is evidently not the same God to whom I've become accustomed. Come here, let me show you something." He looked up at the sky, which suddenly took on an overcast look. Raven called out, "Come out, my dear God. A boy wants a word with you."
A Voice spoke. "This is the Lord Almighty, at your service."
Mikey stared at Raven, then back up in the sky. This was clearly not the same Voice he had heard when he was with Bluejay. For one thing, it was much higher-pitched. Still, like the last time, the place was suddenly very silent. Mikey glanced at the gas tanks he could see, and the pretty woman was no longer in sight. In fact, no one was in sight. It seemed the place was deserted, except for Raven and himself.
"Are you really God?" Mikey asked.
"Well, actually," the Voice said. "I am not really the Lord Almighty GOD. But I do a good job of filling in. My name is GOP. The real Lord Almighty GOD is a wuss. But his ideas are unfortunately quite popular in this country."
"Pleased to meet you, Gop," Mikey said. "Why do you claim to be someone you aren't?"
"It's the name that inspires the necessary fear," the Voice said. "You see, no voter would surrender to the Lord Almighty GOP. But if I call myself the Lord Almighty GOD, my ideas gain legitimacy. Now I have a constituency."
"That's right," Raven added, wagging his finger at Mikey. "My dear boy, you're old enough to learn a thing or two about the entrepreneurial spirit."
"Why do you say that God is a wuss?" Mikey asked.
"Well, for one thing," the Voice said, "He's always issuing metaphorical threats. Ha! I can really strike people down if I want to. You know that local earthquake from a few months ago? That was my doing!"
"Yes, my boy," Raven said, "he has more power than anything on God's green earth."
"GOP's green earth!" the Voice corrected. "You're not getting it right! Before we preserve GOD's green earth, we should first try to preserve my green earth. We needn't worry about keeping the physical environment from exploding. Better to keep the capitalist, free market economy from exploding!"
"And that's a valuable lesson for you, my dear lad," Raven said. "The quality of how we live our lives is far more important than the physical state of the matter around us."
"But if you're so godly," Mikey asked, "then why don't you care about what happens to the little guy?"
"Are you kidding?" the Voice screeched. "The little guy is my prime concern. Every human being is under my constant divine protection for the first nine months."
"What about after those nine months?" Mikey asked.
"OF COURSE I PROTECT THEM TOO," said the Voice. "I was just distinguishing myself from the Lord Almighty GOD, who only cares about what happens after those nine months. Now, if you'll be excusing me, I have some business to attend to. So long, guys!"
As soon as the Voice finished speaking, Mikey could hear the sounds of day-to-day business once again. The wind began howling, the trees shaking, and the dust on the ground blowing in all directions.
"Wow," Mikey said. "GOP was quite different from GOD. He seemed more....more human, I guess."
"Yeah, we conservatives have a more personal god, it's true," Raven said.
Mikey heard someone approaching. He turned around, and was surprised to see Bluejay coming in their direction. Or, Mikey thought it was Bluejay, but after this experience he wasn't quite sure.
"Uncle Bluejay!" he called out.
Bluejay looked in his direction. "Mikey? What a coincidence," he said as he approached the two. "I know where you're headed, because I'm headed there too. Your father brought you, didn't he?"
"Yes," Mikey said. "Uncle Bluejay, there's someone I'd like you to meet." He gestured for Raven to come over.
Raven approached Bluejay, smiled and extended his hand. "Pleased to meet you. My name is Raven. Your nephew here mistook me for you. Why, I'm not quite sure. From what I can see, we don't appear to have any particular resemblance to each other."
"But...." Mikey began to object.
"Yes, you're right," Bluejay said. "I don't look a thing like you. For one thing, I'm taller than you."
Raven raised his voice. "What are you talking about? I tower over you!"
"Wait a second," Mikey said. "Let's not get into a fight. You two just met."
"All right, good idea," Raven said. He said to Bluejay, "So you too are to see this Federal Supreme Court decision? You are one lucky man, my dear Bluejay."
"I don't consider Mr. Gorebot lucky, for I think he's going to lose."
"Well, that's what should happen," Raven exclaimed. "After all, he lost already."
"Mr. Raven, you need to gain more of a perspective on history. Our history. People in this country have given their lives so there would be equal representation among voters, regardless of race, class, or gender. That's hardly what's happened in this election. It has come to people's attention that in New Backwardia, several votes were lost because lemmings were appointed as ballot messengers."
"My dear Bluejay, if you didn't believe everything you read, maybe you wouldn't come off as ignorant as you're appearing right now. There is absolutely no evidence to support the Democrats' contention that lemmings were offered as messengers. You're simply embarrassed that your party received only eight hundred votes."
Mikey waved his hands in front of the two identical men, but they were too engrossed in arguing with each other to notice.
"Mr. Raven, you should know that Mr. Bush received up to sixty million votes in New Backwardia. This is obviously very suspicious, considering that that number is greater than the entire population of New Backwardia!"
"My dear Bluejay, maybe if you liberals started having babies instead of aborting them, you'd win more elections!"
"Mr. Raven, it is obvious that you are not clear-headed enough for rational discussion. The fact that you continue to personally attack me suggests that you must be very sad indeed. I could tell from the moment I saw you that you were a highly sour individual. In fact, I would venture to guess that you suffer from clinical depression, with a dash of ADD, for you obviously aren't paying attention to the facts in this election."
