Colluding or Canoodling?

28 July 2017
872

R. Linda:

I be no political expert by any means but the climate I'm living in leads me to pay attention to the politics or lack thereof, being bandied about. It is like a wreck where you don't want to look, but for the life of you, you cannot look away. That's how I feel about the Trump presidency and all that goes with it.

What happened to the ha-ha, strong Republican House and Senate? Seems we have strong keystone cops (GOP) vs. the leftover Clintonites (Dems). So far the GOP can't seem to "come together" (thank you Beatles) and the Dems have adopted the word "no" as their go-to word. Nothing seems to be moving or getting done, but a few confirmations.

And even those confirmations find the agreed upon nominee finding himself fired, then another is fired, and now we have another that Trump wants fired, and another that may be in line for the same fate and yet another waiting in the wings, and one that is feeling the "chill" of possible firing. I am talking about Flynn, Comey (non-nominee), Sessions and Priebus, McMasters, and Tillerson. And of course, forcing your main press person out by resignation (Spicer).

Never has me American wife lived through so much turmoil in so short a time with a president who can't keep his mind or fingers still at strange hours to tweet out terrible accusations, opinions, or orders. She no longer joins in any discussions because she frankly is at a loss for words.

Every time Tonya's mother throws out the latest episode in the news, Tonya opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, and then she throws up her hands and walks out.

Last night a friend of ours (Jim) was over. He said he regretted voting for Trump. He said the infantile, immaturity level with a feeling of self-privilege on the side of our commander-in-chief, has made him think he has made a terrible mistake. He also wonders why more people haven't noticed and felt the cold chill of what all that could eventually lead to.

Well, while we were discussing this crazy political environment we were eating spicy tacos and you know what happened R. Linda. That night I had political epiphanies, yes I did. I actually dreamt I was a WH (White House) staffer and was in charge of changing out all the WH dinner plates for Limoges on the orders of Sir Trump to please his wife that more "tasteful" dinnerware would be a hallmark of their State dinners. Then suddenly I found meself with long false eyelashes (courtesy of Kellyanne Conway to make me look more "feminine") and a baggy red sack with a slip showing being ushered out to sing "Scaramouch can you do the fandango?" in a falsetto worthy of Freddy Mercury at a going away dinner for Anthony Scaramucci.

Just as quickly Kellyanne pulled me off the floor and ushered me down the hall to take over as press secretary.

"Don't complain, you'll do fine." She said shoving me in front of the press podium.

At a loss, I asked, "Do I look fat in this?" I gestured to the red bag I was wearing.

Don't make fun of me manly legs and knobby knees not to mention those shoes! But worse me slip was starting to slip down. Try walking in those shoes with your slip slipping you up.

"Where's Sean at?" A reporter shouted.

"Sean's here, he's busy painting all the furniture gold, so I will be filling in," I said trying to look smug like Huckabee Sanders. Then I realised I was Huckabee Sanders, OMG! I wanted to run but hands were waving at me from the press room. Conway was sitting to me right eyeing me like she would devour me like a Burmese python if I didn't take a few questions. I jumped in head first I might say and called on Jim Acosta, CNN.

"A few days ago you said Jeff Sessions had nothing to worry about. Well, now it seems he has a lot to worry about. The President has been tweeting derogatory tweets aimed at Sessions. Is it true he wants Sessions out?"

"Uh no, he loves Jeff Sessions, Jeffy be a loyal soldier and helped get Comey out," I said looking as hostile as Huckabee Sanders can look.

"That's not what he tweeted at 3 a.m.," Jim continued to press, "he said he was unhappy with Sessions recusing himself and not telling him before he was confirmed he'd do that. The Russian . . ."

I cut him off before he made me look really stupid.

"Jim, listen it isn't that, you read that tweet wrong, President Trump was merely implying that Hillary Clinton's Russian ties were more serious than Jeff's."

Acosta looked at me for a long time like he hoped he heard me wrong. Then he slowly said, "Ms. Sanders, Clinton wasn't mentioned in that tweet."

"Well, Jim I said the word 'imply' you know what that means."

"Let's try a different approach to that same question. Maybe if I put it another way . . . "

"Nope you had your chance, Jim, let us go onto ABC News's Jonathan Karl." And I pointed at Jonathan.

"Yes thank you. Is President Trump trying to "airbrush" Sessions out like Stalin did to Nikolai Yezhov?"

"That's just ridiculous," I replied, "and I resent you bringing Russia into this."

"Hey, weren't you the Easter bunny?" John Roberts from Fox shouted.

I froze. How did he know? That was years ago and he knew, damn it he knew!

"Misinformation," I said looking as steely-eyed as Huckabee Sanders knew how. I adjusted the bag and noticed the slip was hanging even lower.

"There are pictures . . . " he cited looking at me amused.

"Oh, I be sure there are." I huffed. "What of it?"

"Getting rather combative aren't you Ms. Sanders?" He said with a snide edge in his voice.

I ignored him and pointed to Cecilia Vega, but Roberts held up a picture of me on Boston Common dressed as the  Easter Bunny. He flashed it around the press room much to me embarrassment and everyone else's amusement.

"Show him out," I said to security and they came and dragged Roberts out, but the damage was done, me credibility was zero.

"Anyone else? Huh?" I said white knuckling the podium, trying to act tough like Sanders and snapping me gum like Spicer.

Ms. Vega cleared her throat and caught me eye. I lifted me chin up giving her the go-ahead.

