We’re sitting at a bar, I think in North Dakota — like the Lucky Strike Lounge (bowling alley / bar). I notice a poster on the wall with a picture of Karl Rove on it — smiling. At first I think it’s a mock WANTED poster, but actually it’s a concert poster, announcing that “M.C. Rove” will be playing here tonight. Apparently after dancing around and pretending to rap with CNN’s David Gregory, Rove decided to take the act on tour.
The show will be starting soon. All I can think is: “I have to leave. I have got to get the hell out of here. Now.”
I look over and notice that President Bush is sitting at a table nearby, with his wife Laura (who looks really old and mean). There’s no security detail, he’s just sitting there like any other customer. Bush waves to me — we are old friends, it seems.
Anyway, he seems to know me somehow. Laura gives me a mean look, but I go over anyway and sit down next to “George” (as I apparently call him). We chat a bit. I am polite. I don’t even make any alcoholic jokes.
I ask him what’s the deal with this “M.C. Rove” business. He chuckles, kind of shrugs. I then tell him, “That man is pure evil.” George chuckles, turns a little red. “Seriously,” I say, “You can’t go around pretending to be a Christian when you’ve got someone like that behind the scenes, stealing elections and running everything.”
He doesn’t really say anything.
I feel confident. I have not lost my temper: I have been polite and reasonable. We are friends….
I’m not sure who gets up first — I think I get up to leave. Laura stops me, comes over and berates me about all sorts of things — I can’t remember what, but it wasn’t political, it was about something personal that I had done, something I had done to George, and she could never forgive me for it.
I leave before there is any sign of “M.C. Rove.”…..
(But, then, I should really just shut my bloody trap. Shouldn’t I.)