On Scooter Libby…

So our president has commuted the sentence of I. Scooter Libby. Not surprising; a pardon is well on it’s way. Reminds me of my own scooter story:

I remember, it’s been years now, I was looking to finish my first novel, “Of Damn and Pain Go I.” I thought it would be convenient to finish the book, you know, away from the hustles and bustles and annoyance of city life. So I took my family to winter at a hotel in Colorado. We were the caretakers over the months when the resort was snowed in. Anyhoo, it provided a great opportunity for me to relax, get some good writing in. A man needs to focus on such things.

I brought with me my wife at the time, a terribly ugly woman with what appeared to be an Adam’s apple and hair like chicken wire. Completely breastless and an horrific cook to boot. And of course our son, the infamous Danny. Danny: the little jerk. Always riding his scooter bike down the hallways of the hotel. Over the carpet, over the rugs, his bike was like a drum pounding the inside of my brain. It grew difficult to think! I was just coming to a crucial part in “Of Damn and Pain Go I,” the part where Trisdale the Munificent gave ninepence to Loquacious Lonny for chimney services rendered. It was then that Trisdale realized Lonny was his long forgotten son, product of his torrid affair with a food handler. Brilliant and mesmerizing it was! So much to learn of ourselves in its timeless moral.

And just as my brain began formulating the aforementioned apex of emotion, Danny came barreling down the hall on his scooter! Rumble, rumble, rumble. Damn you, Danny! Quiet you jerk! But no, he persisted. Riding his scooter into the very recesses of my brain where craziness and lunacy dwell. So it was thus that I went loony and chased Danny-boy and his ugly mother around with an ax until I froze to death outside. Very sad and unfortunate, much like Bush’s actions towards his own Scooter.

What became of Danny, you say? Well he became a cross dressing airline pilot who was recently arrested for seducing farm animals and…wait a minute. I’m not old enough to have a airline pilot son! I don’t even have a son! Oh yeah, that wasn’t me at all. Sometimes I confuse my life with “The Shining.” I need to really stop doing that…

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