LENIN - Arcade Fire Video






When Lenin was little
All the birds in the forest were singing, "Man, this is it"
But now that he's older
All the sailors in heaven are screaming, "Abandon ship"

I know it can't be right
I know it can't be right
But I'll just smile instead
Of repeating what I said
In my head

When Lenin was little
Dressed up like a vampire on All Hallow's Eve
All the saints up in heaven
Were looking down at the leaves falling off the trees

I know it can't be right

Daddy, daddy, please save the world from the government
Daddy, daddy, please save my soul from my own judgement
Daddy, daddy, please send me a heart that isn't made of cement
Because the money's all been spent

The money's all been spent


The following "prose-poem" was perceived in an instant! But it took me thirty days to write it...and...oh how I wish it had taken but ten days more. For forty days and forty nights I did struggle with this poem....

In the beginning ~ before the void ~ there was a lonely silence, and this silence was the essence, and this silence was insane. Now it came to pass that the silence became restless, became ruthless, became vast. And the silence became future, became present, became past.

In the midst of the silence there dwelt a place. And the place dwelt in the silence, and the silence dwelt in the place. This place ~ this formless, needless, nameless place, void of all substance, scripture and lore, conceived in an instant, born evermore. Tacit be thy name, Thyestean be thy game.

And it came to pass, while Tacit lay in wait, a need arose. And arising from this need, there came a wanting. And in the wanting, amidst the need, dwelling in the silence, burst forth the seed. And in the seed was born a thought, and the thought was like unto a blaze of blinding light.

And in the blinding light there born a substance, and in the substance there borne the thought. And the thought became the substance, and the substance burst into being, and the being burst into thought. And the thought roamed in the silence, in the silence of the thought. And the thought knew well, yet the thought knew not ~

Tommy D_____December 1999

JOHN 1 (1-14)

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All things were made by him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light. That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.

He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.

And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.

Amen

A & P
A Short Story by John Updike
>> click >>

“Hello Winston. I’m pleased that we could get together tonight, I’m happy to see you again, ” the voice said.

“My pleasure,” replied Winston, “it’s always my pleasure.”

“Yes it is,” the voice replied, “but it’s my pleasure also.”

“Yes,” said Winston, “it is your pleasure also.”

“These are pleasurable moments when we meet like this, would you not agree, Winston?” said the voice.

“Yes,” said Winston, “pleasurable moments and pleasing as well.”

“But there have been times, Winston, when it hasn’t always been quite so pleasurable and pleasing, I think you’ll agree.”

“We’ve had our differences, yes. We haven’t always seen eye to eye but things are different now,” said Winston.

“Yes Winston, things are different now,” the voice said. “Now, tell me Winston, would you like to begin where we left off at the end of our last session? Or would you prefer to move in a new direction? Perhaps you would prefer to take a simple test. No wires attached, Winston, just a simple little test involving a pen, a sheet of paper and a wristwatch.”

“Oh yes,” Winston cried, “I would prefer to move in this new direction.”

“Fine, then let’s begin. I’m going to take the tip of my pen and make a black dot on this sheet of paper that you see here, Winston. There! Do you see the black dot that I created?” said the voice.

“Yes I see it,” said Winston.

“Clearly, do you see it clearly? I don’t want you to merely imagine it. Clearly then, you see that I have created a black dot on this paper here before you?"

“Yes, it is absolutely clear to me,” Winston nodded.

“I’m happy that we both agree that I have placed a black dot on this paper, because in fact I have. I’m glad that we both see the dot clearly, Winston. When dealing with facts it’s very easy to agree isn’t it?"

“Yes indeed, it is very easy to agree when dealing with facts,” said Winston and then he smiled.

“Winston, my boy,” said the voice, somewhat irritated, “with nothing but this pen, this sheet of paper and this watch, I’m now going to wipe that silly smile from your face, and then I’m going to make you frown.”

“Have I said something wrong?” Winston asked. And within an instant the smile was gone.

“No, no,” the voice laughed, “not yet, Winston! But we’re only halfway there. Now let’s see if we can make you frown? Look again at this sheet of paper and the black dot that I created. Now watch carefully as I make another black dot on the paper. There! Now tell me Winston, do you have any doubt in your mind that I created another black dot?”

“No,” said Winston, “I have no doubt whatsoever”

“Of course you don’t,” said the voice, “because you watched me do it! So can we agree there are now two black dots on the paper?”

