Senator Kreek's Holiday Message

Good afternoon. Michigan Senator Elijah Kreek won re-election this year by a margin of thirty – thirty votes, that is, not percent – when his opponent was embroiled in mutual lawsuits between himself and a deer he hit. Both parties accused the other of being intoxicated, and ... oh, I see Senator Kreek is here to give his annual holiday message to the voters of Michigan and points north.

Well, my goodness, but there are a lot of you here today! Usually when I see this many people, they’re all sittin’ at tables, and not paying much attention to ... what? This isn’t the Senate lunch room? Then why am I here?

Deliverin’ a message? The State Department does that. Or the army. Or Amazon. But all right, if they’re busy, I can pick up the slack, I suppose. Where’s this message supposed to go, if I’m deliverin’ it?

Folks, things are a bit confused, I find. These kids who follow me around and give me little hints and suggestions and things have apparently visited the Senate lunch room, themselves, already. They’re a bit confused. Or else I am. One or the other. Seems about fifty-fifty, most days. But the gist of it is, I’m supposed to deliver a message. To you, I guess. And if it’s one of my messages, who-all receives it isn’t usually that important.  So brace yourselves.

As my old father used to say to me on occasions like this, apples and oranges, say the bells of Alpena. He used to say that. Sometimes over and over, for hours. No one paid any attention to him. But it did give me a kind of appreciation for apt conjunctions. In our family, we used ‘em like soap. More often, frankly. But they had to be apt. There’s nothing worse than an inapt conjunction. Some days, I can’t abide even a half-apt one. But, as I was sayin’ ... hold on.

More inspirational? Son, I don’t know how I can be any more inspirational. I’m always inspiring. But the thing is, you got to remember to outspire, too. You always gotta be doin’ that or you’ll keel right over. Happened to me just the other day.

Inspiring and outspiring. There’s a nice, apt conjunction right there. Very apt. Reminds me of a fella I knew up in Neebish. Used to be a hog farmer, but then he gave it up and became an otorhinolaryngologist. Wrote an autobiography. Called it Days of Swine and Noses. There’s another one.

Ma’m? You, down there in front? Do you know what I’m talkin’ about? No? Anybody? Too bad. I was hopin’ somebody could set me straight on that. You know, this isn’t easy, standin’ here and making it up as I go along. It’s an acquired talent, and it isn’t cheap to acquire, I assure you. That guy who pretends to be President ... you know, the one with the hair? He had to go to school nights to pick up the knack, and he still hasn’t grasped its finer points. Or its lesser ones, either. And in politics, grasping a lesser point can get you in a lot of trouble, both in the media and in Medea. That’s that story about some relative of Jason and the Aptronauts. Hell of a band, I have to say. They pay me to say it.

Get to the point? The finer one or the lesser one? Reminds me of another piece of folklore, though. Two boys from Iron Mountain try to walk into a pub, but the door is a good three foot higher than it was the night before. “Dammit,” says Jim, “They’re always raisin’ the bar.”

I like that story. Heard it from an old woman in my constituency. How she got in my constituency, I’ll never know. That’s an old Karl Marx joke. You remember him, he was so cranky, they called him “Groucho”. Anyway, I’m gettin’ the finger-across-the-throat signal from one of the boys, there, and that means it’s time to head for the Senate Lunchroom for a wee deoch an Doris. She was a waitress I used to know. She really put the ish in Inspeming. I remember ...

Oh, right. Happy Saint Preservus’ Day, folks. Too bad I’m not representin’ Livingston County. I could say “See you in Hell.”

Copyright 2019 J. F. McLuggage