"And you, my dear Bluejay, are obviously not paying attention to the fact that my fist is in your face!"
Raven lunged at Bluejay, knocking him down on the ground, and before Mikey had a chance to blink the two men were rolling around on the ground, both yelling and hollering and tearing at each other.
"Stop! Stop, Uncle Bluejay! Please stop, Mr. Raven! Stop this minute!" Mikey looked around desperately. "Someone help! There's a fight! Help!"
Mr. Warner emerged from around the corner of the building, took a look at what was going on, and broke into a run. He approached the two men, who looked like a single rolling ball on the ground. He yelled, "WHAT IS THIS ALL ABOUT?"
The two men stopped fighting and looked up at Mr. Warner. Mr. Warner blinked for a few seconds, like he was having double vision. Finally, he said, "Now, Bluejay, if you were going to drop out of the sky, you could at least have spared me the insult of dealing with your twin brother."
Bluejay separated himself from Raven and stood up. Blood was dribbling down his long upturned nose, sweat was pouring down his hairline, his glasses were crooked, and his shirt was torn at the chest. He took a deep breath, then said, "He's not my brother. How could I be related to this creep? I didn't do anything, and he just attacked me out of the blue!"
"Who you trying to kid? This man looks just like you!" Mr. Warner shouted, pointing at Raven.
Bluejay pointed a finger at Mr. Warner. "You probably think that all Asians look alike."
Raven burst out, "Oh, don't give me this politically correct bullsh*t! Your nephew and his father simply have abominable vision!" The ruffled Bluejay duplicate adjusted his jacket, then stomped off.
Mr. Warner watched Raven disappear around the corner of the building, then he turned back to Bluejay. "Now listen to me, you bum. I don't want to ever see you within fifty feet of my kid, you hear? And stay away from my sister, too!"
"Anything as long as you keep me away from that Raven freak," Bluejay muttered. "I've never encountered a more odious person in my life."
Chapter 8
Mikey and Mr. Warner sat in the audience as they looked upon a stage that was empty except for a wooden table, upon which lay a pile of books.
"This historic decision," announced a voice over the intercom, "will be spoken by the Chief Justice of our country, Antonio Mussolina."
A large kangaroo wearing a white powdered wig appeared on stage several feet away from the table. It stared at the huge auditorium, then said, "I'm here."
"Welcome, Justice Mussolina. Supporting him is associate Justice, Clarinth Dummiss."
There was a long silence.
"Justice Dummiss? Justice Dummiss?" the voice over the intercom inquired.
Suddenly, a tiny head with its own set of long ears popped out of Justice Mussolina's pouch. The young kangaroo was wearing a tiny powdered wig of its own. "I'm here!" the young kangaroo squeaked.
"Thank you, Justice Dummiss," said the voice over the intercom. "And presenting the dissenting vote will be our respected senior justice, Johnny P. Cleavens."
Mikey heard a fluttering of wings, then saw a flash of gray and brown on the stage. He adjusted his eyes, and found himself looking at some kind of owl, now perched atop the pile of books on top of the wooden table on stage. The owl didn't have a powdered wig, but it did have little round glasses. "I'm here!" the owl squawked. It coughed a few times, briefly covering its face with its wings.
Mikey immediately remembered something Bluejay had once told him. Mr. Bush wants to put more kangaroos on the court, and Mr. Gorebot wants more owls. Bluejay was nowhere in sight, so Mikey guessed that he must have gone home after his fight. But he was sure he'd be watching the decision on television.
"Now," said the voice over the intercom. "Let the historic decision begin!"
The room fell silent. The large kangaroo stepped forward. Mikey breathed deeply in anticipation. The rest of the audience stared intently at the large kangaroo, and at the owl standing across from him on the wooden table.
"Alas, I attest," said the large kangaroo.
"The Democrats have bit more than they can chew.
As for those alleged votes lost in the blue.
It's clear that these people just don't have a clue.
Complaints I have heard only come from a few.
And everyone else is content with their due."
And the young Justice Dummiss in his pouch squeaked, "Me too!"
"A shame," squawked the owl, "that you will not look
further. You just want to play by the book.
The ballots are real! They aren't just litter.
I see with my own eyes they're as clear as glitter.
Gorebot should be praised for not bein' a quitter.
Examine the cliffs in the old countryside
where numerous lemmings apparently died.
They're surely the same ones whom voters reported
who made this election be promptly aborted.
You can't reject claims made from various towns!
I won't let that happen while I stand around."
"Humph!" humphed the kangaroo. "E'en if it's true
that these votes were all lost when some lemmings threw
themselves off some big cliffs as they always do,
Mr. Bush would still win. The bee needn't sue.
We counted and counted and each time Bush won.
E'en after we add to the ballots a ton.
The bee should concede and this fight should be over
so we won't have to check another damn clover.
E'en at the start, the winner we knew."
And the young Justice Dummiss in his pouch screeched, "Me too!"
"But wait!" squawked the owl. "You say that we counted
and counted. You say the result is undoubted.
But we weren't given a chance to complete it!
And all that you want to do is just say 'Beat it!'
That isn't how any great court should respond.
To dismiss it with a mere flick of the wand."
"Complete it?" the kangaroo asked with a snarl.