“Yes,” said Winston, “there are two black dots."

“Is that a fact?” asked the voice.

“Yes,” Winston said, “that is a fact.”

“Splendid,” said the voice. “Now watch what I do next and then I’ll test you with a simple question, and I’m absolutely certain you will answer the question correctly. Are you ready?”

Winston nodded his head but said nothing.

"I am going to place the tip of the pen on the first dot that I created, Winston, and we’ll check the time on the watch. I will then immediately move the pen to the second dot. When I have completed the task, I want you to tell me how long it took me to do it. Do you understand?"

Winston nodded his head once again and then he smiled to himself because he could clearly see what was about to happen.

“Watch as I do it. Pay close attention. There, it is done! Now, how much time elapsed, from when I touched the first dot, until I touched the second dot?”

“It took no time at all, none whatsoever.” Winston said.

“And why is that?” asked the voice.

“Because you had placed the second dot precisely on top of the first dot that you created. You didn’t move the pen. You put the tip of the pen on the dot and you didn’t move it.”

“Very good, Winston, I knew that you would answer the question correctly, I just knew it. You see, Winston, without movement, there is no such thing as time. Do you understand? Time is just a theory, it is a concept that was created in order to measure movement, Winston. Time cannot be expressed unless there is movement. No movement – no time! Do you understand?"

Winston shook his head and frowned. He was sorry to say, but he did not quite understand.

The voice cackled and laughed. “Now let’s go back in time to our previous session, Winston. Do you remember where we left off last time? Do you remember the last question?”

“How can I possibly forget?” Winston replied.

“Then answer the question again! How many fingers, Winston, how many fingers are on my hand? Come on Winston, I know that you know the right answer!”

“I don’t know!” Winston cried out, “I don’t know how many!”

"You are perfectly right,” said the voice. ‘I don’t know' is the correct answer. Good night, Winston.”

This Short Story was Brought To You By British American Tobacco

Who Cares How Charlie Parker Died

There’s so much to remember, so much to learn, like never a state before. Seven times eight, it’s fifty-four.
How to eat with a spoon, how to tie a shoe, look both ways, changing views. How to speak to a ghost, playing house, hiding under a bed. How to use the right hand, how to throw a ball, stand up when counted, catch a fall.

How to wave good-bye, when not to cry, how to live on the other side. How to pace yourself, when to take off, how to find the spot, play an instrument. How to say I won’t go, how to hold it in, when to say no, smoke a cigarette. How to fall asleep, wake up a fool, say may I, when you know that you can. How to smile in defeat, when to take a stance, stand up for applause, and pogo-dance.

The colour of blue, how to act surprised, the taste of chocolate delight. ‘I’ before ‘E’ – most of the time, how to speak in the present tense. The birds, the breeze, when not to lie, and so it goes. Ahh – the ride.

“Wow! Grampa come here. Hurry!” The voice of a young boy, excited. His name is Steven and he was about to take his first ride into the stars. “Grampa! It’s just like you said it would be.”

The clock strikes twelve. It’s midnight blue. There are no clouds. The sky is a mirror, a reflecting pool with a thousand brilliant sparkles of light. The moon is a solitary slit of white – Serene. Absolutely peaceful – no reason to lie. We’re at peace here – here on the island.

“I’ll be right there,” I said, knowing what he had found.

“Hurry Grandpa!” he cried, full of awe. “Man! This is awesome,” he said, standing high on a ledge overlooking the lake, with his head facing up, facing the stars.

“Steve,” I hollered, “don’t stand too close to the edge. I don’t want you to fall.”

He turned his flashlight from the midnight sky, aimed the light beam toward the ground, and stepped back twice.

“Look!” he cried, as I walked toward him, toward the lake. I bet we got the best sky in the whole wide world, eh Grampa?”

No question about it, I thought. We stood there together under a bed of stars, generations apart.

“Wow!” I said. My mind ventured into the sky. The time has come, it’s time to fly. It was perfect. Not a single cloud, not a whisper of air, we stood in silence beneath the moon. Not a sound except for the crying of a distant loon.

We stood there captured by the stars, far too many to name. We stood there in a state of wonder until, “Grab your life jacket we’re going out,” I declared, “to ride in the stars.”

