Thursday, September 23, 2010

Attending a Presidential Press Conference As a Mexican Wrestler

Foto by tgw, New York City, 2010
From Washington, the District of Corruption, the White Man's House...
The room is packed with reporters. I'm here in the disguise of a visiting famous Mexican wrestler (Lucha Libre), El Lobo que Gruñe. My friend, and occasional Mexican wrestler, Nino, El Niño Macho, made me up a leather mask, full head type like those guys wear so I could pull off this deceit. As far as the language problem, Mi, no hablo Espanol, I took along Franny & Zoey, The Daily Growler two-headed girl reporter and our new Washington correspondent and coverer of Mexican wrestling (every legitimate news source has to have a Washington correspondent and a coverer of Mexican wrestling, don't they?), as my manager and spokesperson. Both her heads speak excellent Spanish, and, besides, it got her a hell of a lot of personal attention--I mean, how shocking to see a two-headed woman, both heads sporting very pretty faces, a double-dip of feminine pleasure atop a smokin' body--plus she was wearing her most radical of little black dresses--and I must admit that fashion move by women caught my considerable attention and has held it for several decades now--I love my favorite woman in her slickly slinky black dresses--I'm trying to talk hip--I know, I'm a walking obsolescence--especially when it comes to fashion. I'm a bit of a mocker of the fashion world here in New York City, a fashion world of mostly White women (led by sagging and wizened Dianne von Furstenburg and a plasticized new-faced and still aging Vera Wang) and White men (all the men fashion designers are so much alike it's hard to tell one from the other, unless they are Asian and haven't tried to White-ized their faces like Vera Wang has) fops here in NYC trying to declare fashion an art and their silly runway show(off)s as art exhibitions--so they're holding their big to-do New York Fall Show(off) this season at Lincoln Center and they are getting tons and tons of publicity from the commercial as well as public channels--PBS's "Sunday Arts" covering it with a whole special edition devoted to seeing fashion designers as artists--and I give them all a big OOOH-LAH-LAH.

Anyway, here I was, the Wolf Man of The Daily Growler, at a presidential press conference posing as a Mexican wrestler--and soon with my face sweating and itching horribly under the rather hastily made head-tight mask--plus Nino, El Niño Macho, had tied the tie so tight the damn thing was crushing my temples and the tie was at the base of my skull and, dammit, my fiddling with it slipped it out of its bow and into an intricate knot--so there I was in utter misery under that now-stinking mask; yet, for some spiritual reason, I enjoyed the hell out of the pretense. I mean, come on, you talk about pretentious. Look around this White Man's House room here, the Green Room, or whatever color is symbolically given this room--I'm ignorant to the names of the White Man's House rooms--they're all a little too ornate for me--plus I'm thinking as I look at them how slave labor built this White Man's House--and I'm looking around the room enjoying fiddling with the many facial frowns and serious poses and arched-lowered eyebrows, getting to the heart of the matter reporters and teevee folks and hangersons and lobbyists, plus enjoying Franny & Zoey's smell as well as the wonderful sight of her when--BOOM--the Sergeant-at-Arms called us to attention and announced that the President of the Good Ole USA was about to enter the room and deliver a major revelation.

