as Mr. John Kerry sat day dreaming, he visualized nine large ripe tomatoes being pounded into a tiny can of Heinz tomato paste with an enormous wooden mallet — splashing themselves all over the top of a large wooden table. and he wondered why it was such a taught visceral vision, as if he'd seen it before. Perhaps he had.
But after a few seconds lost in dreamland he snapped to and realized that he must hit a home run in the interview and belay all the hype about a re-energized al Gore and the left's new found affection for that boring one topic foot slapping déclassé dunce. al's motorcade is only about half as long as Mr. Kerry's and possesses far fewer top end gas guzzlers, even if al did take 11 SUV's to go a hundred feet in Cannes for the opening of his ridiculous fear mongering talkie.
Mr. John Kerry was eagerly awaiting his exclusive gab fest with the Boston Globe and was reflecting on how poorly the old paper was doing. Its value was really in a nose dive since Pinch had purchased the most lofty liberal song spieler in Boston. Too bad, too, because it had always given him top billing in whatever small items he was hustling to and from.
The piles of old Globe issues in his closets, bookshelves, and under the beds traced his political and mental growth, as their plethora of photographs showed him at various gatherings across Boston, from the Old Colony projects to the vegetable peddlers at Haymarket. His gob had graced a lot of Globe covers, alright, and then some.
But he never did wakes, like albert "Dapper" O'Neill did. He drew the line at crashing those poor pathetic lines. Well, unless it was really somebody pretty famous, like that tram operator, but that was different.
a few minutes later Mr. Kerry was plunged into the heated hurly-burly of an impassioned conversazione with the local scratcher from the Globe, a delightful interlude, and boy, he let it all hang out, and cogently, too, his thoughts hanging together in one long panoply for the ages.
This time, Mr. Kerry would be heard and his ideas would make sense, they would not be taken out of context as they always were on Fox News or on the Limbaugh Show and he'd get his points across, clearly, as no time before.
Now, after lengthy private deliberations, Mr. Kerry is asking for a lot with his latest scheme, he admits, but it must be done to secure peace in our time.
Mr. Kerry wants a Dayton accords sort of tribal meeting, with all the associated fanfares, to include all the Iraqi factions and the neighboring countries, including the Iran and Syria — the local bullies and arms suppliers to the terrorists - to put Iraq on the proper track for stability. He won't take a no show for an answer.
and Mr. Kerry would like to see US troops re-deployed to support roles, followed by a total withdrawal of combat troops by the years end.
"I am where my conscience tells me and my mind tells me the best solution to this is," Mr. Kerry explains, though recognizing that his valiant plan has no absolutely no success of passage.
and for this bit of political theater, for this finely crafted international plan covering every possible permutation, the Boston Globe, the great purveyor of liberal thought, the progressive light in the philistine twilight of the damned, allowed that Mr. Kerry, "has finally found his voice." and having located his tongue, his mind is following.
They also advise us that Mr. Kerry is busily visiting college campuses looking for the youthful sparks to ignite the bonfires of his future and that he will offer, with his grandiose plans and his re-ignited spirit, "an experienced acceptable alternative," should Hillary stumble out of the gate — a ringing endorsement of the senator, his plan and his future. Of course, with the vacation season nigh upon us, further forays into the higher ed arena are off until fall, but that's in the fine print.
and later, walking toward his toward his town house atop Beacon Hill, a small man laughed and called him, "the panjandrum," while a gardener cried, "si, senor Juan Kelly," and he smiled as he thought of these men as people who depend on the huge largesse generated by his votes, when he can get there, of course, from his many pressing engagements.
after a long day's pontification into night, Mr. John Kerry settled onto his chrome tanned leather easy chair and selected a dog-eared and yellowed MaD magazine from his pile of favorite reading material, where it slept on the floor in a custom teak wood box among its friends, always at his beck and call.
and as he turned the old magazine over, boingo, there was the carefully tri-folded back page, a Contadina ad, the messy table top and the nine smashed tomatoes - a prized possession and a stark clue to his earlier head trip.
Oh, oh, he said to himself, better replace this low in the pile, no sense putting my newly burnished reputation for solid remonstrance on the line with careless boyhood reading.
"Where's my Economist?" he asked in his newly found voice.
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