I could feel the gleaming in his smile, he began to cheer, “We’re big enough eh Grampa!” as he raised a fist into the air. “But what about Gramma?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about Grandma, she’ll be all right,” I said. “Besides, this-here is a man’s ride,” I tell him, “now let’s take off!”

We took off running down the path following Steve’s beam of light streaming towards our boat at the bottom of the hill.

“Climb in,” I said, gulping the air, a little out of breath.

I pushed off and we were on our way.

“Can I drive?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Of course you can,” I said, “but first let me start the engine. Now lets get outta here! Head for the spot.”

Like two rookie players called up to the show, “You be Dizzy, I’ll be Gillespie,” I said, playing our roles. We laughed out loud.

“We’re not ’fraidee cats – right Grampa?” Steve shouted. “They always land on their feet you know,” he told me.

“That’s right,” I said, “and birds don’t fly into the dark of night.”

“Except Charlie-Boid,” Steve corrected me. “He flew one night, remember Grampa?”

Yeah I remember. Damn crazy bird. Born and raised in a New York style. One lonely gull, forsaken or forgotten, or just plain foolish enough to come all the way up here to Ontario, to live alone on a distant lake. He was a squawker. Always squawkin’ about somethin’ or an other, piercing the upper parts, looking for the perfect note!

But he was beautiful to watch in the early morning dawn, diving through air, pure silver white, spin into a cloud, out of sight, then emerge again off to the right, into the blue. He could drift, wander in the wind, then pump his wings and pull himself up, again and again into the warmth of the sun. He was strong when he was having fun.

Charlie-Boid took off one night just a squeelin’ and a sqauwkin’ and he never looked back.

['A man ain’t nothin’ but a man,' John Henry once said, just before he took off. Some folk say he died from workin’ his self too hard. Some folk say he died from a broken heart. Some folk don’t say anything at all.]

“Do you think maybe he could be dead or somethin’? Steven asked.

“Don’t be silly,” I snapped, “Boid just gets crazy sometime.”

“Yeah Grampa, crazy Ol’ Charlie-Boid. What a crazy Ol’ Bird! But man, he could fly. He could really go! And he sure could squawk a lot, but just mostly when we went fishin’ eh Grampa? He could really catch a fish, ’member? Better than anyone! Better than you and me, that’s for sure!” Steve said, poking fun at our lackluster fishing skills.

“Yeah he was the best!” I said with a smile. “Seemed to know just where to find them.”

“Hey Grampa, we goin’ the right way?” Steve asked, interrupting my thoughts.

I looked around, searching the outline of the trees that surrounded this tiny lake. “Perfect,” I said, “straight ahead we’re almost there. Turn the motor off, we’ll just glide in.”

The engine stopped and glide we did, through black-purple water, sparkling with stardust, flickering, like the sky above. It’s quiet again without the engine's roar. The sound of still water makes me feel, feel as though I’m in control. And then as if by my command, or perhaps by chance, a roaming summer breeze strolls in.

“This is the spot where it all began,” I said, "Welcome to the Theatre Dome."

We laid back in the boat, with our faces and toes pointing as far as they could towards the stars. Within a few moments of organized care, I heard, “Hey Grampa! If you just forget for a while, about being in the boat, about being on your back, it makes you feel like you’ve flipped upside down. It feels like I'm looking down and floating on top of the stars – Whoa! Did you see that Grandpa? Whoa, there goes another one!”

“Shooting stars,” I said. “Distant travelers streaking across our sky, sprinkling us with dust. Fragments of a long lost sun.”

“Gramma says they’re spirits. The spirits of little boys and girls,” Steven said, never to be forgotten.

I approved. “I think she’s right. They are spirits and they’re on their way to heaven!” I said, ending the thought.

“I know Grampa,” Steven agreed, “or they’re on their way back ... right?”

Like two birds from Filla-ma-loo that always flew backward, looking at where they had been instead of where they were going, we too looked backward in time. A stage of graveyard tales unveiled in a magical myth of youth. The sky, a vision of previous times, when dragons roamed, and magic swords with clouds of smoke and flame. We saw centaurs, a captain of charging men and pipers who’d lost their will to win. We saw a maiden in distress, wild Ho-Dawgs, and Pecos Bill.

The sky was a festival, a playground for children, full of wonderful creatures, characters of time, skeletons of the past. We searched the sky from side to side for the Hideous Hide Behind, but every time we whirled around trying to see it, "it would hide behind".