"How can we go do that when there is a quarrel
o'er what is a vote? The Democrats say
a dimple that's nothing but a speck of gray
is a vote for their man! What a meaningless notion.
The truth is, we're just seeing excess devotion
by liberals. I dare say that they misconstrue."
And the young Justice Dummiss in his pouch said, "Me too!"
"What you call a mere speck of gray," said the owl.
"at least should be checked. They've a right to cry foul.
You shouldn't dismiss any vote. After all,
a dimple's a dimple, no matter how small."
"I have to dismiss what is not very clear,"
said the large kangaroo with his arm at his ear.
"I do strongly advocate equal protection
to receive as many votes in an election
as possible. Since this is true, I dare say
that all the cliff votes should be thrown away,
put back where they came from, where they first belonged.
If we don't, the real voters will then be wronged.
And that is my final word on this damn subject.
We must move on even though some will object.
I order no more votes be taken anew."
And the young Justice Dummiss in his pouch screamed, "Me too!"
Chapter 9
"Mr. Gorebot then delivered his graceful concession speech," the female reporter said. The TV screen changed to show the quivering bumblebee.
"I suppozzze I should juzzzt go off and sting someone and die," the bee said.
Mikey and Mr. Warner sat on the couch watching the television. Mikey's attention was drifting in and out, but he sat up with a start when the most enormous feline he had ever seen appeared on the screen. Its bright orange stripes were covered by a black suit that only drew attention to its immense body.
"It's Garfield!" Mikey muttered.
Mr. Warner turned toward his son and glared at him. "You dumb illiterate! Garfield was our 20th president. This is the president who just left office, Slick Wildcat."
A female reporter about half the size of the cat asked him, "Mr. Wildcat, what is the reason that before leaving office, you pardoned Charles Manson?"
"Monica only cost me life seven," the bemused feline muttered into the microphone.
"See, I told you he was crooked," Mr. Warner said, as he flipped the remote. The TV screen went blank. Mr. Warner turned toward his son.
"Now, Mikey, I want to talk to you about something. I think you've become too obsessed with your animals. It's hurting your relationship with your mother and me."
"I've decided," Mr. Warner said, "that I'm going to sell your pets. Besides, we need the money...."
"NOOO, DAD!" Mikey burst out of his seat and stood up. "You can't do that! How can you even think of that?"
"There's no point in arguing, Mikey. It's done. I already have a buyer. He's arriving at 5:00 sharp next Tuesday...."
"All of them? You're selling my iguana, my bird, my dog, and my goldfish?"
"Yes, Mikey, he works for a pet store. You'll be doing a great favor to...."
"HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?" Mikey screamed, stamping his left foot on the ground. "WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME FIRST?"
"What's going on?" a female voice inquired. Mikey and Mr. Warner turned toward the entrance to the den, where Mrs. Warner stood.
"Your son," Mr. Warner began, "has decided to forget how old he is."
"No, Mom, how can you let him do this?"
"Do what?" Mrs. Warner asked.
"Just drop it, Mikey," said Mr. Warner.
"HE WANTS TO SELL MY PETS, ALL OF THEM."
Mrs. Warner looked at her husband in confusion. "Is this...true?"
"Listen, Martha, we need the money."
Silence filled the room for several seconds, Mikey waiting for his mother's response. Finally, she said, "How could you even think of doing such an insensitive thing, Brian? Especially without consulting me first?"
"Look, Martha, it's already done. There's no turning back now. I already have a buyer who's coming here next Tuesday at 5:00 sharp...."
"Well call it off!" Mrs. Warner shouted. "You're not committed to him. You are committed to your son. You seem to forget that."
"No, I haven't forgotten that, Martha! On the contrary, I'm doing this because I care about Mikey. He spends hours on end locked away in his room only in the company of his pets. It's just not healthy. He needs to get out more often."
"And you think this is going to improve things?" Mrs. Warner asked.
"Well, yes."
"You.... you jerk!" Mrs. Warner shouted.
"When Mikey starts acting like a normal kid again, you'll thank me for this."
Mrs. Warner was about to speak when Mikey motioned that he had something to say. Tears were running down his cheek.
"Dad....can I make a deal with you?"
"How dare you suggest bargaining with me! My decisions are final. You need to learn to accept my authority."
"But Dad, please listen. If you need money, I'll get a job!"
Mr. Warner's expression softened. "You'd do that for me?"
"Sure I would!" Mikey said, his confidence returning.
"What sort of job are you thinking of applying for?"
"Well.... I was thinking maybe that I could work in the zoo."
"NO!" Mr. Warner shouted. "The whole problem is that you're too obsessed with animals. I can't let you do that."
"Oh, come on," Mrs. Warner said. "Many young people volunteer or get jobs at zoos. There's nothing abnormal about that."
"There is if it's Mikey who's getting the job!" Mr. Warner snapped back.
"But Brian..." Mrs. Warner began.
"Uh... Mom, Dad?"
"What, son?" Mr. Warner snapped.
"Well, if you don't want me around those kind of animals, what would you say about me working around another type of animal?"
"You don't happen to mean...politicians?" Mr. Warner asked.
"That's what I was thinking of," Mikey said. "All this stuff you brought me to - the debate, the court case - has had an effect on me."
"Mikey, I don't change my mind a lot, but then you don't warm up to my ideas that often. I think what you state is an excellent idea."
