Odd Essay

Sing through me, Oh immortal Muse, of a time not long ago, and of a great leader of mortal man, who took to battle in the cradle of civilization against the upstart man who would be king, of that man who formed an alliance of enemies, and mounted a campaign so brilliant that Ares did stop and take note. Tell, oh Muse, how he did suffer and was so long with troubles of allies, that he nearly lost his kingdom ere he returned to his hearth.

Let your voice rise once again, oh Muse, daughter of Zeus, as you retell the trials of President Bush. Which of the Gods did he so anger? What were his crimes in this day of instant communication, that his attention was diverted for so many seasons while the Democrats wooed his office? Recall that day when his fall in the polls caused him such grief that he forced his attention to set sail for home.

That day, as the gods rested in Olympus after a feast so large that brevity will not allow a naming of all its participants and what they ate, suffice it to say that all the gods attended and all were well fed. That day they prepared themselves for the two great sporting spectacles about to be held in their honor, the great annual festival of Superbowl, and the Quadrennial feast of the Olympics. That fateful day, when for the first time, the god of the presses, Time/Warner, decreed that his daughter, the nymph Poll, should tell all the world that popular George was not as popular as he used to be.

That important day, O Muse, is where your great song should begin, with the return of President Bush to his homeland while the suitors for his office relaxed. That day, while the gods lounged, Athena, always planning, approached Zeus, lord of Olympus since before the time that the most noble of bards, Homer, did spin a tale much like this.

This same grey-eyed goddess of old spoke to Zeus:

"O Mighty Zeus, Hurler of the thunder, once before I implored of you that in your infinite wisdom, you should see that a mortal man, cunning Odysseus, be allowed to venture home. Here again I stand humbled before you requesting that crafty George, Odysseus' equal in every way, be allowed to finally see to his needs at home."

To this Zeus the Wise replied:

"My daughter, it is true that once before you asked of me to favor a mortal that you fancied. And once again, I shall honor your request for you are so dear in my heart, but as was the case a long time ago, Poseidon whose will is the sea, bears a grudge against this leader of men. In his haste to stop the mother of upstarts, Saddam, George failed to pay proper homage, and burn the proper offerings to Poseidon before he set sail to wage this war. But Eris, goddess of discord, also has a hand in his troubles, and so too does Rumor and Economy both at home and abroad. Now is a time of celebration, and we all will soon be honored with games, so Poseidon and the rest will surely allow him to turn home."

With this the goddess Athena bent to pump her shoes, a token of affection from fleet footed Hermes, father of her child, and left to bestow a visit upon Rumor's lover, the young god Time/Warner, to request of him a favor:

"My son, I have a task for you to do. George, the broccoli fearing president, needs to be told of the discord at home, and of the tremendous need for his return."

The great disseminator put down his namesake publication and replied:

"Consider it done."

He picked up his cellular phone and turned on his fax. With that deed done, the Rebacchs wearing goddess sped down to that modern day Capitoline Hill, Washington DC.

After the big bald head crept over the horizon, and just before the opening bell sounded at the Stock Exchange, Dan of the child-like face, stood daydreaming in his home that had such a beautiful view of that great white mansion he had played in so many times before, and put his pants on one leg at a time, just like everyone else. Pallas Athena came to him from the nearby air, putting on the visage from a familiar mold—Secret Service. She wore a black pin-striped suit, neatly pressed, and black polished shoes bound her feet. Mirrored sunglasses and a corded ear-piece completed the guise.

At sight of her, child-like Quayle zipped his pants and caught his shirt in his fly. The child’s face grew slack as he pondered his course.

Knowing that time was precious, the grey-eyed goddess spoke:

"I come bearing a message from Pallas Athena. Even now, broccoli-fearing George is journeying home and will return ere the year's end. You must traverse this land and enlist aid in attempt to prevent that pack from wooing the voters, like Sam Malone wooed Dianne. If they can organize before George can return, Destiny will chose another to lead this land."

The imbecile's idol replied to her:

"Friend, I do not understand. It seems to me that you talk in riddles, and are intent on trying to make me lose my way when you speak to me."

Athena repeated, the annoyance evident in her voice:

"Get help, and stop the Democrats!"

