Diary

How the Democratic Health Bill is like the Rotting Corpse of Peter Lorre

       It was dark and stormy night. Snow enveloped the streets of Washington. And at the door of the Smithsonian, three men knocked at the front door. With a creak, it slowly opened and there a craven misshapen creature, with notes inked on his hand….
       “Welcome , err… eh” the creature, quickly looking at his hand, “Welcome messieurs …Boehner, DeMint and McConnell…Welcome…”
       “Gibbs, what the hell is this all about” spat out McConnell
       “The Master will explain shortly, please follow me”
        The three men followed the creature, with Boehner just shaking his head, murmuring curses as they followed..the creature…into the museum. They were led to a door, down some stairs and into a windowless, hospital green room with a wide set of swinging doors on the far side.
        “I’ll call the Master” muttered the Gibbs creature and he quickly went through one of the doors.
        The three men just looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders.
        “Christ, November can’t get here quick enough” said McConnell.
        DeMint, ever the gentleman, “Hey, he won fair and square..I tried to warn you about McCain.”
        Suddenly, both doors swung open and the Master strode in, wearing a Surgeons gown with heavy black rubber gloves on his hands.
        “Gentlemen” greeted the Master
        “Mr. President” sounded all three men in unison…
        “You are wondering why I have called you here…I have decided to give you fair warning..for I am about to show you something that will change your mind..on healthcare..”
        The three men just stared at the President for an few uncomfortable moments of silence.
        Finally, Boehner spoke.  “Fat chance, Mr. President”
        With a wave of his hand the President brushed aside Boehner and yelled, “Rahm, wheel him in”
        The doors swung open and Rahm Emanuel, dressed just like his master, except for the addition of a hump on his back, wheeled in a table with a teleprompter attached. The table evidently had a body covered by a sheet on it.
        As Emanuel centered the table, a rancid stink filled the air, and the President pulled out a bottle of Vick’s vapor rub, opened it, stuck his finger in the jar and then rubbed the salve under his nostrils. He didn’t offer any to the three men. He walked over to the dolly and with a magicians flourish, grabbed the sheet and yelled “Voila!”
        There, on the table was a putrid green mass of half decayed flesh that only vaguely looked like the shape of man.
        “I present to you the rotting, yet still viable corps of Peter Lorre”
        Emanuel, rolling his eyes, quickly corrected the master “that ‘corpse’, my Master..”
        “Err..ughh, yes the rotting CORPSE of Peter Lorre”
        “What the hell is this crap” snarled McConnell.
        The President, startled, looked at Emanuel, who pointed to the teleprompter.
        “Oh..yess… I..ugh.. I present to you the rotting, yet still viable corpse of Peter Lorre and unless you three agree to meet with me at the Blair house with live television coverage to negotiate AND agree to my Healthcare bill, I will reveal Peter Lorre’s rotting yet viable corpse to all of America and claim that you three men refused to save the err…ugh..late Mr. Lorre’s life.”
        “Mr. President, have you been drinking?” said DeMint, with a soft whisper of concern.
        Again startled, the President again looked at Emanuel who dutifully pointed to the teleprompter, while trying to adjust his fake hump.
        “Uh..er…Uh…OK…oh I see it” said the President, then cleared his voice and in ringing, triumphant tones said “I will announce to all the world that You, DeMint, refused to donate your heart, and you McConnell, refused to donate your liver and You” pointing angrily at Boehner “refused to donate your lungs and by doing so….pause”
        Emanuel kicked the President the shins and hissed “that means ‘pause for effect’, not say “pause”, Damn it Barack, we practiced this 10 times already.”
        Emanuel whirled around and shouted out towards the swing doors, “Gibbs, rewind it back to ‘ refused to donate your lungs and by doing so” and wait till I yell ‘go!’…Ok ..GO!” and he kicked the President in the shin.
        Without missing a beat, the President said ” refused to donate your lungs and by doing so” and he paused with a smug air…”you three denied Peter Lorre a second chance of life…point your finger Up.”
        Emanuel kicked the President again and the President stuck his finger in the air.
        “Screw this” snarled Boehner and reached into his pocket, got his pack of cigarettes and lit one up.
        “Hey No Smoking allowed here…..I know, I tried and Rahm told me…” said the President, but Boehner just blew smoke in his face.
        DeMint, with his quiet, eastern South Carolina drawl, said “Mr. President, I’d like to point out that if we agreed to your demands, that you are asking us to die in order to donate our organs to this, for lack a better word, mound of rotting puss…”
        Smiling, the President said “Yes!” and pointed his finger even higher in the air.
        McConnell looked at the Emanuel, looked at President and then looked back at the Emanuel, shook his head and said “Horsesh*t…Listen Emanuel”.
        Emanuel shook his head and pointed to the President “You must address the Master!!”
        “Horsesh*t” said McConnell still looking at Emanuel, “This scheme has you written all over it and I telling you to forget it… The Democrat health bill is deader than Peter Lorre here and no amount of Horsesh*t Chicago style threats will change that fact and YOU” pointing at the President, “You can put your hand down.”
        The President slowly lowered his hand, vainly looking at the teleprompter for a retort.
        Boehner lit a second cigarette with the butt of the first and said, “I’m outta here, you two coming?”
        McConnell spun on his heel and headed for the stairs out. Boehner fell in behind him. DeMint, ever the Gentleman, said “Please forgive Mitch’s calling your plan Horsesh*t…he is from Kentucky and you know, horses, Kentucky Derby….all that..what he should have said was ‘Bullsh*t’ ” and with a shrug of resignation, turned and left the room.
        As he trudged up the stairs, he heard a snarling Rahm Emanuel cursing him out and the President asking “Think they will go for it?”

The End