Mikey's eyes glowed. "So...if I get a job with a politician, you won't sell my pets?"
"You have my word," Mr. Warner said.
"Yes!" Mikey jumped up and down. "Thanks, Dad! I'm so relieved!"
"Me too," Mrs. Warner said, but she sounded slightly less enthusiastic than her son.
"As long as what impressed you was presidential matters," Mr. Warner said, "you might as well start at the top. How about this? I'll get you a job in the Gray House itself!"
Mrs. Warner looked puzzled. "Brian, what sorts of jobs do they have for 11-year-old boys in the Gray House?"
"Martha, I'm a reporter. I can arrange these sorts of things. It'll also be an excellent learning experience for Mikey."
As Mikey wiped the remaining tears out of his eyes and slumped down on the couch, Mrs. Warner turned and walked out of the room.
Chapter 10
"People underestimate Mr. Bush," Ronny Radish said in between slurps of his ice cream sundae he was drowning in while sitting on the hotel bed. "But he'll prove them wrong. Trust me."
"You couldn't be more right," Delilah Demon agreed. "But you're paying too much attention to the news. Loosen up a bit. He's already in office, so there's nothing to worry about."
"Nothing to worry about except liberals painting him as a do-nothing," Radish said.
"You're boring me," Jed I. Jetboy said.
"Boring you?" Radish asked. He paused for a moment, then quickly tucked in his shirt. "What do you suggest we do?"
"Why don't we play a board game?" Jed asked.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Jetboy, like that's something to do on a double-date," Radish said, rolling his eyes.
"Oh, quit this 'Mr.' silliness," Delilah exclaimed. "You're beginning to remind me of someone I know."
Tamara Token, who was sitting next to Jed, spoke up. "You really seem kind of wound up recently, Ron. Take it easy, the election is over. You can't keep your mind focused on news all the time."
"Yeah, the election is over," Radish admitted. "But the liberals won't admit it. It's one thing to hate the president, but they're not even admitting he is the true president!"
"Why do you care so much what other people think?" Delilah asked. "It doesn't matter, anymore. We did our job. We all agreed to the 'undecided' stunt you came up with, and you nearly messed the whole thing up leaving your car's lights on."
"How could I have known that would affect things?" Radish asked. "Besides, it was Jed who nearly messed things up."
"But you're the one who talked me into it!" Jed said.
Radish looked at his watch. "Hey, the five o'clock news has just come on! I have to see it!" He tucked in his shirt again, scooped the remote off the bed and flipped on the TV set.
"In the latest news," the report began, "President Dudley Drummond of Backwardia, which some experts believe has nuclear weapons, ordered that President Bush meet with him to alleviate the conflict which started when an American goose collided with a Backwardian jet. In the middle of the meeting, which took place last Tuesday, Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, Etc., began having chest pains of indeterminate origin, and he had to leave the meeting to be rushed to the hospital. Mr. Bush, however, held his ground, leading the meeting to have some very surprising results. We bring you the footage of these moments."
The TV screen showed a room where several individuals stood. At the center was a small dinosaur wearing a gold crown on its round head. On the floor, the bush was sitting silently and motionlessly. Standing around the bush were a hoard of animals and people, including several reporters with cameras.
"You stupid Americans!" the dinosaur shouted, jumping up and down. "You think you're so sophisticated, but you're all just a bunch of immoral louts! You know it too, or else you wouldn't be so intent on harassing my country simply because you deem us inferior. You're the ones who are inferior, with your meaningless democratic system. Only in an orderly dictatorial system like mine can there be peace. And this incident proves it! If you can't keep your geese in line, how can you possibly expect to do the same for your people? You answer that for me, Mr. Bush."
The bush said nothing.
"See?" the dinosaur said, wagging his front claw back and forth. "You don't have an answer, because there is none. The fact of the matter is, this incident was your fault, but you don't want to admit it because it undermines your dogmatic belief that America is the most perfect country on earth! You are unable to admit the truth; so much for your so-called freedom of speech. Letting people do whatever they want isn't freedom. On the contrary, you Americans are prisoners to your whims, no matter how immoral they may be, which explains why your country is in such chaos. So, for the umpteenth time, Mr. Bush, tell me, are you going to apologize?"
The bush said nothing.
"I know what you're trying to do," the dinosaur sneered. "You're trying to psyche me out, by refusing to answer me. You think if you ignore me, I'll just go away. Well, guess what? It's not going to happen! I'm here, and I'm here to stay! Backwardia isn't going to disappear from the map just because you steal land from it. One day you will all fall under my superior rule, and you will learn to appreciate it. I guarantee it! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Your democratic rule is quickly on the downfall, Mr. Bush, and it will become obsolete, and you will beg to be protected by my superior kingdom! Just what do you have to say to that?"
The bush said nothing.
"I...I..." The dinosaur began to sniff. "You Americans think you're so special simply because you've been around for a couple centuries and your form of government has spread to a large portion of the world. But it's not the case! You...you will go down in history as the worst government on earth! Can you handle that?"
The bush said nothing.
"The jet collision was your fault! Your fault! Don't let anyone say otherwise! You...." The dinosaur paused. Tears were streaming down his ruddy skin. He took a deep breath. "Imbeciles! Cheats! Liars! Sodomites! Bullies! Illiterates! Adulterers! Morons! Asteroids!"