Quayle looked at her and nodded. With that small symbol of recognition, the grey-eyed goddess left to tend to other business: disguised as Quayle, she toured the Hill, visiting Senators and Representatives and telling each one: "We must unite to fight until prudent George returns." She enlisted Richard Thornburgh to lead the fight, and he agreed.

Quayle descended the stairs, and upon entering the kitchen he set about making his meal. He made toast and ham and oatmeal, which he burned. After making the proper homage to the gods, the idol of imbeciles secured his bags and drove to Airforce Two, where he was met by the goddess with the grey-eyes, and together they flew to California to seek the advice of that Oscar winning former President, Ronald Reagan.

The big bald head lowered itself over the horizon, and Dan of the child-like face stared out the window as his plane landed with the smoothness of a swan gliding across a lake. Undaunted, the imbecile's idol, continued his journey to Reagan's home; there to probe the storehouse of his mind.

Quayle, unsure how to approach this great man, timidly neared the house. As he reached for the doorbell, the door flew wide, to reveal a great festival: liquor flowed like a mighty waterfall, crashing into the rocks below; praises to the gods abounded; and Bonzo movies filled the TVs. When they saw the child like face, a hail went up, and all the crowd approached Quayle, and asked of him many questions. As night drew its cover over the land, that idol of idiots finally approached that actor in the world's most powerful one man play, and asked of him:

"Reagan, pride of the Actors Guild, and former President. Friend, as Telemakhos came to Menelaos, so I come to you for advice, for your deeds are many and known far and wide. Yesterday, just, I received a message of frightening news, advice of which I must ask of you in private."

Reagan, the Oscar winner, walked down a dimly lit hall. He opened the first door ha approached and gestured within, and said:

"Well. . ."

And Quayle's heart rose, and his palms grew sweaty as he followed the former president into the room. There he began his tale of all he knew, and of the message he received, borne by a god, and of his journey here; and he asked of Reagan what he should do. That Oscar winner pondered a moment , then drew himself tall and took a deep breath and said:

"Well. . ."

And that idol of idiots sat and waited, and the pride of the Actors Guild sat and waited. And there the two would have sat until the end of time had not the gatherer of the clouds noticed a disturbance in the fabric of the universe that threatened to end everything we know. He gathered his strength and hurled a massive bolt to seal this rip, and the two men were startled by the thunder and took note.

Shortly after the Big Bald Head that brings light to both mortals and the gods rose over the horizon, Hermes descended to the realm of man in the guise of the Golden Bear, Jack Nicklaus, and joined the threesome of Clarence Thomas, the staunch supporter of pornography and women's rights, Arnold Schwarzeneggar, the box office brute, and George Bush, master of the three iron. As they approached the first tee, Arnold did say to George:

"Mister President, master of the three iron, legends range far and wide about your ability to weave stories of war. Perhaps, in your generosity, you will entertain us for a few holes with one and bring pleasure to our ears during this tedious struggle with the small white ball."

To this that broccoli-hating man agreed and with his well placed drive, began his tale of Saddam, the upstart form the cradle of civilization, and his grab for land, and how he realized that this man who would be king must be stopped; thus began the tale. Ever resourceful George told his foursome how, with Athena at his side, he had sent his messengers to the four corners of the earth to contact the Lords of those distant lands. They enlisted Margaret Thatcher, Prime Minister of that island kingdom; François Mitterand, Prime Minister of the land of wines; Hosini Mubarak President of the Land of Pharaohs; Lt General Hasez al-Assad of Syria; and King Fahd ibn-Abdul Aziz of Saudi Arabia. And Wojciech Jaruzelski, Prime Minister of Poland; of Qatar, the Amir His Highness Shaikh Kalifa bin Hamad Al-Thani; and of Kuwait, His Royal Highness crown prince Shaikh Saad al-Abdullah as-Salim as Sabah. They contacted Sabah Akihito, Emperor of the Land of the Rising Sun; Robert Hawke, Prime Minister of the land down under; of India, Prime Minister Vishwanath Pratap Singh; Francesco Cossiga, Prime Minister of Aeneas' line. And Helmut Kohl, Chancellor of the reunited kingdom; Prime Minister Turgut Ozal of that Trojan land of old; of Canada, Right Honorable Brian Mulroney; and Christos Sartzetakis, Prime Minister of the land of Odysseus' fame. Allies for the moment, the Kings and Queens of these far distant realms sent their men in ships far greater in number than the Achaians sent in their siege of Troy. The first of these defenders of the innocent to arrive in that land of oil were planes, like flocks of geese migrating to their winter feeding grounds they came, then ships like schools of fish, and finally their armies covered the land like ants exploring new territory.