“Scariest damn thing I ain’t never seen,” I said, telling him another story.

“No one has ever seen him, right Grampa?” Stevie whispered with a sense of danger in his voice. “I bet he has huge shark’s teeth,” he said thoughtfully. “I think he has fangs and really sharp claws too. Yeah! And a monster’s tail and ... Grampa!” He paused and peeked over the side of the boat then grabbed my arm tightly. “Can he swim?” he whispered loudly!

I put my arm around his shoulder. “Not a chance,” I said. “He can only hide in the sky! Besides that, he only eats potatoes,” I assured him.

Stevie seemed surprised and put his mind at ease. “He’s The Potato Eater?” he said, laughing with a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’d be afraid uh him!”

“Get ready,” I said, “it’s about to begin.”

Surrounded by nature’s harmony – rhythm and space – we lay there breathing and listening to air. Existing, solely for a glimpse of the moment, only to lapse into memories of what it was like, the colours begin to emerge. Rising from the horizon of deep-water blue, a fiery yellow-red-orange, like a golden crown of thorns reaching out, searching for the temple of Vincent Van Gogh.

“Grampa, it looks like gold! Real gold!” Stevie shouted.

“Could you imagine,” I said, “just imagine how rich we would be if it was real?”

Steven thought for a moment. “Wow! Boy oh boy would we be rich!” he exclaimed. “Rich enough to buy anything in the whole world if we wanted to, eh Grampa? That’d be cool. We’d be the boss, eh? We’d be the boss of the whole wide world.”

He began to nod his head. “First I’d buy Gramma some baby blue tigers to pet and to hold,” he said, pondering his every move. “And the best house where we all could live. The biggest one, except not too big, ’cause you know how Gramma gets mad when she has to clean it!”
He went on in general, buying things for all his friends, saving the world in his own little way until finally he said, “And then I’d give everybody a whole week off! Yep ... ’cause that’s what a king would do. Right Grampa?”

Suddenly the sky lit itself up with a mighty flash - cracked open like an egg - sending a bolt of light twisting towards us faster than life. “Oh no!” I said, clutching my chest. “Hit the deck!”

But it was too late.

“Grampa! Don’t be a fool. Get up and look! It’s just that Crazy Ol’ Bird and he's real big and bright! And what the heck? He’s wearing an Elvis suit!”

It was Charlie Boid all right – traveling back in time.

Appears he’d gone off to join the rodeo, changed his mind, and on his way back stopped off for a spell, at an Elvis School. Learned to read and write real good, preaching about all he knew for certain, in just a line or two.

There he was - restored to youth - bopping in the light, blowing in a cosmic wind, wearing his famous suit, pure silver white, trimmed in gold, with a touch of blue.

He began his show with a warm southern drawl, talking about his army buds, telling it like it was, then started to jitter and shake like a leaf. Without pause he broke into a medley of songs, boo-hooing about tender love, jiving to 'Teddy Bear' and baby I don’t care, then drove it all home with, “You ain’t nothin’ but a hound dog.” I think it was the best rendition we had ever heard.

It was over as fast as it all began. He took off wild, with our applause, spinning in a spiral of powder blue dust. “Thank-oo” he said, as only he can, “thank-oo very much!” He left a rainbow for us to touch.

The following morning, came without warning, upon me like a ton of stone. I had slept like an old log, snored like a bear. Dead tired, but what can you do, it was time to get up, to rise and shine. And so I awoke! To the whiffs of mahogany, chestnuts roasting on a wood burning stove, fresh coffee, hominy, and cinnamon toast.

I rubbed my eyes, coming out of a dream. “Welcome back stranger,” an angel proclaimed, with a warm soothing voice, “how was the ride?”

August, 1995

Flash Fiction or Short Story
>> GO >>

Dear Christie, I like your work. I’ll try not to bore you with mine.

I am Tommy D_____ Professor of Smozology. You may not remember me since we have never met. Our communication has always been one way. You to me. But let’s not talk of the past, let’s talk of the future me ... and you.

Wait!

A devilishly funny picture in technicolour blue creeps into mind. You’re standing and saying right about now, "As far as I’m concerned this is the end Tommy," and now you’re scrunching me up and tossing me into your furnace tray. No recycling here.