"If Sessions resigns, is President Trump hopeful that the Russian connection and possible collusion accusations will go away? And my second question is, does that open the tweet door for Mueller to be next? Or, is that just wishful tweeting on the President's part?"

"Wow two questions at once," I muttered but the mic picked me muttering up. "First if Sessions goes, Mueller wouldn't follow . . ."

"That is what was said about Sessions when Comey was fired. But the reason it seems that Sessions must go is so Mueller will go . . . The Trump campaign is accused of colluding with Russia to help win the White House for . . ."

I stopped her in mid-sentence.

"You are making this a reality TV situation and it's anything but. You are all touting political rhetoric to make your ratings higher and get more viewership. I think that's disingenuous with all your fake news. No one knows what to believe anymore, you twist it all. It's YOUR fake news that's the problem!" I spouted insanely.

"We can't get a straight answer out of you," she persisted, "so if we have to comment on what you said and "implied" to use your own word, then fake or not we have to report as we see and hear it. It's YOU that's making the fake news. One day it's a White House statement, the next that very same statement is tweeted by the President as something entirely different, and then YOU come out here to put a SPIN on both and well confusion is the rule of the day!" She finished by looking me straight in the eye as if in challenge to say she was wrong.

I got a note from Kellyanne it read: Conference over get out now.

I called an end to the conference among the shouts of all the journalists hurling notepads and cell phones at me baggy dress. I got out as Kellyanne slammed the door to the press room behind me.

"Well, that wasn't much different than usual." She smirked at me.

"I guess I don't have the job." I sighed.

"Oh you have the job, you will go it alone next time." And she stalked off leaving me looking at me ever-lengthening slip under the red bag.

"Oh and lose the eyelashes it makes your eyes look sleepy," she threw over her shoulder like the false eyelashes had been my idea.

I pressed me lips together in anger and then ripped the false eyelashes off not without a little pain for me trouble. Someone put their hand out to receive the eyelashes and I looked into the face of me old nemesis Diane Sawyer.

"Oh God," I jumped back, "for a minute there I thought you were Martha Stewart."

"And I thought you were Snoop Dog," she said snidely.

"Don't I wish, this being Sarah Huckabee Sanders is a real drag?"

"I can see that," Sawyer said looking at me getup.

"I need to be laser-focused," I said with a sigh. "I should go on a diet."

"You need to be focused on those reporters, and a diet might help but really you must shelve the eyelashes. It is great to have you with us Gabe, leading us off."

"Us?" I squinted at her studying her face, something was different. I thought she sounded like she had a faint Russian accent.

"It is great to have you as always," she said, "thanks to you." She started to walk away and I realised she knew I knew something was up. She started running when she heard me footfalls coming up behind her, soon she was running down the corridors with me in hot pursuit -- clunky heels and all. I held me slip up trying to keep it from twisting around me knobby knees and tripping me up. I caught her as she got to the door to the rose garden. When I grabbed her sleeve the sleeve came off and revealed a muscled masculine arm. I was stunned and grabbed hold of her other arm and the same thing. She looked smug, not upset and I stood there watching as she lifted her hands to her neck and started pulling at a Diane Sawyer mask. Standing there smiling at me with malicious glee was Vladimir Putin.

"Now YOU have a Russian connection, eh?" He said poking me.

"YOU!" I was taken aback.

"Yes me, what I do you can't necessarily do, so let me point out you being here with me, meeting, yes meeting illegally, means YOU are colluding. No one will help you, everyone hiding in bunker bushes thinking you're gonna die, when a big explosion happens."

"Explosion?"

"When your head explodes from too many Russian secrets. Canoodling with Putin," he said wagging a finger in front of me startled face. "You my friend are in big trouble now."

"I thought I heard a hint of a Russian accent when you were pretending to be Diane Sawyer, really Vladimir pretending to be a woman?" I sneered.

"Oh and you reporter person, wearing a sack with a long slip and look at shoes! At least I have chosen a woman with style to impersonate, you not so much, hilly billy." He said laughing at me and pointing at me bag dress, slip, and shoes. "Oh and eyelashes, too too long for you." He said batting his own high-priced falsies at me. He took them off and the complete Putin stood in front of me . . . well but for the fitted dress and black stockings sporting Rustam Adykov stilettos.

Even his legs looked better than mine!

"Nothing but the best in Russian footwear," he sneered looking at me clunky heels.

"Really? We are going to stand here and discuss women's clothing?" I said taken aback and feeling extremely frumpy.

He reached for me and started shaking me and it was then me head exploded. I woke up to the face of me wife shaking me and informing me I knew too much about Russian high heels and who was she that I was having a dream conversation with? O-M-G!

"Vladimir Putin, she was Vladimir Putin!" I shouted.

"Yeah, right Vladimir Putin." She let go of me and huffed out.

It's been three days and she still isn't speaking to me. All this over a crazy dream and to explain it would make it even worse than it already is. And she wouldn't believe me! I tried and she took me collusion and made it canoodling. I can't catch a break, I tell ya! I guess I will have to wait it all out. In the meantime, I hope they don't broadcast live press conferences because to see Huckabee Sanders will ruin me day and if she knew about me dream, I'd probably ruin hers. But Vladimir would get a laugh out of it I'm sure. Not the Diane Sawyer part, me as Huckabee Sanders, hilly billy press secretary. Oi!

Gabe
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