The Occasional Joke

Nurse: Patient's name?

Centurion: Marcus Licinius Crassus

Nurse: And his date of birth?

Centurion: 115 BC.

Nurse: All right. And what is he here for?

Centurion: Cataphract surgery.

Thursday, August 28, 2014

Senator Creek Regrets

Thank you. Thank you all for being. Here. Being here. I realize that something or other that went on last week ... or was it the week before? Anyway, something I said or did. Or maybe something I ate. Anyway, not everybody cared for it. Some people, evidently, got all upset. And at the time, I went on record as saying "Don't be upset." But they tell me that didn't help.

So I am wherever it is we are today to repeat my earlier statement. I will repeat it here or in any other venue, avenue, or byway of this great nation. "Don't be upside," I say. I've said it before, they tell me, and I'll keep on saying it until they tell me to stop. "Don't be upside-down." The blood'll all rush to your head. That's what my grandfather always said, anyway. Okay, they're signaling me to stop saying it now.

But you know, just the other day I was speaking to a young man with a bad haircut and a microphone. That happens a lot, and it leads me to believe that there may be quite a few of 'em, fellas like that, and Lord-a-mercy, they sure have a lot of questions. Anyway, I'd managed to get away from my aides. Those kids who follow me around and tell me what's going on. Some of 'em have those two-wheel seg-ment things they roll around on. My roll-aides, I call 'em. But this particular morning, I ducked behind a cement truck and gave 'em the slip, and when I turned around, there was this guy. And he asked me what I thought of the scandal.

Now I don't always have the best luck, what with my hearing and my eyesight and my aides and the squirrels and all, figuring out whether somebody is talking to me or what language he's speakin' or whether he's some kind of reporter or one of the squirrels. So I drew myself up to my full height, put my hat on forwards-around, and assumed my full Senatorial stance and sonorous, authoritative voice, and I said, "Who are you?" And just to be on the safe side, I offered him a peanut in case he was a squirrel. They're tricky little bastards, squirrels. 

Well, sir, he didn't want the peanut, so I guess he must have been a reporter. And I told him ... and I will defend to the death my right to say it ... that we ought to maintain the posture of this great nation of ours, sort of bent forward with our heads cocked slightly to one side, like a dog who don't quite understand what you said, and that we should stay the course in that fashion until it starts to hurt. And then stop.

About then, my aides caught up, and I must say, I don't think they were entirely justified in beating him that severely, unless of course, he really was a squirrel. But by the time they'd got the SWAT team sorted out from the tourists, I'd just wandered down the block, with my hands in my pockets, whistling' and looking up at the big buildings and making out like I didn't know what was goin' on, just like I used to do back in Detroit when the cops was nosing around, and I got clean away. Never did find out what all the excitement was about. 

But the next morning, when I'd had my coffee and medications, I regretted it. The coffee, especially. And I just want to say to all of you, the ones with neckties on, anyway, that I truly regret any misunderstandings. And for those of you who do understand it, well, I regret you, too.

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