"You shall go no further with me, take yourself elsewhere!" Your words – not mine! I hate it when that happens. My wish is for your daring to tell the whole world what I say – to you. Present me in a way.

I’ve enclosed a sampling of mine. All of it really. A short story. I think it’s a "Very Short Acting Story," somewhat like a poem; acting ’cause it doesn’t qualify in the strictest sense, but is by today’s standards, say yours or mine, probably – a dandy poem. I think it’s actually a tale with rhythm or perhaps a tune without a home.

What say you give it a read. It’s called Karla Too. I present it as a letter to my good friends because that is what it is.

Your Good Friend,

Tommy D_____

To my good friends, Ken Le Something or other, and Terry....
Just kidding! But seriously, how do you spell LeManes?

Karla Too

This here is the story A thousand years old
Retold - Retold - Retold
A strumming of the bottom strokes
We’ll make her pitch and wail
Pick up the piece start over again
Again and again start over again
Pounding A-pounding O-pound in my head
Roll Over Roll Over don’t you play dead
Hear-ye Hear-ye Hear-ye-all
It was Paul It was Paul It was Paul

Come-a-come-a see yourself – Come to the court house
Come-a-come-a stand in line – Spend a time
Come-a-come-a hear the crime – Come to the court house

For who shall I feel for K-K or Paul
For who shall I feel for whom
I put the question to the test
How many more before I confess
How many more How many more
It was really him I was under a spell
I’m not a witch you know
Remember this Remember this
Who gave her the teddy bear
Remember this Remember this
I’m not a separatist

Come-a-come-a see yourself – Come to the court house
Come-a-come-a hear the deal – Cold as steel
Come-a-come-a Karla Teal – Come to the court house

To have a big heart within a big brain
’Tis enough t’escape t’run in a way
Away from it all away from the fall
Away from the pleasure away from the pain
Away from a love away from a love
Away little girl dressed up in ’er clothes
Away from a love with nowhere to go
What shall I do What shall I do
I be bad – I be bad – I be bad

Come-a-come-a see yourself – Come to the court house
Come-a-come-a hear the lies – Feel the cries
Come-a-come-a see the wails – Come to the court house

Now how shall I present my case
How should I wear my hair
A wounded soul without a trace
How shall I wear my face’n’care
He was cool It was Paul He was cruel
I’ll say A smashing good affair
I’ll tell the words I heard him say
I was only acting in a play
’Twas all his show ’Twas all his way
- I never opened my mouth -

Come-a-come-a see yourself – Come to the court house
Come-a-come-a see the trust – Hear the lust
Come-a-come-a feel a’gust – Come to the court house

The war rages on it goes on it goes on
For some it will never end
Into the night into the night
Will mornin’ ever come t’ light
Fade to the black Fade to the bleak
Fade to the pawn Fade to the weak
Fade t’Goddamn does anybody hear
The beat of a heart wrapped in a soul
Found laying in peace cry under it all
I belong — I belong — I belong

Come-a-come-a see yourself
Come to the court house
Come-a-come-a see the fears
Feel the tears
Come-a-come-a hear the jeers
Come to the court house

This here is the story a thousand years old
How many more How many more
I’ll take you aback where it all begun
Retold — Retold — Retold
We stare into it. We run on our own!
Come this far, can’t never go home.
The shedding of the skin you see!
They came They saw
They gassed up for free
Act one — Scene two — Take three

.......END

Coming To Your Local Theatre In September
“I Loves Ya’ Honey But You Sweat Like a Pig”

Once Again Your Good Friend

Tommy D_____

Professor of Smozology

(August, 1995)

Crime Library
>> go >>

Paul and Karla
>> go >>

Christie Blatchford
>> go >>

Why Is Rhythm Important?
>>> go >>>

The president was to be summoned. An urgency of unprecedented magnitude was unfolding, and his top advisors were at a standstill. The best minds that America had to offer, could not agree on a course of action, and pandemonium was beginning to set in. With all of their collective wisdom, and combined training, nothing had prepared them for this latest crisis, and some were prepared to resign on the spot, while others were beginning to whine like little children! A full-fledged revolt was in the making and history was about to be written, if only a pen could be found.

President Bush was enjoying a hot relaxing shower, and looking forward to 'Story Time' and a good nights rest, when his most senior advisor barged into his bathroom and jumped into the shower with him. "I have a most urgent request, sir! And I was informed that it cannot wait. Dick Chaney said there isn't a moment to spare."

