our new president, jazz lover, is listening tomorrow to his favorite d.c. jazz radio station. he’s in the oval office listening on his wave station that herbie hancock gave to him going over some figures on the overhaul of the national health care system.
it’s 2pm and he is feeling a little full from the yak kabobs he had with hamid kurzai over a late lunch about the situation in afghanistan. the disc jockey has just finished playing some piano trio music he liked but didn’t recognize and so he is listening to see who it was when the d.j. says it was dred scott and that he is on the phone to do an interview promoting his thursday nite show at twin’s jazz club in the heart of the u street entertainment district right here in d.c. he stops what he is doing and listens to the interview finding the pianist to be an articulate and humurous ambassador of america’s great art form, jazz. he recalls the community liason who recommended he go down to u street sometime to show his support for the locals and he thinks this would be the perfect opportunity.
‘i want to meet this dred scott,’ he tells an aide.
‘people, we are going downtown thursday nite!!!’
(and this is what john mcneil added….)
our president then realizes that he is hallucinating, probably from some afghani pcp in the yak kabobs. he turns to his chief of staff who now resembles a three-headed goat deity worshiped by neolithic ukrainians, and says,
‘bring this dred scott to me immediately. i’m too baked to go out in public.’
hamid karzai sees an opportunity and says,
’want to fuck a camel, mr. president? i can take movies.’
our president is no fool and kills karzai by striking him on the head with a bronze sculpture of dick cheney’s genitals left accidently by the former president and now being used as a doorstop.
’i said BRING ME DRED SCOTT, you triple goat-boy motherfucker,’ he screams and his chief of staff rushes to comply.
‘and don’t forget the curry! i can’t meet a piano player without curry in my shorts.’