I have a few friends who are really, for human beings, very trustworthy.
They are people who have never let me down. Even to the point of getting pissy just when I think they’re going to get pissy. Even to the point of dumping their significant others, just when i think they’re going to dump their significant others.
So I would like to pass on this story, which may well be crucial in deciding where to place your X, your click, or your thumbprint in the latter part of 2008.
It comes from a source that has never caused me to reach for my impeach button.
Not so long ago, the manager of a fairly swish restaurant in Chicago enjoyed visitations from powerful people on consecutive nights.
On night number one, there came an extremely significant political figure and her beloved, who is still one of the most popular men in the world.
A day before their grand entrance they sent a security detail (as opposed to a security general, I suppose) to, as Senator Capone might have put it, case the joint. They looked around the nooks and craned around the crannies. Nothing was going to be left to chance. The seating arrangements, the menu, even the sous chef’s apron underwent thorough detailing.
The couple duly arrived (with security detail fingering their napkins on the next table). They released their usual airs and graces. And the evening, though not exactly crammed with jollity, passed without major incident.
The following night, another major political figure happened upon the same restaurant. (it has very nice restrooms, apparently.)
He hadn’t even thought about sending anyone to check the place out. No member of his retinue turned up to declare how his master liked his peas. Or, indeed, how he liked to pee.
The gentleman in question arrived just like any other guest. He ate his meal with a delicate compliment to the chef. And he wandered off into the night, discreet as a church warden who has just encountered his parish priest explaining the Devotions to an altar boy.
The lesson of this story is quite obvious in its clarity that it needs hardly to be written.
The first lady is the one to be trusted with our nation’s security. She is the one who understands that we need to be prepared, that we have to take care of every detail, that we have to fight them over there, so as to make our lives much easier over here.
The second man should not even be allowed to own a stick with which to beat a pinata. How can he possibly even stand for public office? We live in tough, uncompromising times. We have to assume there’s a threat on every corner. Even the cormer itself is a potential threat. Those might be bricks. But what’s in the bricks, huh?
So you will not be surprised to hear that the second, grossly cavalier, diner was the hideously inexperienced Barack Obama.
And that the first, the one who truly gets our nation’s situation, was indeed the world’s premier democrat, Angelina Jolie and her veep, Pitt the Younger.
Truly, they are the dream ticket. They appeal to (and, indeed, already seem to own) all sexes, all races and all ages.
All they need is a party. The Jolie Pitty Party, perhaps.