I was daydreaming the other day I got the chance to lunch with John Boehner. As is my specialty I gave him heart burn and drained his complexion of that store bought tan with my observations. Caesar said: Vini, vidi, vici! (I came, I saw, I conquered!) Pretentious? I know, but it was my dream.
While watching Boehner chow-down on an arugula and bean sprout salad, we waxed philosophically concerning his regency and directorial chair in the House of Representatives. The surroundings softened to a hazy, cloud-like miasma telling me I was expected to bow down to the majesty of the moment. I should appreciate that I, a mere mortal, would be allowed an audience with “he who sits on high”!
I passed gas immediately dispelling any hope of a dewy wonderland to be gathered about us. I was on the hunt and sure wasn’t willing to get side tracked by rabbit food and ambiance. The members of the family Garwood are hunters and meat eaters and Boehner was on MY menu du jour.
“Mr. Boehner? Just what the heck are you doing creating a schism between you and the younger more conservative members of the House?” I asked innocently, delicately double-dipping my celery stalk back into the common bowl of homemade Ranch Dressing.
“Uh, excuse me Sarge, but my title is MR SPEAKER. I’d appreciate your attention to decorum. I worked a long time to gain that title and deserve to be addressed as such.” His voice’s rumble threatened to send a thrill down my leg but I realized my dribble glass was wetting my slacks instead. He crammed what looked like half a garden of greenery into his mouth and chewed it in a manner reminiscent of a starving Burro grazing in a cultivated patch.
“Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen. I’ll do what’s decorous and in alignment with protocol when you get to call me Citizen Sarge as they did enroute to the guillotine.” (That’s one of my better dreams but we’ll discuss that at another time.) “What I wanted to know is just what were you thinking when you started hammering the conservative and libertarian tea party proponents by taking their memberships on major committees away from them?”
“Look,” he swished a leaf or two in his dressing and stuffed it into his mouth, the wheels clashing while seeking a politically correct answer. “We all appreciate the younger members and their dynamic approach to the problems facing America. But, we have a set structure and format for dealing with legislative activity and the younger members are expected to learn from the elders so things maintain a certain decorum and procedural program assuring proper recognition of hierarchical placement and ascension.” He smiled, a piece of greenery covering his three front teeth on the right side of his grin.
“So, interpreting that little nugget into layman’s English, you just think the juniors ought to shut up, do as they’re told and feel privileged to know exactly where they stand in the lineage of the damned. Did I get that right?” I was lancing his self-inflated ego and leveled a gaze at his face. He got that precious look whenever he understands stuff isn’t going his way because Obama just trumped his numb butt: which is regularly.
He mopped the dressing from his lips, dropped the napkin to his lap and stuffed some bean sprouts into his maw, again allowing him time to think of another way to get around my questions.
“We have a way of doing things going back centuries now. It worked for our predecessors and I intend to assure it continues to work for us.” That patch of greenery had shifted to top dead center on his dental magnificence.
“Oh, okay. I got it!” The trap slammed shut. “That means you want to make sure things work for YOU instead of you working for the people!”
“That’s right Sarge.” He packed more sprouts in and then paused, a look of confusion on his face. “I think. NO wait. Uh, let me get back to you on that.” His perplexity was precious.
Day dreaming can be cool; don’t you think?
Thanks for listening.