Prior to the President's appearance, the prep people were all hush-hush about what this press event was all about. Robert Gibbs, President Obama's Press Secretary, came out and meekly blabbered to us all on how to react when the President would eventually open up a Q&A time for us--he reminded us over and over that this would transpire after the President had made his revelation, blah, blah, blah--mostly double-speak...but then, damn, he caught me off guard when he matter-of-factly, rather nonchalantly, mentioned me, El Lobo que Gruñe...and, yes, of course, he mispronounced my Mexican wrestling name, at least that's what Franny & Zoey snidely told me on the aside. Then as if to add a little levity to the announcement, after he mispronounced my name, he quipped, "And don't worry, folks, I had Leon Panetta check him out, so I can assure you that El Lobo, it looks like Grunt, but it's not...well, damn anyway, whatever his nom-bray is, he is legally in this country." It was a quip, and I took it as such, as me the Wolf Man impersonating a Mexican wrestler who was there as a "reporter" representing La Prensa Libre de Tecalitlan. After the hoots and hollers died down, I did get a round of polite applause and I swear I heard a couple of "Viva Mexico"s in the mix. It seemed to be of no surprise to any of my fellow reporters or any of the White Man's House prep cronies like Gibbs that a Mexican wrestler in full regalia--yes, I was wearing tights and a cape--did I forget to mention that?--that a legitimate newspaper, which of course it wasn't, La Prensa Libre de Tecalitlan would hire a Mexican wrestler as a reporter--on deeper investigation they would have found a Wolf in Mexican wrestler clothing.

And soon out came the President. President Barack Hussein Obama...great name for a president, I was thinking, when I noticed his head. Holy cripes, his head was huge, like inflated. What the hell was wrong with the President? Food allergies maybe? Nobody else around seemed bothered by it at all. They were all applauding and big ear-to-ear smiling as he stepped up to the podium.

"I'm clearing the air this morning, guests and guests of guests, members of our vaunted press, hey, I see you Jimmy Carter over there in that corner--what are you gonna write in your diary about me one day?--and, by the way, how dare you slander the name of my pal before he died, Senator Uncle Teddy Kennedy. Come on, give it up for Senator Ted Kennedy! [the room goes wild with whistling, stamping of feet, and chants of "Teddy"] Now, you see, Jimmy--OK, OK, President Carter--now you see why you're not invited or even mentioned anymore at Democratic Party meetings and functions?--it's why I've never invited you to the White Man's House for breakfast or lunch or dinner or anything...sorry, President Carter, but you're just obsolete now. [again the room erupts in applause, some jeering, and a couple of "You the man" heard reverberating hereabouts]. But you do have the right in this great country to write your book and make a little pocket change, right! Come on, Jimmy, you're a millionaire--like me, I'm a millionaire now, you White ba-----, er-ah, whoaaa here, I'm tooting my own horn. But, now seriously, folks, the reason for this revelation. I don't know if you've noticed, but my head is swollen bigger than that old harvest moon that sailed up o'er the Potomac while I was up this morning having a cigarette on one of my balconies up there in the back of this old national symbol here. Watching that big round moon, I got to thinking, full moon, craziness, confessions...and, you see, folks, that's why my head is so damn big this morning."

Then the President did an amazing thing, he reached up to the tip top of his huge pumpkinized head and pulled down a zipper, I swear, and began to open up his giant skull. As the Black hair and skin began parting, suddenly a whiteness appeared coming forth from that head. A whiteness. Then a likeness. Then a visible face appearing, A quaintly familiar face. Then a very familiar face. Holy cripes, it was.... "Hi, y'all." Oh my Jumping Jehovahs, President Obama had somehow unzipped his head and out had popped George W. Bush. "Y'all thought I was down thar in Dall-ass sipping bourbons and branch waters and messin' around with Miss Pickles, didn't cha? And by God due to all these illusions goin' on up heah in the District of Corruption...and, folks, nobody can corrupt things like my fam'ly. Check out my brother Neil's making millions off that Savings & Loan bullshit that happened back--why wasn't there a Democrat president then? You get 'em, Neil. Anyway, y'all thought I was reee-tired--and I was, but I got a new set of some heavy duty treads on my wheels now...." The Bush head suddenly started stuttering and fading out a bit--and then another whiteness started appearing off to the left of President Bush's fading cracking out of an eggshell, a nose was seen, then two huge blue eyes, then that honest forehead...why, Lord Lovah Duck, it was the Slick One appearing, Slick Willie, the Arkansas Hillbilly who made it all the way to Oxford, Lover Boy Bill Clinton. "I had to step into this head and claim my portion of President Obama's decision-making and thinking and direction--you know, like I'm showing him the ropes on how to power and proactively manage his administration into a successful one like mine was. Come on, folks, deregulation was the greatest thing I did for Amuricans, that and my national healthcare plan that my big-butted wife F-ed up, and, hey, how 'bout NAFTA, and, oh yeah, my Patriot Act...?"

