|The Nossiter Net
The net that shall enmesh them all
Edited, Written, and Published by Josh Nossiter
|The Morning Mendacity
Friday, June 10th, 2005
|The Nossiter Net is cast to snare some of the riper rascalities of the day. Comments? firstname.lastname@example.org|
|According to the Washington Post*, President Bush watched the film “Cinderella Man” at the White House this week. Although the film’s subject is boxer Jim Braddock’s bout with heavyweight champion Max Baer in 1935, Mr. Bush ordered the film under the mistaken impression that it was all about him. Mr. Bush’s, after all, is a Cinderella story if ever there was one…
Once upon a time there was a poor little rich boy named George. His days were hard. During the baseball season, his day job consisted of watching the baseball team of which he was a part owner, the Texas Rangers. It was not a good team, and watching them was a terrible chore. He labored hard at watching baseball games, and received little thanks for his efforts. The fans, unhappy with their team’s performance, booed him. Trading away slugger Sammy Sosa, then in his prime, didn’t help his cause. Baseball players are not known for their own intellects, but the Rangers thought George an imbecile, and that hurt him too.
His nights were hard. There are a lot of bars in Texas, and George felt it his bounden duty to sample the tipple at each and every one of them. Courting DUIs, family opprobrium, elbow wear and tear, and liver damage, George did his duty unfalteringly, systematically working his way across the taverns and saloons of Texas.
Hard drinking by night, and watching baseball games by day, his harsh life was made more difficult by his unfeeling brothers Marvin, Neil, and Jeb. Though not step-brothers, they made George do the dishes, mop the floors, tidy their rooms, and brush their clothes. Well, not really. But the three wicked non-step brothers did engage in transactions with a complex network of oil companies, arms manufacturers, bankers, and Arab governments that were more twisted and lucrative than George’s own dubious business deals. To make matters worse, Jeb, not George W., was the family’s political heir apparent, destined to assume the mantle of power bequeathed by father George H.W. Bush.
Pickled with booze, marginalized, sated with baseball games, and generally loathed and self-loathing, George sat slumped on his front porch one afternoon, nursing a cold beer, brooding on his latest hangover, and contemplating with despair the prospect of yet another Rangers game. A small, pudgy, bespectacled man approached, clad in a shapeless gray suit whose only notable feature was a pair of wings sprouting from the back. In his hand was a small chrome wand.
“I am your fairy godfather, Karl by name, and I am going to make you Governor of Texas. Then I will make you President of the United States. You will regain your self-respect, and win the respect of others. Whaddya say?”
George’s bloodshot eyes widened. “Don’t believe in fairies, leastwise not married ones. Married fairies, can’t have that ya know. You married, Karl?”
Karl frowned. “That’s irrelevant, you moron. I’m offering to pick you up out of your mink-lined gutter and make you the most powerful man in the world, and you’re worried about marriage between fairies? Maybe I should go pay a visit to Jeb.”
“No no, don’t do that” George said, his attention now fully engaged. “Jeb ain’t presidential material, like what I am. See here now Karl, don’t get your wings in a twist. Sometimes I hear voices, see, and say stuff I don’t really mean. Dunno where it comes from. Far as I’m concerned, it’s a free country, even for fairies. They can do whatever they want to do in the privacy of their own – where do fairies live, Karl?”
Karl gnashed his teeth. “That too is irrelevant, you cretin. Do you or do you not want me to wave my wand and make you the most powerful man in Texas, then to become the most powerful man in the world?”
“Sure Karl, I’d like that just fine. Whaddoo I have to do?”
“Just stand there, you idiot. I do all the work. There’s just one catch. Typically in these fairy make-over deals there are glass slippers to hand out and a clock to watch. You know, home by twelve or you turn into a pumpkin, that kind of thing. Well I don’t have any glass slippers in your size, and I’m not going to impose any time limit. That wouldn’t be right for a baseball man, unused to playing by the clock. But listen carefully, because I’m only going to say this once: you can be governor and president as long as you want without fear of turning into a pumpkin, provided you never, ever, tell the truth. Got that? One truthful statement, and you’re pie-filling.”
“Sure thing Karl. I’ll be just like George Washington. Didn’t he say “I cannot not tell a lie” when he chopped down that cherry tree?”
Karl shook his head, muttered “nitwit” under his breath, and waved his wand. And they all lived happily ever after.
©Joshua C. Nossiter, 2005
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