A Day On The Lake

Today was going to be a gorgeous spring day. I mean, it's the kind of day for which I moved to upstate NY. The weather was so accommodating that it looked to blow away the fetid doldrums of late winter/early spring, with its ever-present oppressive clouds and grey skies. I've come to the conclusion that the animals have really gotten it right in hibernating -- no woodchuck ever missed shovelling out a car or carting around bags of rock salt, trying not to slip and kill itself before it could lay the stuff down. It's said that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. So if you can survive a northern New York winter without putting your head through the wall or chewing off a bedpost, then you're probably in a great position to savor the joys of spring time.

So it was with great excitement that I looked forward to taking my old rowboat out of dry dock and heading out for my first full day of the new fishing season. If anything was going to bring me real peace of mind, it was going to be being out on the lake, finding a quiet rhythm of casting and reeling in, over and over again. I was really going to lose myself in the moment, in the quiet poetry of it all. And so there I was, snapping at the lake's surface with my line in the morning light. By mid-morning I had already caught a few perch which I would broil up for the evening's dinner. This was turning out exactly as I had planned. It was then that I felt a jarring thump against the side of the boat, somewhat akin to how Richard Dreyfus & co. felt in Jaws when the shark hits their boat while they're drunkenly singing.

"Say buddy, how're you doin' today?" His friendly greeting belied an inevitable, fouling intent. He had found me again, and had wrecked my moment but good.
"George, what the hell are you doing here? Isn't your administration still under fire? Don't they want to hang Rumsfeld at dawn? You can't have time for fishing."
"There's always time for fishing, good buddy. Especially when the company's as good as it is now."
"I can't say I share that opinion."
"Yer always a kidder -- that's what I love about you! So what are they bitin' at today? I got these neat bass lures that Condy gave to me. Didn't really take her fer a fisherwoman -- that gal never ceases to amaze me. You know I just found out she plays the pee-anah? She promised me she was goin' to play me "The Yellow Rose of Texas" the next time we got together.
"That's just great, George. Just great."
"And what do you think of my ride here?"
"It looks alright."
"'Alright' -- hell. It's a darn fine piece of marine mobility. I named her The Swift.
"Oh I get it -- The Swift Boat. Very clever. But I thought you weren't supposed to be actually allied with those wackos."
"That's right -- and I got a piece of beachfront property in Baghdad I want to sell ya..."
W. enjoyed his joke tremendously, rocking his boat and mine in the water.
"Hey George -- control yourself, you're gonna scare away the fish."
"Heck that don't matter much. We already got fish."
"What do you mean we? You just got here."
"I see you got a few. That's good enough for me."
I could see where this was going.
"These are mine."
"Well OK, but you just remember what happened to that lawyer fella when he wouldn't give up his quail when Sweet Ole Dick Cheney asked him to do so, so nice and politely. You saw what happened to that member of the bar."
"That was supposed to be an accident!"
"Boy, you do believe everything you read!"
"It was on Fox News..."
W. doubled over with laughter, pounding on the bottom of his vessel. After several minutes of this bout of amusement, W. collected himself and wiped the tears from his eyes.
"'It was on Fox News.' I haven't heard such a good one since 'Saddam's got weapons of mass destruction.' He slapped his knee and resumed his belly laughter.
"Alright George. I'm outta here."
"Not before you give me them fish."
"And who's gonna make me?"
"Me and everyone on the lake. Everyone you see out here today is a Secret Service Agent."
"Yeah right."
"You see that mother and baby over there on shore? That's Big Zelda and Tiny Tim, two of the most effective agents we got."
"But that woman weighs like 400 pounds!"
"That blub ain't real. It's a special lightweight prosthetic which she can fashion into an explosive device if necessary."
"And what about the baby?"
"Tim's a super-intelligent dwarf who can part a man from his nuts faster than you can say 'Michael Moore.'"
Seemingly on cue, Tim drew a huge retractable Bolo knife out of his diaper, concealing it as quickly as he had made it appear.
"Christ."
"Now how about them fish."
"You won't get away with this."
"And who's gonna believe ya? I've got big problems to deal with -- money to hand out to the military, gas prices gone wild, new cabinet members to pick -- all kinds of things. I ain't got time for fishin'. Now hand 'em over."
Again, seemingly on cue, Tim drew the Bolo. I had no choice but to cooperate.
"One day George, you and your out-of-control party are gonna get what's coming to you."
"From who? The Democrats? From the looks of it, Tim took their balls years ago."
W. once again broke into hysterics, pausing only briefly to admire my/his catch. Once he stopped laughing, he tipped his fishing hat to me, and motored off. When he got to shore, all of the apparent lake-goers converged on him, helping him out of The Swift. A helicopter appeared, W. and his entourage climbed aboard and was soon on their way. Hovering briefly over my craft, W. shouted out "Good luck, my friend... I hear they're biting!" And with that he was gone.
And so another attempt at beating the blues shot to shit by our Commander-In-Chief. It's getting so that I'm afraid to leave the house. But I think if I didn't, and I stayed into to watch a movie, he'd come and take my TV. He's right that no one would ever believe that a guy like him who's got so many responsibilities would spend so much time following me around. So I've got to figure out some other strategy, and quick.

