Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Move over, Dana Perino, I'm the new White House spokesman
Well, all, my dreams have finally come true. This morning, I was startled when, suddenly the sound of my phone ringing that special ring tone (Beethoven's Fifth, actually) alerted me that a very special caller was on the line.
I scooped up the receiver, and before I could even say "hello," a familiar voice, a voice that sounded like rocks tumbling at the bottom of a subterranean lake, rasped, "Pack your bags, you bastard. It's your turn to take the heat."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Vice-President," I said, leaping to my feet.
"You'll be taking Dana's job," he growled. "When we hired her, we wanted someone stupid, but, in her case, we overshot the mark. You'll be a better fit."
It took a moment for the awesome news to sink in. Apparently, I'm to be the new White House spokesman, replacing Dana Perino.
"I'm honored, Mr. Vice-President," I stammered. My stomach was in knots, and the hair on the back of my neck felt electrified, like thousands of tiny needles pricking at my spinal chord.
"Shut up," he said. "Just get your bags packed and get on a flight, right away. We're planning a new Iran initiative and we need you to get out there with the verbal soft-shoe."
"Iran initiative?" I asked.
"Let's just say that things are in the works," he said. "The details are on a need-to-know basis."
"Will there be a press conference? What will I say when they ask questions?" I asked.
"Act dumb," he chortled. "You're good at it."
"Yes, sire...uh, sir," I said. His tone had indicated that he was through talking, so I gathered up my courage and stammered, "Um, sir? There's the matter of airfare. I had to fill up the gas tank yesterday, so my credit card is maxed out..."
"Oh, Christ!" he complained. "With help like this..." There was a long silence. I could sense him counting, slowly, as his rage waned to a manageable level. "Alright, listen," he said. "We'll get you on a military flight to Washington." He spoke slowly, and deliberately; the same way my kindergarten teacher used to speak. "Put on your Sunday best and comb your hair and... oh God! Why do I bother? Just get here."
The line went dead.
So, I'm off to Washington, DC, to fulfill my lifelong dream of public service. I have a feeling my new boss is going to be a handful, but on the other hand, if Junior Bush can keep his job, I ought to be able to keep mine.
Wish me luck. And happy April 1st!