All the while that upstart sat amid his armies entrenched, like a spider waiting for an insect to fly into her web so she could devour it.

But wily George was too smart for that; with Athena at his side, he told Saddam of his last chance for peace. When that day came and went, and the night had drawn its blanket over the earth, and the moon had taken an evening off, he unleashed his forces, and like a swarm of locusts, they took over the land that Saddam had so recently claimed.

He finished his story as they came in from the front nine. While they journeyed to the tenth tee, Hermes, in the guise of the Golden Bear said:

"Kinder and gentler George, you are as much a master of verse as you are the three iron. Why not, while you try to close my one stroke lead, tell us of what you have done since that brilliant campaign."

Kinder gentler George settled into his game and into his tale. He told of how Poseidon sent a hurricane and caused the waves to rise while he was vacationing in Kennebunkport. How out of hubris he taunted the master of the seas by saying that he was returning to DC for an afternoon of business, and not because of the storm. And how Poseidon, in his wrath, did hurl another storm at Maine and did destroy the Kennebunkport home.

The prudent president recalled his conversations with Gorbechev, that master reformer; the advice he gave him and with Athena at his side, the warning he gave of an immanent coup. Of how Gorbechev was too proud to believe a skeleton existed, and how George led the world in helping Boris Yeltsin pressure the coup back into the closet. And while it slept from its struggle, the two great men tamed the terrible Soviet bear.

Then he told of his struggle to bring enemies together to talk of peace. How, after journeying between them countless times, he finally convinced Israel, the land of the Jews; the Palestinians, the people without a home; the terrorists friend, Syria; Egypt, land of the pyramids; Saudi Arabia, home of shieks and oil; and fence straddler, Jordan to sit at a table in a far off realm and talk of peace. They made inroads towards that elusive prize, and George said he would not rest until that difficult battle was won. He watched Hermes, disguised as Nicklaus, sink a thirty foot put and finish the round one stroke better than he, and there he ended his tale.

Reporters hovered around the clubhouse like vultures. Upon seeing the three iron's master, they began to drool like Pavlov's dogs. One reporter's voice rose above the barking pack and said:

"Mr. President, hater of broccoli, does it worry you that Time/Warner's Poll has indicated that less than half the citizens of our country believe that you are doing a good job? And are you afraid of any of the Democrats: Bill Clinton, Arkansas' Governor; Douglas Wilder, of Virginia; the liberal outsider from California, Jerry Brown; the candidate without a personality, Paul Tsongas; or Mario Cuomo, the man uncertain if he will run; or the conservative wizard, David Duke; and that reporter, Pat Buchannon; or of the millionaire who hails from Texas, Ross Perot?"

The grey-eyed goddess returned, weary from dealing with Dan, invisible to all, she nodded to Hermes and whispered in George's ear. Then ever resourceful George replied:

"While it is true that I have fallen out of favor with Poll, and Economy is my Achilles heel, I have begun to see Rumor for what she is. I am confident that I will fall back in their favor soon."

The battle weary foursome entered the clubhouse and poured libations and feasted, thanking the gods for their good fortune and paying them homage. Then the prudent President bade his hosts farewell, and home he flew in Airforce One, that great and high flying silver feathered eagle that soars with the speed of Hermes, and is always blown forward by the Goddess Aeolia.

Upon reaching his palace of white he called his advisers: John Sununnu, Jim Baker, and Dan Quayle. And with Pallas Athena they sat in conference until the Big Bald Head once again peeked over the horizon. Their strategy in place, Prudent George prepared a speech and waited until congress was back from recess and the suitors had all feasted at the festival of the Superbowl. The Redskins had won and libations and praises for the gods had flowed for nearly a day.

It was then, with Athena at his side, that the master tactician addressed the people with a national agenda. His initiatives struck at the hearts of the suitors like arrows from Odysseus' bow. When he had finished, all the suitors hopes were wrenched and Poll decreed popular George was popular again.

- 16, Feb 1992.