The Fancy Dress Party

Anyone who knows my story knows what a hassle I have not getting George W. Bush to follow me and screw up my life everywhere I go. This time, however, I thought I was in the clear. I got invited to a ceremonial costume ball in Australia, and I knew W. was busy at home dealing with the Ports scandal, wiretapping innocents, chaos in Iraq, all time low popularity, etc. He just couldn't have time to fly half-way around the world for a silly party. Feeling confident, I had my tailor make me up this ceremonial, indigenous Australian jacket. I don't what it's supposed to represent, but it looked good in a travel magazine so I said hey, let's go for it.
So I get there and you can imagine my shock and disappointment to see W. wearing the same exact outfit. He comes rushing over to me, smiling yet obviously indignant. Fortunately, I happened to have my digital voice recorder switched on for our conversation.
"Steve, what the hell yeh doin' here in mah outfit?"
"Your outfit?"
"That's what Sid said when he made it fer me. He guaranteed me I'd be the only one wearin' it, that everybody else'd be wearin' red. Which is true... except fer yerself."
"Sid fed me the same line of crap -- that SOB will do anything to make a sale. But hey, the bigger question, George, is what the hell are you doing at a costume party Down Under when you're administration is totally falling apart?"
"I beg to differ on that assessment, son. As a matter of fact I just spoke to my Vice President on the mo-bile, and he's tellin' me everything is going A-OK."
"He did, huh? And what about the polls?"
"The polls? The only polls I believe live somewhere near Romania. Heh heh. Get it?"
"Yeah I get it. Very funny. And clever, too."
"Yeah I thought so."
"But George, even the radical right is losing faith in you. What are you going to do when even those people fail to get behind you?"
"Oh don't you worry 'bout them. All I gotta do is make a speech and throw in a few hosannas and name-call a few evolutionists, and they'll fall back in line. Not the brightest bulbs in the room, them people."
"That may be true, but they're you're hardcore constituents."
"Hey, just because they vote for me don't me I gotta invite 'em over for a turkey shoot, if you know what I mean."
"I guess..."
"Speakin' of which, didja happen to spot the boo-fay?
"Over by the tent."
"Good. Flying Air Force One half-way around the world works up a hella of an appetite. And don't tell anyone I said so, but dang they show the worst movies. Heck, even I can watch Top Gun just so many times."
W. paused. He rubbed his wrist loosely, scanning the crowd idly before speaking.
"So when are you changing yer outfit?"
"I'm not."
"Well then, I guess my Secret Service boys will be seein' you out."
"You always do this."
"I know."
"It isn't fair."
"I know."
"I have my rights."
"I know. But you know what?"
"What?"
"It's good to be the king! You take care now."
And so the next thing I know I'm on a flight back to the States. This has happened so many times that I can't even get upset anymore. One day that guy's not going to be President, and then we'll see who's wearing the cat's pajamas. †