Let me first say this: I have been mightily inspired by Paco a frequent commenter over at Tim Blair's site. (A guy I cannot recommend enough!) I've even been so inspired, that I tryed to sneak this little stupid story into the comments, but it got the boot by moderator Tran because she thought it was "too long and too sweary."
"Too sweary?" WTF is he on about?
Anyway, here it goes with my apologies to Paco, whos boots I'm not worthy to shine!
It's 3 AM and the computer on President John McCain's bed table suddenly comes alive: - You have mail!
- Sweet bejeezus! McCain yells. Alarmed by the urgency in the President's voice, Joe, his Secret Service detail, rushes in. Seeing that no one else is in the room, he holsters hos Dessert Eagle.
The President points at the computer: - Look, that there thing. It said something!
Joe, sensing the emergency mumbles into his armpit: - Sixteen hunnerd needs the dork, and I mean now!
Less than 30 seconds later, two very broad-shouldered men in black suits throws in a skinny guy, who - in comparison with the Secret Service agents - doesn't appear to have any shoulders at all. He's still dressed in his pyjamas with small yellow ducklings patched all over it, and his hair is in absolute disarray.
Not for the the first time does Bartholemew (III) S. Simmel curse the day he took shis shitty job. (Yes, in his head he actually uses that profanity, which only goes to show how much he dispises this way of making a living.)
Still, he's serving at the Pleasure of the President of the United States! His attempt to come to attention is however somewhat foiled by the fact that he is still holding a teddy-bear in his hand.
- Bart, the President bellowes. - This thing just spoke to me. Is this what you call an, erm, I-letter?
Bartholemew withholds a sigh. He is very tired. Not only had he spent most of the previous night trying to explain to the Cabinet the subtle differences between a PC and a Mac, but the Secret Service agents had just yanked him out af a rather juisy dream involving Miss Jones, his German-teacher back in high school, and the hot phone-lady down at the reception.
He looked nearsighted into the 12 inch monitor. - Sir, it appears you have recieved an E-MAIL! Bartholemew tried to pronounce the word very slowly, but was brusquely brushed off:
- Yeah yeah, whatever. Is it from Putin? Has he declared war? I mean, it would be nice if the President of the US knew whether the fucking country was at war again, would't ya think! The President reached under his bed and produced a clay bottle marked XXX, an inauguraton present from one of his many third cousins down in the Bayu. He took a swig and dried his mouth with the back of his hand. - So, Bartie, tell me about this here u-post!
Bartholemew succeeded in opening the mail. Windows 3.1 wasn't really that easy to operate. - Sir, this E-MAIL (he tried again) appears to originate from Nigeria. Something about a bank account and an inheretance. There is also an attachment in it. However, I strongly advise against opening it as it may contain a virus.
McCain looked flabbergasted at his Cheif Cyberspace Advisor: - A virus? Are you telling me this thing has cooties? Then what the fuck is it doing in my bedroom?
Bartholemew opened his mouth for a few seconds then closed it again. What would be the point, he thought.
McCain turned to Joe, his trusted bodyguard and another of Sarah Palin's countless Alaskian friends and relatives he had hired on her strong recommendation. - Joe, what the hell's Nigeria and why are they sending me A-Cards?
Joe scratched his 3 AM shade. - Not really to sure, sir. I believe it's some sorry-assed country up somewhere in Tasmania or the likes! He re-arrangened his chewing tobacco and spat out the used-up goo. In a perfect arc it landed dead-center in the President's tooth-glass. - I do remember I wasted a Nigerian once. Big as a moose he was. Took three rounds between the eyes and a swing from my hockey stick before he went down, but down he went none the less! Joe went thoughtful for a moment. - Then again, he might have been from Illinois. All them friggin' foreigners look alike to me, if you'll pardon my Siberian, sir!
McCain was now on the verge of an information overload. After all, it was 3 AM. - Alright then! he boomed at Bartholemew (III) S. Simmel and pointed at the computer: - Get that confounded contraction outta here. And Joe, if Nigeria bothers me one more time tell the Pentagon to nuke the crap out of them. I may not know much about the Information Highway, but I do know something about bombs. After all, I am a Republican!!!
Happy election-day for the USians out there. Forget about the polls, get out and vote!