DeeCee

[Note: I think I originally wrote this in early 2001.]

In the dimly lit recreation lounge of the Ducal palace on Giedi Prime, three figures stirred.

"James Carville," the president intoned, "explain to the Veep my plan for the utter destruction of House Bush."

The Chief Strategist smiled thinly. "As you are aware, House Clinton owns the highly profitable pork-mining franchise in Washington. In a calculated move, we shall appear to lose control of the nation via bungling a hotly contested election, and House Bush shall claim the White House. However, we have a traitor within their ranks. When the time is ripe, we shall destroy the Bushes from within and reclaim DeeCee, leaving us richer and more powerful than ever."

"Well, Albert?" Clinton arched an eyebrow at his protege. "Any comments?"

"All I see," grated the Veep, "is a Bush I want to kill!"

***********************************

The Reverend Mother walked with Barbara down the garden path.

"You failed us, Barbara," the grand dame hissed. "You were supposed to have a girl-child. She could be wed to JFK Jr. to create the Kwisatz Haderach -- the one who can go both Conservative and Moderate -- the one who can visualize tax relief we cannot see!"

Barbara sniffed. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Reagan! but I love my husband, and he wanted a son."

Nancy looked at her curiously. "You have *three* sons."

Barbara shrugged. "He didn't care for the first one. Look, here he is now."

The Reverend Mother looked George over curiously, noting his narrow watery eyes, his sagging mouth and his weenie voice. / He is like his father in that, / she thought. "Leave us, Barbara. George, come."

George remained where he was, and Nancy's eyes narrowed. "I see your mother has trained you in the ways of the Sound Bite," she said. "Fear not, George, for we will only test you, to separate the statesmen from the politicos. Many have tried."

"They tried and failed?"

"Worse."

George swallowed. "They tried and died?!"

"No, they had to go on the lecture circuit."

"I won't do it."

Nancy leapt up. "Do not move!" she hissed. "At your neck I hold the Gom Jabbar - The Tiny StickenPoken. Now then, this box shall be your test."

"What is inside it?"

"Pundits. Do not move; if you attempt to turn it off or change the channel, you will die." The Reverend Mother fiddled with the controls, and the McLaughlin Group came on.

".....proven ability to work with many different sorts of rednecks...."

".....no, no, no!...."

George immediately began to sweat. He recited the litany his mother had taught him: I shall not think, thought is the speech-killer; thought is the mistake that Nixon made. I will face my ignorance; I will permit it to pass over me and out my mouth, and when it has gone past me I will turn and read the copy; where the thoughts have gone there will be nothing, and only platitudes will remain.

"....seemingly unable to pronounce words with over four syllables...."

"....apparently once arrested for attempting to steal the nation of Togo...."

George gritted his teeth. His eyeballs felt like they were crisping within his skull. Only his special training prevented him from putting his fist through the screen.

".....obviously following in the noble tradition of Gerald Ford...."

".....who's your daddy? WHO's your daddy??......"

"AAAA!" The Reverend Mother turned off the box. "Enough. No Kennedy ever withstood so much; I must have wanted you to fail."

"So I'm a statesman?"

"No, you're still a politico." Nancy packed up her box. "But I've got to go; it's time for Daddy-Lumpkin's sponge bath. Toodle-oo!"

George was left staring in her wake as Barbara returned. Her hand went to her heart as she saw him.

/ My son yet lives! / she thought.

/ Dang! /