Chapter 8
AN UNSCRATCHABLE ITCH
Vice President Rod Meaney was not in the habit of comparing himself to animals of any kind, let alone extinct ones. He didn’t have that kind of mind. To him, an armadillo was an armadillo and a Vice President was a Vice President, and that was just the way it was. If he had overheard the President’s thoughts about armadillos and tyrannosaurus rexes, he would have thought the president had gone crazy and may well have taken the opportunity to alert others in the government to the fact as a first step towards ascending to the presidency himself, which would have been ironic since it was in fact the Vice President who was, according to most standards, insane, or, as President Junior would have put it, “more loco ‘n’a starvin’ coyote unner a full moon”.
But the Vice President had no insight into the President’s musings, which was probably just as well. And the President had no insight into the Vice President’s, which was a catastrophe, or would soon turn out to have been.
At 9:03 AM the President and the Vice President of the Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known spoke for the last time. They ended their conversation on a light note, which made sense since both men were happy and had what they wanted. The President had signed the Order of Conferral, thereby shaking off the burdens and cares of Ultimate Power, and was now free to devote himself fully to accepting the adulation of millions, which was always a lot of fun. And the Vice President was deep in the heart of his Undisclosed Location, on top of things, officially in charge, and fully erect.
He forced a chuckle as he hung up the phone and it came out almost exactly as he had intended. He liked the sound of it. He tried again. The second chuckle was a little weaker than the first, and might have been taken for a cough if there had been anybody nearby to hear it. But Vice President Rod Meaney was alone in the CNT. The third chuckle was the best so far – five distinct “ha” sounds, each a little softer than the last. He looked around, just to make sure there was nobody there, even though he knew that the closest persons were the two sentries who stood watch outside the sole entrance to the Undisclosed Location Core Area – more than a hundred and fifty feet away on the other side of a sealed yard-thick steel door. There was not a person on earth who could see or hear him, no matter how hard they might have tried.
Vice President Rod Meaney took a deep breath, threw back his head, hesitated a moment, and then let out a bona fide cackle. He had not let himself go like this in years. It was fun! He remembered a movie he had once seen in which a bald man from some foreign country stood with his fists planted on his hips, leaned slightly backwards and forced out an impressive series of baritone HA HA HA’s. The Vice President assumed this position and began to laugh when he suddenly had to stop.
He felt an itch beneath his sternum, an unscratchable itch – his artificial heart had shifted slightly to the right. It was alright. This happened from time to time. He knew what to do. He flinched his shoulders three or four times and then shimmied for a few seconds. He looked like a man in the throes of some sort of seizure, but what did it matter? There was no one else around. After six or seven seconds of willed spasm, his heart was back in the right place.
Once, his heart had shifted out of place during a state dinner for Bruce Didgeree, Prime Minister of the Antipodes, an important ally in the Global Crusade Against Evil, and, incidentally, a 3 handicap golfer. Meaney had had to sit there enduring the unscratchable itch for the better part of three hours before he could find an opportunity to excuse himself. He’d even had to give a toast and then dance with Mrs. Didgeree.
And then, soon after he had finally made it to the restroom, someone walked in to find the Vice President of The Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known apparently dancing, poorly, in a bathroom, by himself.
This person had announced his presence with a slight cough. Meaney froze momentarily. A series of thoughts passed through his mind in quick, orderly succession: he was going to have to turn around; he must act as though nothing were amiss; he would accomplish this by looking into the eyes of whoever this was with a level, unabashed gaze; he must try to smile; the ideal impression would be of slight (only slight) drunkenness that had released a spiritedness and good humor that was not inconsistent with being the Vice President of The Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known. He already felt better – this was a plan, a workable plan. He’d clap whoever this was on the shoulder and ask if he was having a good time. This person would be impressed that the formidable, and apparently humorless, Vice President Rod Meaney could occasionally let his hair down and enjoy himself, just like normal people. This person would take away a favorable impression. He would say to his colleagues, “You know, there’s actually a lot more to Vice President Rod Meaney than we realized.” This could open doors. This could smooth the way to things. Yes – this was going to work. As he began to turn, one last thought crossed his mind: please, God, let it not be the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
An instant later, Vice President Rod Meaney found himself face to face with the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
Next chapter:
THE CANDY-ASSED FRENCH FOREIGN MINISTER, in which we meet the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
Vice President Rod Meaney was not in the habit of comparing himself to animals of any kind, let alone extinct ones. He didn’t have that kind of mind. To him, an armadillo was an armadillo and a Vice President was a Vice President, and that was just the way it was. If he had overheard the President’s thoughts about armadillos and tyrannosaurus rexes, he would have thought the president had gone crazy and may well have taken the opportunity to alert others in the government to the fact as a first step towards ascending to the presidency himself, which would have been ironic since it was in fact the Vice President who was, according to most standards, insane, or, as President Junior would have put it, “more loco ‘n’a starvin’ coyote unner a full moon”.