The room was suddenly gloomy. What head was coming out of that big pumpkin head next, Ronald Reagan's? And as soon as I thought that, sure enough, out it came, a face that looked like a badly made Halloween mask. "Howdy partners, I don't know who I am, but Mommy, and man is her face and body headed for the floor, she looks more wrinkled than I do, whoever I, Mommy told me I could fly from this place wherever this is to Tokyo wherever that is in 3 and a half hours. Would you please pass me that jar of jelly beans?"

I thought I was going to be the pretentious star of that show, but, no, President Barack Obama had stolen the show with his multi-personality performance.

Then the giant head began to reclose back onto its original Obama head. After it closed back up, it then shrunk down gradually to become the regular old President Barack Obama head.

"I'm revealing all these sides of my presidential personality to make this point. I don't know what the hell I'm doing; I'm being advised by a bunch of criminals--and yes I did fire Larry Summers much to Slick Willie's bitching, but not to worry, my Wall Street brothers and sisters, I'm going to replace Larry with a worse Wall Street schemer than Larry could ever hope to be, the Queen of the Hedge Funders, ex-D.E. Shaw lobbyist and former CEO of Xerox, remember them?, Anne Mulcahey, a tough Americo-Irish what she worked for the same hedge fund old Larry Summers made 5 million off of while he was still making 600,000-a-year advising me to flush our economy down the toilet. Anne will give me the same advice but at least I won't have Wall Street not supporting me when I run in 2012. I mean, come on, folks, Wall Street gave me a half-a-billion bucks to help me jive my way into this White Man's House. I can't buck those White boys, so, hey, I'll trade 'em Anne Mulcahey for Elizabeth Warren, though they don't have to worry really about Elizabeth. She talks tough but she's not gonna rock the boat, don't worry. Now I've got a Mexican rasslin' match to go watch."

With that, President Obama turned and walked away. Though I hadn't really caught that last sentence he'd said 'fore he walked away, I did notice and pointed it out to the surrounding crowd the sprig of mistletoe hanging off his coattail. I remember Pigmeat Markham had a routine where he was a preacher and he was giving his last sermon and in the sermon he was saying, "And you, Sister Willie Mae, you think you so fine, backbitin' and rumormongerin' while your husband, Old Deacon Jones over there sittin' so smug, is messin' 'round behind the baptistry with that cute little choir gal all the men around here got a thing on for...and as for you, Sister Maddie Rose, you two-timing..." And Pigmeat went on and on like that until he got to the end of the routine, the punchline, which was, "And now, my sisters and brothers, I do leave this here pulpit and walk up the aisle and out the front door for the last time. And as I'm walking by your pew, please notice this sprig of mistletoe I have pinned to my coattail. That simply means, you all can kiss my black ass."

Hmmmm, I thought, this Obama does have a sense of humor at least. My thoughts were interrupted by, "What the hell did President Obama say about attending a Mexican wrestling match!" Franny & Zoey, sensing me going off, and in English and loudly, to boot, rushed up to me, both heads talking excitedly at the same time, "Wolfie, we're sorry...we didn't know, but it seems you're contracted to put on a Mexican wrestling demonstration for the President in a special ring set up in the Rose Garden. You're fighting, let me see here, I wrote it down, you're fighting El Gallo Grande the current reigning Lucha Libre champion of all says here he sent his last opponent to the hospital with six broken bones and a concussion...sorry, Wolfie."

I excused myself to go to the restroom where I've decided to hide out in contemplation until I figure the coast is clear. I'm still sitting here--typing this on my Blackberry. By the bye, what day is this?

La Prensa Libre de Tecalitlan, actually The Daily Growler

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