A Modest Proposal

26 Jul

A text message comes in at 3:38 a.m. : Call immediately, time is running out. We all need to do something monstrous before we die.
I can play the game at that hour. I’m in complete, professional form.
“Fine. Book a one-way flight in a twin engine Cessna out of some small airfield in Bowie, Maryland straight into the White House first floor. With any luck, the snipers on the roof and artillery men will have drifted away to la-la land having scrupulously devised a solution to airspace infringement and feeling safe and sound, and if the Fortune God is smiling upon you, Double-Ya may be milling among the proletariat staff and clock winders, looking to have his member tended to by some starry-eyed intern, like the last commander-in-chief.”
(that’s a long text but when there is nothing to do except drain a drink at the kitchen table, talking to various ghosts about superstring theory and laws of thermodynamics, one’s fingers can withstand the abundance of letters)
A text comes back: A fair idea. The spin doctors will be out there balancing basketballs on every imaginable appendage, you know. It’s what they do best. Remember McCurry outside the West Wing gate smoking that stogey on that clear afternoon? That homeless man shook his fist and yelled…what did he yell?
“McCurry, you fucking Parasite!” I come back.
Text: That’s right.
“McCurry was a stalwart from the previous administration,” I write back.
Text: No he wasn’t, he got out before Bubba got out. In any case, your proposal is a good one. I’ll look into booking a flight out of Bowie. P.S. What are you doing up so late?
“You mean so early. I was having breakfast with Einstein and Newton.”
Text: Oh say hello to that grumpy old bastard. And ask him if the apple incident really happened. I’ve been hearing rumblings that it may have all been bullshit.
“I can’t broach that subject. He has a propensity for smacking my knuckles with the edge of a ruler if I bring up his past.”
Text: Harsh deal. But you’re used to it. From the Mother Country, in school. Good luck in any case. What does Einstein prefer: bagels or cereal? One last thing: want to be my co-pilot?
“No. I have my own plans. I’m taking a pistol and a bottle of good scotch and hole-ing myself up in a little room at the Red Roof Inn. I’m putting everything down on Red and spinning the roulette wheel.”
Text: fifty-fifty odds. Gotta love the percentages.
Indeed.

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4 Responses to “A Modest Proposal”

  1. Kunstemæcker 26/07/2007 at 1:30 PM #

    pistols and scotch. Sounds like a fun day out for Hunter.

  2. slyboots2 26/07/2007 at 2:44 PM #

    Ah- double down it baby! That’s the way to roll. On the very edge.

    Just make sure the pistol is bigger than a 22- because that could just leave a scratch. Or it could do real damage. Almost too much playing the odds with that one. Ask Kurt. 12 gauge all the way.

    Dammit- too morbid for a Thursday morning with actual Seattle sunshine! Crikey mate!

  3. Lx 26/07/2007 at 7:11 PM #

    you know me by now to realise i’m not taking a .22.
    by pistol i mean a Luger.
    javol!

  4. slyboots2 27/07/2007 at 1:02 AM #

    Ah- better is a Walther PPK. Nicely balanced, smooth action, very clean. Not all bulky and aggro like a Glock. But elegant. Luger is good too, but I definitely prefer the PPK.

    Sweet Jesus, boy- getting me in gun talk…when I should be discussing more pertinent matters…

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