The bush said nothing.
"Stop that! Stop doing that!" the dinosaur screamed, jumping up and down once again. "Stop ignoring me! I CAN'T STAND BEING IGNORED."
The bush said nothing.
"Noooo! Please, have mercy on me and say something! Anything!"
The bush said nothing.
"I...."
The bush said nothing.
"ALL RIGHT, I ADMIT IT," the dinosaur bawled. "The collision wasn't your fault, it was just an accident of nature. I...*sniff*...no, scratch that. It was because the airplane system of my country sucks. I'm sure you just love hearing this, huh, Mr. Bush?"
The bush said nothing.
"The reason it sucks is that my country is in terrible condition. *sniff* And I just picked this fight because...because of my insecure sense of self-worth!"
The bush said nothing.
"You're right. *sniff* My country is doomed to extinction. *sniff* I fully apologize for challenging the worth of such an indubitably successful republic such as yours. *sniff* In fact, I'm going to change my own country into a democracy!"
The bush said nothing.
"Whoa," Radish said as he flipped the TV screen off. "I told you not to underestimate him, but I never expected this."
"Nonsense," Delilah said. "We knew we'd prove the liberals wrong. Just a few weeks into his term, and look what Mr. Bush has accomplished!"
"I guess," Radish said, placing his ice cream sundae down. "I'm still bored. Why don't we go out and get the newspaper."
"No!" the three other youths shouted altogether.
"Then what should we do, Delilah?" Radish asked.
"I say we take Jed's idea of playing a board game," Delilah replied. "How does Monopoly sound?"
Chapter 11
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, Etc., sat on a round table in the Rectangular Office munching away at peanuts, when a brown dog with floppy ears entered the room.
"Hello, Bowwow," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said. "What's cooking?"
"How are you feeling, Allin?" Bowwow asked. "I heard about you having those chest pains."
"Oh, it's nothing," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said, as he dug his trunk inside the peanut jar, scooping out another peanut. "I was just worried about my absence from the crucial meeting with President Drummond. President Bush is perfectly capable of standing on his own, as we well saw, but I just hate the idea of shirking my own responsibilities. Speaking of which, have you done what I asked of you? Had Mr. Bush's proposed tax cut pass Congress?"
Bowwow stepped back a few feet. "Well, it kind of is facing some resistance. You see, many of the people in Congress don't want the cut to be so high."
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer hurled the peanut gripped in his trunk at Bowwow. The peanut struck the canine's forehead before falling to the ground and shattering. Bowwow made whimpering sounds.
"No peanuts for you today, Bowwow, except that one. If you want any more in the future, you will have to exercise more control. Mr. Bush wants it that way."
"Yes, Master."
"What is the reason you came in here anyway?" Dr. Cheneyricefleischer asked.
"Well, you see, there's this reporter from the Coyote Times who wants a word with you."
"The Coyote Times, eh? You know how busy a job mine is. But I guess I will see what he wants. Send him in."
Bowwow bowed to the elephant, then left the room. A few moments later, a well-dressed man in a fine suit and well-trimmed hair entered the room.
"I am very pleased to meet you, Dr. Cheneyricefleischer," said the man, who immediately extended his hand out to the elephant. "My name is Brian Warner."
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer immediately seized Mr. Warner's hand with his trunk, shaking it up and down a few times before dropping it. "What brings you hear, Mr. Warner?"
"You can call me Brian."
"Okay, Brian, do you want an interview?"
"Not exactly."
The elephant's large, round gray forehead crinkled slightly.
"By the way, I'm so glad the Federal Supreme Court set things straight," Mr. Warner went on. "And I thought Mr. Bush did an extraordinary job handling the meetings with President Drummond. Not that you wouldn't have been equally effective if not for your unexpected health problems. I have deep admiration for both of you."
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer smiled. "Thank you. I guess we were all right. Now, what is it you came here for?"
"Ah, well, you see, I have this eleven-year-old son." Mr. Warner's voice lowered almost to that of a whisper. "He's been kind of, well, influenced by liberal ideas."
"Is that why you came here?"
"Well, I'm not sure if it'd be too much of a strain on your time. I know how busy you are."
"That could be a problem," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer admitted. "However...." He lifted his trunk to his eye. There appeared to be a ring encircling the tip of his trunk. "I guess I'll have a teensy amount of time. I'll meet your son. You can leave him here with me. Pick him up in two hours."
"Thank you so much!" Mr. Warner said. "Good afternoon. I have to go now."
Mr. Warner walked out. A few moments passed, and then a towheaded boy in jeans, a T-shirt and a light jacket entered the room.
The elephant extended his trunk to the boy. "I'm very pleased to meet you. Your dad is quite proud of you. What's your name?"
"Mikey, sir."
"You can call me Dr. Cheneyricefleischer."
"Yes, sir. I've seen you on TV. I also was at one of the presidential debates last fall."
"Ah, how nice. I'm sure you'll grow up to be a very involved citizen."
"What job do you want me to do?"
"Job?" The elephant's round gray forehead crinkled once again. "Oh, yes, job. I'll get to that. But first, let me show you an...er...orientation video."
With that, he walked a few feet to some cabinet and picked up a videocassette with his trunk. He popped it into a VCR sticking out of the cabinet, then opened up a cabinet above to reveal a wide TV screen. "Just watch."
