“Chuck Q., I’m fresh out of ideas for a new column,” I said to my friend Chuck Q. Farley as we lingered at the table over coffee on New Year’s Day. Our wives evidently preferred washing the dishes to listening to us. “Can you help me?”
“Well, it bein’ New Year, what about the feller that stuck the pistol down his britches and got the trigger hung in his belt buckle?” he offered.
“That happened at midnight one New Year, sure enough, but I’m not certain I should write about it. Too much like John Bobbitt. But I guess I could use that story in another column about gun control.”
“Drackler, don’t be radical, now,” urged Chuck Q. “I’m tryin’ to cure you from writin’ stuff like that. I’ve got another idear. How about the new President’s impeachment?”
I blinked my eyes a couple of times. “What?” I asked. “Chuck Q., I thought you liked him!”
“Oh, he’ll be great!” Chuck Q. enthused. “But I seen a bunch of stuff on the Internet claimin’ he ort to be impeached, and I think he should at least try it out. Could be good for him. Can’t hurt to see if it works.”
“All right. Tell me how the new President would benefit from impeachment. This, I’ve GOT to hear,” I sighed as I pushed my glasses up on my forehead and rubbed my eyes.
“Well, it’s simple, Drackler. The man’s good, but he ain’t perfect, and you gotta admit, that orange makeup looks pretty stupid.”
“Amen to that, but how—”
“Hear me out. So, let him just TRY peach makeup on instead of orange, and he might do better. First I thought he could get some of them pretty lady cosmetic stars on the home shoppin’ networks to impeach him with it, maybe on live TV like that ‘Makeover Story’ reality show except it’ll be on prime time, and them girls bein’ experts with all colors, I’m sure they’d do a great job. There’s two troubles I see, though. One, if he’s impeached, peach makeup might make him look like he’s got the yaller janders even more than he does already with that Eau de Sunkist—”
“Oh, Lord!” I groaned.
“And second, if he’s on live TV, ‘specially prime time, he’ll have to resist the temptation to reach in and grab them cosmetic ladies by their—”
“Okay, okay, I get the point! Shh! Keep your voice down!”
“So you see, that could be a real deal breaker,” he continued, unfazed. “Then I thought: why not use MALE makeup people instead, if need be? Now, I don’t know any such men except undertakers. But I guess undertakers could work on a live person’s face just as well as one of their ordinary customers, couldn’t they?”
By now I was just rolling with the flow. “Well,” I mused, “undertakers don’t get the complaints from their ordinary customers that they would from live ones. Especially live Presidents with Twitter accounts. But since undertakers are always the very last people to let you down—yeah, why not use ‘em?”
“Glad you agree, Drackler! So I’m gonna write the new President a letter. If I mail it tomorrow it should reach him before he’s swore into office. I’ll tell him that he ort to be impeached as soon as possible, and if he can’t keep his hands to hisself, then undertakers needs to work on him!”
It took me a moment to respond to that one. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor, after all. “Chuck Q.,” I finally said slowly and carefully, “If Polly Esther’s got the good sense I remember her having when we worked together, she’ll never let you mail that letter. The Secret Service could take it as a threat against the new President’s person, or even his life! You’d make the national news, and have Men in Black all up and down the holler here! And get Twittered to death besides!”
“WHAT?” he exclaimed indignantly. “All that, just for me sharin’ my good idears with the new President? I swear, people away from here can be SO stupid about things sometimes! Well… if you think it’d put me and Polly Esther and the kids in danger from them Twitter people, I won’t do it, Drackler. But I wish I could come up with a column for you, at least.”
“Don’t worry, Chuck Q.,” I replied as I wondered if the new President would ever know, or Tweet, about my secret good-faith effort in behalf of his peace of mind—as well as that of his Twitter followers. “You have.”