I fell asleep again on The Balcony at City Grocery last Saturday. You’d think by now I’d know better than to stay out after seven. Go figure. Firmly ensconced in the southwest corner of The Balcony and wearing black, Sir Thibodaux Fontenot Boudreaux Breaux, Baron of the Knights of the Long Table missed me.
Around 2 a.m. I was startled from my slumber by the sound of City Grocery’s front door opening. I frantically looked for an escape, but before I could act, footsteps were coming up the stairs to the bar. I shrunk into the corner, dissolving into the brick.
Senate Majority Leader, Mitch McConnell, was the first to set foot on The Balcony, followed by Senators Lindsey Graham, Ted Cruz, and Mitt Romney. They sat at the tables in the northeast corner of The Balcony, and I receded into the bricks and the shadows in the southwest corner.
McConnell pulled out a bottle of Four Roses Single Barrel Bourbon and plopped it on the table. Cruz produced some red Solo cups. Graham started to lay down some blue napkins, but Romney whispered, “No blue, Cracker.”
“Cracker?” asked Graham.
“As in ‘graham cracker’,” said Romney.
McConnell poured the drinks.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “here’s to surviving a butt-whoopin’ and remembering how to walk back our pontifications and declarations like a crab running from a shark.”
They bumped their cups together. McConnell’s cracked. Unbeknownst to him, three of the Four Roses had started leaking from the drinkin’ side of the cup and slithered over where his chin should be into his shirt.
Graham spoke up. “We’d best figure out how we’re gonna cover our tracks and maintain our plausibility, boys. As for me, I never really supported Trump. Read my statements from 2015 and 2016. And you can use those words against me!”
Cruz chimed in. “As I’ve said, Democrats think we conservatives are either stupid, evil, or crazy. I can assure you that I ain’t evil.”
“Of course not, Eddie Munster!” said McConnell. “You’re not smart enough to be evil. And don’t forget that back in 2016 even Jimmy Carter said he’d vote for Trump before you.”
Cruz retorted, “I don’t give a bushel of peanuts about what Jimmy Carter says!”
Graham spoke. “What’s all this talk about Trump not wanting to make a conception? Isn’t he famous for philandering? Why would he want to stop making conceptions now?”
“It’s not ‘conception,’ Cracker. It’s ‘concession’,” said Romney.
“What’s wrong with concessions?” asked Graham. “What would football be without those big-ass pretzels with mustard and cold beer?”
“It’s not that kind of concession, Cracker!” chided McConnell. “The buffoon doesn’t want to admit he lost. That’s why he’s stomping mad and throwing litigation threats all over the place.”
“It makes me think of Shakespeare—Macbeth to be exact,” said Romney.
‘Life … is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.’”
“Shakespeare and Macbeth must be Democrats,” said Cruz.
About that time I sneezed.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” barked McConnell.
“I’m just a guy sitting in a corner,” I said.
“You vote?” asked Cracker.
“Yep,” I replied.
“For who?” Cruz asked.
“My daddy always said there were three things you didn’t tell: how much money you make, where you caught your fish, and who you voted for,” I replied.
“Pay no attention to the man in the corner,” Romney said. “Guys, we all know that Trump has a relaxed relationship with the truth. If we want the nation to heal, we’ve got to do better than that.”
McConnell smirked. “Then why don’t you give us some words of wisdom, Catcher’s Mitt.”
“Don’t mind if I do, Turtle Neck,” said Romney. “To quote Gerald R. Ford from 1974 after Nixon resigned and he became President: ‘My fellow Americans, our long national nightmare is over. Our Constitution works.
Our great republic is a government of laws and not of men. Here, the people rule . . . let us restore the Golden Rule to our political process and let brotherly love purge our hearts of suspicion and of hate.’”
“Harrumph,” said McConnell.
Graham belched. Cruz farted.
Mitt poured two drinks, brought one to me, and sat down. “Whassup, cowboy?” he asked.
“America’s prospects for the future,” I said. “That’s what’s up.”
…and that’s the view from The Balcony.
Randy Weeks is a Licensed Professional Counselor and a Life Coach. He can be reached at randallsweeks@gmail.com.