The TV screen showed a reporter interviewing a black woman, who was ranting about her meeting with the president. "I'm a single mother on welfare with three children. I was so upset about the horrible condition of my city, and the poor public schools, and why wasn't the government doing anything to help."
"How did your meeting with the president change all this?" the reporter asked the woman.
"Well, my first reaction was that I started yelling at the president. I told him that it was Republicans like him who turn their back on the plight of poor, needy parents like myself, and that they have no idea what it's like to be in my shoes. And do you know how Mr. Bush responded to this?"
"How?" the reporter asked.
"He just stood there and didn't say anything! I was first enraged, thinking he was giving me a cold shoulder. But after a few moments it occurred to me that he was teaching me a lesson! He was turning my own failure to take responsibility for my own actions back at me! The fact is, all this time I've just been standing there waiting for the government to coddle me like I was some little child. People in my position have risen up all by themselves without any of the government's help. Why shouldn't I do the same? Just look at Mr. Bush himself. He was just some lowly, dull-colored bush in some garden, but through hard work, perseverence, and dignity, he ended up becoming President of America! I realized how wrong I had been to think we should depend on the government to solve any of our problems. I've now quit welfare and have applied to a high-paying job, which I know I'll get, because after all, if you put your mind to it you can accomplish anything."
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer flipped the VCR off. "That, my boy, is the philosophy around here. The purpose of the government - the presidency - is to promote this philosophy of self-reliance, the most important value. Government shouldn't be asked to fix all the world's problems. That can only come from your own determination. As one American president once said, 'Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.'"
"But Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, I thought it was a liberal Democrat who said that."
"Well, it was...er...but he was kind of, well, conservative in mindset...well, when he made that comment."
"Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, where is Mr. Bush right now? I thought he worked here."
"Oh, he does. In fact, that's why you don't see him. He's real busy."
"Why are you hanging around here? I thought vice presidents live somewhere else."
"Well we do, ah, I do. But I'm extremely involved in the presidency, as it's becoming a more demanding job the more time goes on. Besides, he and I are like bosom buddies, and he likes my company often."
"But how can he enjoy your company if he's so busy?"
Mikey waited for an answer, but the elephant suddenly gasped and placed his two arms on his chest.
"Are you all right?"
Dr. Cheneyricefleischer gasped again. "Help," he said.
"What is it?"
"My...my heart."
"Are you having a heart attack?"
"No," the elephant said. "My heart...it's hardening."
Mikey stared at him in shock. "My goodness," he muttered.
"Get help right away!"
"Help! Somebody help me!" Mikey ran through the building. "Dr. Cheneyricefleischer is having heart problems! Get help!"
Within minutes an ambulance had arrived, and a whole troupe of men and animals had hoarded the Gray House lawn. As for Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, he was hauled onto an enormous stretcher, which about thirty men were struggling to hold up. A huge oxygen mask specifically made for elephants was on Dr. Cheneyricefleischer's face.
"Get him inside the jumbo ambulance!" one of the medics shouted.
"I can't, he's too heavy!" another shouted back. "I'm gonna need an ambulance myself before I reach it!"
Beyond the commotion, the elephant's voice came out. "The boy...the boy...must talk to him. Before you take me away, I must talk to the boy."
"He says he wants to talk to some boy!" one medic said.
"Ah, he's just delirious, don't listen to him. What boy would be in the Gray House?" the other medic said.
"Stop, where are you taking him?" a high-pitched voice said.
The crowd turned and, lo and behold, a young child was standing there.
"That's the boy I was talking about," Dr. Cheneyricefleischer said. "Just let me near him, you numbskulls."
The stretcher was lowered to the ground, as the crowd made way for Mikey to pass through. He walked up to the elephant, who was by now speaking in whispers.
"You're not going to die?" Mikey said. He looked genuinely concerned.
"I don't know," the elephant whispered. "Listen...you must retrieve Mr. Bush for me. Without me, he'll get very lonely."
"Where is he?" Mikey asked.
"He's in the broom closet on the third floor."
The elephant's head rolled back, and his face became still. "Dr. Cheneyricefleischer!" Mikey said. "Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, wake up!"
"Leave him be, kid," the medic said. "He's passed out."
The medics performed the very strenuous task of picking the elephant up and hauling him in the ambulance. They closed the doors, and Mikey watched as the vehicle drove away. By the time the other people on the Gray House lawn looked around, the boy was already gone.
Mikey dashed up the flights of steps, determined to be as quick as possible. He finally reached the very top and began to look around.
"Broom closet, broom closet, broom closet, where...." he muttered to himself as he passed from one room to the next. He noticed a second door in one of the rooms. He rushed into the room and opened the door. Inside it were shelves of books, but no bush was in sight.
"Drat," Mikey said, as he exited the room and continued his search. He was becoming increasingly frustrated.
He was just about tempted to give up and go outside to wait for his father, when he noticed a small door at the far end of the corridor. He silently walked over to the door and opened it.
It was all dark inside, and Mikey couldn't see anything. He looked around, and finally saw a string hanging from the ceiling. Instinctively, he pulled on the string. He heard a click sound. When he looked back into the closet, it was now lighted up. The place was empty except for the bush, which stood there staring at him. Mikey had to admit, the president did look a little majestic at this moment. Maybe it was because this was the first time he was standing in front of it.