"Dick!?" cried the president. There was an aggravated tone in his voice. "Is he okay? Is it his heart? His daughter hasn't run away has she? She's gay, as everyone knows, and Dick's been taking a terrible pounding─"

"It's not his heart, sir, or his daughter. It's far worse than that!"

"Well what is it!?" The president demanded to know. "Don't keep me in suspense, boy, give me the short strokes ─ brief me!"

"I've been sworn to secrecy, Mr. President, I cannot breathe a word of it. Please, we must hurry," he said as he tore back the curtain and reached for the presidential towel.

"Give me that towel you fumbling fool," the president lashed out. "Where is Chaney? And how long will it take us to reach him?"

"He's only minutes away, sir, he's hiding in the basement."

"We don't say hiding," the President stammered, "and we don't say basement. Have you forgotten proper etiquette and protocol?"

"I'm sorry, sir," said the aid, "he's currently residing in the bunker!"

"That's better young man…that's way better!"

"Rumsfeld and Rice and some of the newly appointed are with him and they're all holding hands. It's as if they're in the midst of an inferno, sir, and Caspar has bolted."

"Caspar?"

"Weinberger, sir."

"What was he doing there?"

"Special envoy as I understand it. Rumsfeld called him in."

"Has the Donald been drinking again?"

"Looks to be straight as an arrow, but he called Caspar out of desperation. He said he could foresee an impasse and he decided to muster up all the help he could get."

"Did he actually say 'impasse' or are you paraphrasing?"

"What he actually said, sir, if I may check my notes…yes, here it is, 'This could be a fucking scorcher!' is what he actually said.”

"I don't like the sounds of that."

"That's why I said impasse, sir."

"Should I bring some bring jellybeans?"

"Jelly-beans?"

"For Caspar."

"Not required, sir, I told you, he took off like a jackrabbit right after the Donald whispered something in his ear."

"Okay! I've heard enough, what's going on?" the President demanded of his most senior advisor. "And don't give me any of that 'sworn to secrecy crap,' as if I didn't know how to break an oath. I'm not going into the bunker to talk turkey until I have some notes. I don't even know what the hell the subject is!"

"It's Emmanuel, sir," said the aid, "He has returned."

"Emmanuel?"

"Jesus, sir, ─ the Christ."

"Jesus Christ? Jesus of Nazareth?"

"None other, sir."

"What's up with our borders? How did He get in? Was it through Mexico or Canada? Don't tell me He walked across the water."

"I would if it were so, sir, but it seems He dropped in right out of the blue, as best we can tell."

"So much for NORAD. Remind me to put out an urgent request to spruce-up our missile defense system. But one crisis at a time. Do we have any idea what He wants? Have there been any demands?"

"No actual demands Mr. President, but word has it, I don't know how best to convey this…" and here the advisor stumbled for words.

"Go ahead, blurt it out as best you can. Time is precious!"

"From what I overheard, I think He covets the throne."

"I should have guessed as much," said the President. "Okay, let's take stock. If He got in, He got in, the damage is already done. We can't very well turn the clock back. Any ideas? Give me something to jot down."

"Well sir, I have given it some thought. You could tell Him that He has twenty-four hours to leave on His own volition and if He doesn't comply that you'll personally have Him thrown out. Remember how the Germans kicked the Moors out of Spain?"

"Brief me. Did they give them twenty-four hours?"

"I think it was more like a hundred years but time is not on our side, sir. We could use a similar strategy, just tighten the time-line and send Him packing."

"I wrote that down, but what if He balks."

"If it were a game of baseball that would be an illegal move, sir, and it would probably get you to first. But what we have here is more serious than our national pastime. Maybe you should propose a showdown and go mano-a-mano."

"I don't like the odds," the President said. "Maybe the Donald could put on his gloves and go toe-to-toe. I wish John Wayne hadn't passed away," he said with a remorseful look in his eye.

"I wonder what Johnny Carson would do, sir, if he were in your shoes?"

"Hardly a day goes by that I haven't asked myself that very same question. I remember when I was growing up─"

"Actually sir, I'm sorry to be the first to inform you, but I had an underling call Johnny's office just yesterday. But Johnny's not responding or accepting any calls. All we get is his answering service. And sir! Look at the time! I'd like nothing more than to reminisce, but Chaney and the others must be getting a little hot under the collar by now and─"

"Well taken," said the President, "let's get on with my notes."