But the Vice President had no insight into the President’s musings, which was probably just as well. And the President had no insight into the Vice President’s, which was a catastrophe, or would soon turn out to have been.
At 9:03 AM the President and the Vice President of the Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known spoke for the last time. They ended their conversation on a light note, which made sense since both men were happy and had what they wanted. The President had signed the Order of Conferral, thereby shaking off the burdens and cares of Ultimate Power, and was now free to devote himself fully to accepting the adulation of millions, which was always a lot of fun. And the Vice President was deep in the heart of his Undisclosed Location, on top of things, officially in charge, and fully erect.
He forced a chuckle as he hung up the phone and it came out almost exactly as he had intended. He liked the sound of it. He tried again. The second chuckle was a little weaker than the first, and might have been taken for a cough if there had been anybody nearby to hear it. But Vice President Rod Meaney was alone in the CNT. The third chuckle was the best so far – five distinct “ha” sounds, each a little softer than the last. He looked around, just to make sure there was nobody there, even though he knew that the closest persons were the two sentries who stood watch outside the sole entrance to the Undisclosed Location Core Area – more than a hundred and fifty feet away on the other side of a sealed yard-thick steel door. There was not a person on earth who could see or hear him, no matter how hard they might have tried.
Vice President Rod Meaney took a deep breath, threw back his head, hesitated a moment, and then let out a bona fide cackle. He had not let himself go like this in years. It was fun! He remembered a movie he had once seen in which a bald man from some foreign country stood with his fists planted on his hips, leaned slightly backwards and forced out an impressive series of baritone HA HA HA’s. The Vice President assumed this position and began to laugh when he suddenly had to stop.
He felt an itch beneath his sternum, an unscratchable itch – his artificial heart had shifted slightly to the right. It was alright. This happened from time to time. He knew what to do. He flinched his shoulders three or four times and then shimmied for a few seconds. He looked like a man in the throes of some sort of seizure, but what did it matter? There was no one else around. After six or seven seconds of willed spasm, his heart was back in the right place.
Once, his heart had shifted out of place during a state dinner for Bruce Didgeree, Prime Minister of the Antipodes, an important ally in the Global Crusade Against Evil, and, incidentally, a 3 handicap golfer. Meaney had had to sit there enduring the unscratchable itch for the better part of three hours before he could find an opportunity to excuse himself. He’d even had to give a toast and then dance with Mrs. Didgeree.
And then, soon after he had finally made it to the restroom, someone walked in to find the Vice President of The Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known apparently dancing, poorly, in a bathroom, by himself.
This person had announced his presence with a slight cough. Meaney froze momentarily. A series of thoughts passed through his mind in quick, orderly succession: he was going to have to turn around; he must act as though nothing were amiss; he would accomplish this by looking into the eyes of whoever this was with a level, unabashed gaze; he must try to smile; the ideal impression would be of slight (only slight) drunkenness that had released a spiritedness and good humor that was not inconsistent with being the Vice President of The Most Powerful Nation The World Has Ever Known. He already felt better – this was a plan, a workable plan. He’d clap whoever this was on the shoulder and ask if he was having a good time. This person would be impressed that the formidable, and apparently humorless, Vice President Rod Meaney could occasionally let his hair down and enjoy himself, just like normal people. This person would take away a favorable impression. He would say to his colleagues, “You know, there’s actually a lot more to Vice President Rod Meaney than we realized.” This could open doors. This could smooth the way to things. Yes – this was going to work. As he began to turn, one last thought crossed his mind: please, God, let it not be the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
An instant later, Vice President Rod Meaney found himself face to face with the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
Next chapter:
THE CANDY-ASSED FRENCH FOREIGN MINISTER, in which we meet the candy-assed French Foreign Minister.
© by N. Ominous 18.1.05
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