"Mr. President," Mikey said, extending his hand out to the bush. "It's such a pleasure to meet you."
The bush said nothing.
"Dr. Cheneyricefleischer has got to go for the time being. He asked me to take care of you."
The bush said nothing.
"I think you'll like my company, Mr. Bush. I am a responsible, hard-working young man."
The bush said nothing.
Chapter 12
"You liar!" Mrs. Warner shouted at her husband. "You told Mikey you wouldn't sell his pets, and now you're just going ahead and doing it."
"I told him I wouldn't do it if he got a job," Mr. Warner snapped. "There are no jobs at the Gray House available for an eleven-year-old kid. I just did it so Dr. Cheneyricefleischer could teach him a little about politics. And that's what he's doing right now."
"You...you sneak! You just did it to get him out of the way while you sell his pets. You're not only a sneak, but a coward too!"
"Listen, Martha, it's for his own good! And I'm not turning back! My customer will be here in fifteen minutes, and the last I need is some weepy kid ruining the whole deal!"
The phone rang. Mrs. Warner glared at her husband, then she exited the den. Mr. Warner listened to her stomp off and answer the phone. When she began talking in long strides, he knew the call wasn't for him. He sat down on the couch and flipped on the TV set. A reporter's voice came on.
"For the second time in a week, Dr. Cheneyricefleischer was rushed to the emergency room due to heart problems. His condition is very serious, doctors say, but it isn't a conventional heart attack. He's been comatose since he arrived at the hospital, and doctors haven't been able to revive him."
Mr. Warner was shocked. He immediately thought of Mikey, who was still at the Gray House. He had given his son over to the protection of Dr. Cheneyricefleischer. Who was taking care of him now? Probably the other animals at the Gray House, Mr. Warner figured. But he may have witnessed the doctor's attack, which was unfortunate. His son needed to be properly sheltered, or else he'd grow up depraved like so many teens in this society.
"Mr. Bush has declined to comment, but this afternoon he hired a new chief advisor. He seems very active at this time, for tonight he sent two acts to Congress, the Recess Extension Act, and the Freedom From Homework Act."
Mr. Warner perked up. "What the hell...?"
"In addition, Mr. Bush has proposed to expand the Gray House yard into a miniature zoo."
Mr. Warner's eyes were glued to the television. Suddenly, the screen changed to show a reporter talking to the bush. "Mr. Bush, could you explain your rationale for your recent actions?"
The bush said nothing.
"He means that he thinks it's good for the country," a high-pitched voice said. The camera turned to reveal a young boy in jeans, a T-shirt and a light jacket.
Recognition slowly spread over Mr. Warner's face. "Son of a bitch!" he yelled. He flung the remote at the TV set. He heard the glass shatter, followed by a loud popping noise. Then he faintly smelled smoke. But he wasn't looking at it, because he was too engrossed in his own shock.
"You...you maniac!" Mrs. Warner screamed from the den's entrance.
Mr. Warner sat up. "Martha, before you rush to condemn me, why don't you let me explain what I just saw on the television."
"You're insane! You need to see a psychiatrist."
"Martha, like the rest of my family, we are all quite sane."
"Then you're a jerk."
"Martha, isn't this kind of early for you to be having your...."
"This is not PMS!" she shrieked. "I'm leaving!"
"Ah, get over it."
"I mean it!" She rushed in the opposite direction, toward her room.
"Come back here this minute, Martha. You're not leaving. You need me! Mikey needs the both of us! Come back!"
Mrs. Warner walked outside her room holding a large suitcase in her hand, lugging it along with her.
"You..." he said. "You had that packed all along?"
"Goodbye, Brian," Mrs. Warner said as she dragged the suitcase toward the side door.
"You come back here at once!" Mr. Warner shouted. He started to break into a run, but instead hit his toe very hard against a chair that was nearby.
"Jesus Christ!" he screamed, sitting down and massaging his toe, as he heard the side door slam, and the sound of footsteps on the outside of the house. By the time he stood up, it was silent outside.
That was when the doorbell rang.
"Damn, it's the pet buyers," he muttered to himself. He quickly glanced at himself in the mirror, adjusted his tie, then walked toward the door. He approached the door, prepared to act like nothing was awry, then he opened the door.
Mikey rushed through the door holding the bush tightly in his hand. He had a pair of sunshades over his head. "What the...?" Mr. Warner sputtered.
"Hi, Dad," Mikey said calmly, as if nothing strange was going on. He plopped the bush down on the ground in front of his father. "I have wonderful news! Mr. Bush has appointed me as his chief advisor."
Mr. Warner looked at Mikey in disbelief. "That's ridiculous! You're lying."
"I'm afraid not, sir," said a voice from high above.
Mr. Warner looked up and saw a giraffe arching its neck over him, because even the high ceiling wasn't high enough to accommodate the creature's stature. The giraffe had over its eyes the same kind of sunshades Mikey had over his head. Mr. Warner looked around and was surprised to see two other giraffes standing on each side of the first one, who was slightly taller than the other two.
"How did you...?" Mr. Warner asked.
"...get through the door?" the tall giraffe said, completing Mr. Warner's question. "Oh, we have a lot of practice at that."
"Who the hell are you?"