"Where did we leave off, sir, I seem to have wandered."

"We left off with a showdown," the President said, referring to his notes. "I suppose I could suggest a dual at sundown when the Donald appears to be at his best."

"That may not be the best time sir."

"How about tomorrow at noon?"

"Why not midnight, sir? The Donald could take advantage of our superior technology."

"Yes, yes! Why didn't I think of that? Bring my night-vision goggles, the Donald and I have the same size head."

"Hold on, not so fast. He's not alone sir. I don't know that it would be fair to send the Donald in on his own. Perhaps we should send in some assistants."

"What do you mean He's not alone?"

"He has an entourage."

"An entourage?"

"Yes sir, he brought a few disciples with him."

"How many?"

"Innumerable."

"Is that more than a division?"

"Let me think for a moment, sir."

"What would Obi-Wan do, if only he were here?"

"Is that rhetorical, sir?"

"Rhetorical my ass, we need all the help we can afford."

"Perhaps we should just sleep on this, sir. What if it's nothing but a bad dream."

"This is no dream and you know it as well as I do," said the President and he gave himself a pinch. "Ouchie! Ouchie!"

Realizing full well that he was awake, and knowing that sending the Donald to do his battle when the Christ had innumerable support would be futile, the president stood and announced, "Call-up Hoss Cartwright, Dan Blocker and Jessie The Kid, then call-up Rodrigo and call him El Cid. Get the Clintons and Kenneth Star and let everyone out of jail! Deputize them all." And as an afterthought he added, "Are there any manuals on His tactics or His method of execution?"

"There has been plenty written sir, but I think it would be folly even if the Clintons were to join and I don't know how fast we could amass all the others?"

"All right, never mind them, I'll go this alone. Saddle-up my pinto. What's He riding? Did he bring His famous mule?"

"I wish it were so, sir, but word has just arrived from General Geraldo and he tells a different story. According to Geraldo, He was last seen on a stallion and He had a fiery sword in His mouth."

"Well I can fight fire with fire if that's the way He wants it. Bring me some water and grab me one of those Obi-Wan swords. Then stand aside, boy, I have work to do!"

(And so ends another saga and an outcome we will never reveal.)

Rocky Meets Bobby Fischer

I hear they’re working on the next Rocky script, and word has it that it’s actually more of a mind game, but with some of the old fisticuffs thrown in. The premise of the next movie is quite simple. Rocky Balboa has reached old age and is worn, torn, and tired. His body is bent and broken, but his spirit still blazes. Together with his good friend Paulie, they travel the world searching for Bobby Fischer. With a determination unsurpassed in movie history, they decide to track him down, confront him and challenge him to a game of chess. One game - winner take all.

They search throughout Europe, Africa, the Middle and Far East but to no avail. They circle back and they finally hunt him down in the United States. They find that he’s been hiding all these years under a bridge in Brooklyn New York. Rocky and Paulie approach him cautiously and Rocky challenges Bobby to a game of chess. Rocky is determined that he is going to beat Bobby Fischer at his own game and go out feeling like a champion. But Bobby declines his offer with the shake of his head (not one word is spoken by him) thereby denying Rocky his chance to become the chess champion. The two men stand toe to toe and look each other squarely in the eye. Rocky feels rejected. He feels the anger that rises within him and he becomes furious. He cries out for Adrian! Paulie rushes to his side and steps between the two men. “Look!” he cries, and he thrust his fist straight up into the air, his forefinger protruding and pointing toward heaven. “There goes Elvis!” he shouts. Bobby drops his hands by his side and looks skyward. Rocky sees an opportunity (this would later become known as Bobby’s blunder) and throws his best punch hitting Bobby square on the chin. Bobby spins around and crashes to the ground hitting it with a solid thud. Paulie looks down at the fallen man. “Nice gambit,” he says. He reaches for Rocky’s arm and raises it high over his head. “For Adrian!” he cries out. Rocky turns and faces the camera and we notice that he has a wry little smile on his old withered face. “Fuckin’ woodpusher,” he says, and the picture fades. The End

Tommy D_____

Sylvester Stallone Meets Rocky
>> video >>