“The Chairman bequeathes the floor to the glaireous Senatuh Grahmquackery of the malodorous state of discontent.”
“Tis a travesty. naught but cocksuckery and gallimaufery. If Justice Kavanauseous is to be digitally admonished for a mere peccadillo of adolescent debauchery than Senator Kamelass can pick a peck of pickled peppers off my lily white ass.”
“My curiosity has gotten the best of me Senator Grahmcracker. Speaking of your lily white ass, how much does it go for these days on the Charleston Battery?”
“Senator Kamelass, the $130,000 in question was merely a donation from our deipotent proselytizer for the hectorment of the gobemouche. There was no houghmagandry nor scullyishishness. Such claims are the gormless ramblings of a product of your mazopathian mythomania. Mere grimgribberishness out of the mouth of the Senator from the deluded State of Californication. Mr. Chairman, I submit.”
“Well Senator Grahmcrackery, the term is yield. Though you may be more familiar with submission we must practice decorum in these hallowed halls. The chair now calls on the honorable Senator Creamcheese. Suzie the boys have decided to hear the ladies point of view. The floor is yours.”
Senator Creamcheese looks about in befuddlement and fear.
The Chairman looks toward Senator Ornate Hatchback in confusion and then leans over and whispers in his ear.
“Is she awake?
Suzie, Suzie Creamcheese. Have you been drinking the Kool Aid?”
“Oh you boys. I didn’t realize you were talking to me. I was just so impressed with Grahamcrackers thespianic indignation. You boys do get excited.
Now
I think she was just lovely. I do believe her. Whatever happened to her at Woodstock or whereever must have been traumatic. And that traumatic experience must have had a profound impact on her sweet little mollycoddled brain. Probably related to those endomorphins or endorphins or whatever it was she was ingesting while she was running around naked hallucinating. I truly do believe her. But she has no one to corroborate.
You have to corroborate you know.
I just think its horrible the way that the Demagogues and the evil media have been sliming Justice Kavanauseous with their grandiloquent claims. Boys will be boys and sluts will be sluts. Right boys?
Thank you for letting me come to your clubhouse.”
“Senator Creamcheese, you don’t have to thank us for coming to the clubhouse everytime you speak.
Now, the chair yields the floor to the Master of Disaster, the Bard of SLC, the silver haired orater and God’s own Latter Day Saint, the Honorable Ornate Hatchback.”
Senator Hatchback smoothed his perfectly coifed silver locks, snapped his lapels and adjusted his cufflinks. An undertakers grin spread from east to west. He leans into the microphone.
“E-flat walks into a bar. The bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve minors.”
The boys club chuckles.
“Somehow things got lost in the shuffle. A 15 year old streetwalker was drinking beer in the bedroom of a loyal party donor. Where is the accountability? 35 years later we are presented with flimflammery and galbanum. Well, its time for the Demagogues to beat feet. This little act of consentsatory back seat bingo is not going to bring down one of Gods chosen. He told me so himself.
This whole hearing has been a bonafide bummer. Haver from the hobbish. Nothing but morphean interjecture.
E-Flat is going down. This one is in the bag.
Are you ready for a vote brothers?’
He scans the room then leans into the microphone and yells.
“I said, are you ready for a vote?”
Senator Creamcheese shimmies out from behind her desk shaking pom poms and busting her bootie for all its worth and confetti and red balloons drop from the ceiling.
And so it was. The vote came in strictly along party lines with the exception of a backroom deal between Senators Munchkin and Senator Murkywaters to trade allegiance for proprieties sake.
The Lord has spoken.
Whistle Down The Wind 