Birther Bullies and Bozos

A low drifting fog rolls in near the East river.  It’s dark, but for the joker meeting me, the moonlight helps to tone down his colorful persona.  Two miles up, I can see the glow coming from that bush he calls a hairdo.  I say to my driver, “If he wasn’t worth billions I’d make him swim out to meet my yacht in that taxicab yellow jumpsuit he likes to wear.”  The overhead light turns on, as I hear the driver door open and close.  A rap on my door is a 2 second warning to zip my fly and finish up any business that may be going on.  I slap Gigi on her backside, ordering her to stay put, then I step out to a fresh breeze of rotten trash and floaters from the barge.  Could be worse, I think, pausing as a memory of how my ex-wife’s “perfume” would linger on the sheets fresh from the dryer.  I swallow back the vomit threatening to bubble up to my lips.

A yellow and red mini-Cooper approaches the front of my limousine.  Strippers straight from the stage at New York Dolls shimmy and twirl from poles.  I can hardly believe it, but that boxing announcer with the whiskey smooth delivery kills the engine and climbs out, mike in hand.  I can hear him as he begins introducing the owner of the Cooper. One of the girls smooths her hands across my chest, while another slips her hands into my pocket.  I don’t carry cash or cards, so I let her get a fistful of nothing. To my surprise, she  leaves a deposit instead of taking a withdrawel.  I palm the plastic card she leaves in my pocket.  Squinting hard, I read the name on the Piggly Wiggly loyalty card.


I’m in my bed.  The sheets are on the floor and the curtains are blowing from the air conditioner.  I reach over to call my assistant, “Jog through your contacts and let everyone know that I have an announcement to make today at noon.”

A quick shower after the gym, and I look in the mirror wondering:  Piggly Wiggly, Piggly Wiggly.  Birth Certificate.  The President.  Damn!!!!!  I just KNOW there’s a connection.


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