"We're secret service agents," the tall giraffe stated matter-of-factly. "My name is Bilbo. This is Jimmy, and this is Wally," he said, pointing to the other two giraffes. "Your son was the last person seen talking with Dr. Cheneyricefleischer, Etc., before he went comatose. We believe the doctor, a close friend of Mr. Bush, explained to him how to understand the president."
"And I thought you should know," Mikey added, "Mr. Bush has allowed me to move into the Gray House with him."
"What???" Mr. Warner screamed.
"Dad, I'm sick and tired of taking sh*t from you."
Mr. Warner turned purple. "Don't...you...ever use language like that in front of me!"
"I can use whatever language I damn well please. In fact..." Mikey turned his head toward the bush. "I'm going to recommend that Mr. Bush declare today as National Sh*t Day. What do you say to that idea, Mr. President?"
The bush said nothing.
"He likes the idea!" Mikey said.
Bilbo the giraffe craned his head forward toward the bush in alarm. "Mr. President, that could significantly offend your constituency. Are you sure you want to do this?"
The bush said nothing.
"He says he's absolutely sure," Mikey said.
"Okay," Bilbo said, stepping back.
"How can you do this?" Mr. Warner yelled.
"Dad, your behavior is so manic depressive."
Mr. Warner's eyes popped open. "Bluejay!" he cried. "You've been hanging around Bluejay again. I thought I told you...."
"Speaking of Uncle Bluejay, Dad, I have wonderful news. Mr. Bush has just appointed him as Chief of Rhetoric in the new administration."
"No," Mr. Warner whispered.
"And," Mikey said, "the president has decided to appoint you to a position in the new administration."
Mr. Warner perked up. "Me? What position?"
"As the chief advisor's slave. Wally, you can now bring the cage forward."
For some reason, Mr. Warner hadn't noticed that in back of the three giraffes there was indeed a human-sized cage on the floor. Draped over one of Wally's arms was some kind of outfit.
"Your new home shall be that cage," Mikey said, "and you shall be dressed in black-and-white prisoner's uniform."
"If you do not comply," Bilbo said, "you shall be executed immediately. Mr. Bush likes his punishment quick and efficient."
Mr. Warner looked around him, but Wally and Jimmy were blocking his escape into the hallway and den respectively, while Bilbo was blocking the entrance to the house. He backed himself against the wall. All three giraffes proceeded toward him.
"This should be an honor, Mr. Warner. It's useless to fight."
"That bush is not the president!" Mr. Warner shouted.
"He said you'd say that," Wally said.
"Okay, he's the president. But listen! He's talking! He says to let me go at once!"
"He told us you'd say that too," Jimmy said.
Mr. Warner suddenly stood as upright as possible, and said in a low voice, "I'm President Bush, and I'm telling you to let me go at once!"
"He said you would definitely say that," Bilbo remarked.
Mr. Warner looked at them desperately, then screamed, "NOOOOOOOOOO!"
And they were on him. In less than a minute, the three giraffes had pulled all his professional clothes off, stripped him down to his underwear, forced him into the prisoner's uniform, and stuffed him inside the cage. He never went limp, but it was useless. After all, they were giraffes.
"All right," Mikey said, picking the bush up and curling it under his right arm. "We're going to the Gray House! Let's go."
The boy and the three giraffes, one of them rolling the cage with him, hoisted themselves through the door.
Mrs. Warner stood outside, looking at Mikey as he went through the door after the giraffes had finished doing so. "I'm so proud of you," she said. "When Brian flipped, I just felt so desperate. Now you've given new meaning to my life."
A stretched limo pulled up in front of the house. Mrs. Warner walked toward the car, as a chauffeur got out and opened the door for her. Next to the limo was a pickup truck without a roof. A fourth giraffe sat in the driver's seat, its head perched atop a long neck, peering around.
"Come on!" Mrs. Warner said as she placed herself in the interior of the limo. "Let's go, Mikey!"
"Just a minute, Mom," Mikey said. "I want to talk one more time to Dad."
He approached the steel cage. Mr. Warner's head was face down, and he wasn't moving, but as Mikey approached, he raised his head and looked his son straight in the eye. The fury in those eyes was at a level Mikey had never seen before. It was a good thing there was a cage between them.
"You were right about one thing, Dad," Mikey said. "This was a learning experience."
There was a long pause. "You're gonna pay for this," Mr. Warner spat.
"No, Dad," Mikey said, as he slid the sunshades over his eyes. "The taxpayers will."
Edited by: X the Lurker at: 1/6/02 4:43:07 am
...i have caught shreads of understanding
and moments in the place
where the life of an ancient olive tree
and a mayfly
are equally long
in a way that has nothing to do with time...
i submitted my forum for a few seach engines and then i went and tested it and seached for 'Mikeysplace' (name of my forum) and it came up with this!! i clicked it and read it and was stunned! thats so cool!
I edited my story...
No drastic changes, just minor grammar corrections and adjustments for clarity and style.
--X
"Where the preamble declares, that coercion is a departure from the plan of the holy author of our religion, an amendment was proposed by inserting 'Jesus Christ,' so that it would read 'A departure from the plan of Jesus Christ, the holy author of our religion'; the insertion was rejected by the great majority, in proof that they meant to comprehend, within the mantle of its protection, the Jew and the Gentile, the Christian and Mohammedan, the Hindoo and Infidel of every denomination." - Thomas Jefferson, Autobiography
at: 1/6/02 4:43:07 am
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