“Did you know that Ronald Reagan put on a short skirt with multiple petticoats, a red silk blouse, and a tiara on Saturdays, then spent the evening practicing the polka with Oliver North?”
“That’s nice,” I said. “I’m glad to see that you are studying history ….” I looked up from my book. “He what …?”
Staring back at me was Walter Cronkite, or at least the Alien C.W. in a form greatly resembling the legendary newsman.
“They say he had gotten pretty good at it.”
“They say what …?”
“That’s nothing,” he said. “Ever hear of Antonin ‘Antsy’ Scalia?”
“Of course,” I said, “Everyone has.”
He looked at me in such a dark manner that the hair rose on the back of my neck. “Really? Everyone?”
“Sure,” I said, “the Supreme Court justice who died this year. Everyone knows who’s on the Supreme Court.”
“You’ve never been to West Virginia then, have you?”
“C.W.,” I said, “What are you talking about?”
“How about Mississippi, South Carolina, or the state we’re in right now? Everyone … really?”
“What about Judge Scalia.?” I said, returning to what I assumed was the thread of the conversation.
“He wore a Glock 19 under his robe while court was in session.”
“He was convinced that Barbara Bush intended to try and assassinate him.”
I said nothing.
“She threatened to on several occasions. Seems she hates Catholics, and doesn’t mind saying so in private. It started with that Hurricane Katrina thing. Her husband let it slip once at a cocktail party.”
“Will you please explain yourself?”
“That’s not all.”
“Now!” I said.
“One time it went off, the Glock did, before the court opened and shot off one of the big toes of Clarence Thomas.”
“This is crazy.”
“Dick Cheney had it hushed up and the press never knew. He said they weren’t going to make the same mistake twice.”
I shook my head.
“Some of the other justices, Ruth Bader Ginsburg in particular, still call him ‘Toeless Tom’ behind his back.”
“I’m tired of this.”
“Don’t you want to hear about the illegitimate love-child of Mitch McConnell and Sarah Palin.”
I began to retch and took several deep breaths.
“They say it has a vestigial tail.”
“That I might believe,” I said. “But the rest …?”
“Oh,” he said, “and here is some hot news about to go to press.”
He ignored me. “It’s about Ann Coulter.”
That got my attention. “What about Ann Coulter?”
“He may be the next director of the FBI.”
“Yeah, but he’ll have to come clean first. This time it was Pence the Porno Man who said they weren’t going to make the same mistake twice.”
“Wait,” I said. “I asked you: what press?”
“Why my new press,” he said. “It’s called the ‘So Here Is That Which Is In Accordance With Fact Or Reality Press.’ How do you like it? Catchy huh?”
“Uh, ….” I was speechless. I ran through the name in my mind. “Ah,” I said. “Do you mean the ‘So Here Is Truth Press’ by any chance?”
“Isn’t that what I said? You don’t like it?”
“Oh,” I said, “I think it’s perfect, but are any of those things true?”
“What do you mean true?”
“I mean true, like factual.”
“What planet are you living on? If one person believes one of them, then it is true for them. And,” he said, “they will pay handsomely for it. Truth is what you are willing to believe and pay for.”
“Oh,” I said. “It’s another one of your money-making schemes?”
“What else would creative news be good for?”
“You are crazy,” I said.
“Maybe so,” he said, “but, speaking of he FBI, I bet I could interest you in some juicy tidbits about the affair between Michelle Bachman and J. Edgar Hoover.” He nodded. “They say she even calls him ‘Jedgar’ for short.”
“But he’s been dead for years.”
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