DURST: After Dubya's Beep

Hello. You have reached the office of the President of the United States. Unfortunately he is either on another line or away from his desk. Please leave a message at the beep and Dick Cheney will return your call at his earliest convenience. This call may be monitored to insure quality service.

"Hey Dubya. How ya doing? California here. You know; Golden State. Big long lanky plot of land hugging the left coast. Not as big as Texas mind you, but fairly large. Vastish even. Well, we like it. Remember us? We're the ones that sent you that nice fruit basket middle of December. Hope you enjoyed the grapes. A little nervous here. You can understand. Anyhow, thanks for agreeing to take this call. Hang on a sec, while I preheat the hot tub.

There. Sorry. Just ground some beans and made myself a double de-caf no fat soy milk latte. Starting to settle down now. Okay. First of all, want to congratulate you on a most excellent inaugural. As the kids like to say, "you rocked, dawg." And what a lovely capper to the evening to see you and the beautifully gowned First Lady waltzing or whatever you call what you did at our ball, even if it was for about three nanoseconds, but we understand your schedule was more hectic than a Miami weatherman practicing bigamy during hurricane season. Scuze me while I pop this cup in the dishwasher.

And speaking of Florida, could you believe what a mess they made down there? Again, kudos o'plenty are definitely in order for your discrete handling of a very ticklish situation. You'd think former Vice President Gore (and I bet both you and your dad enjoy the sound of that), you'd think he could have mustered the simple common human decency to spare the country weeks of agonizing indecision by tactfully bowing out. But no. Perhaps the accumulation of eight years of close proximity to Clinton is not washed off by a simple series of showers. Need to steam clean that boy.

Now, if we may, let's get to the point here. Despite our surfer image, we're not totally dim. Obviously our 54 electoral votes could have come in handy, making the whole Florida thing moot. Unfortunately it was one of those things. Not meant to be. But just because we didn't vote for you, doesn't mean we don't respect you as our true Commander-in-Chief. The time to put petty resentments aside is now. And the time to defrost the roast in the microwave is also now. Be right back. And I'll tell the kid to knock off the leaf blower while I'm at it.

We're back. Straight out? We have problems. To be honest, Mr. President, we're cold. Not Minnesota ears-break-off-from-frostbite cold, but shorts are not a viable indoors option anymore, which for us is tantamount to being sentenced to North Dakota. And we've got dark. Sudden dark. The worst kind. Imagine how you'd feel if your mother were on an elevator when without warning a rolling blackout struck and she was penned in there with Hillary Clinton for a couple hours. That's really what we're talking about here just plain folks. Kids are being stuck in those elevators too you know. Mostly its about the kids.

We weren't the only state duped into selling our regulated utilities for some magic beans, so your administration could send a strong compassionate yet conservative message to the rest of the country were you to throw us a bone during this crisis. Imagine how this could also cement your position as a champion of bipartisanship. We're talking first 100 days here. Just think of us as a friendly new neighbor knocking on your door asking to borrow a couple of gigawatts of sugar.

Maybe you could personally confab with Kenneth Lay, chairman of Enron, and is known as a family friend. God knows all it would take is a couple of kind words in his ear from you as a pal and we could be back to wearing flip flops and tank tops in no time. How bout it? You don't want to be known as the guy who roused America from its California dream and stuck it in a Yukon nightmare, do you? This isn't the Soviet Union for crums sake. What's next, bread lines?

And we're not talking gratis either. Perfectly willing and able to pay for whatever we get. We just need something now. Whatever you can spare. Diesel fuel. A couple of tanks of propane. Government issued Ronson's lighter fluid. Anything. You want to raise exhaust emissions, no problem. Drop a derrick smack dab in the middle of Grey Davis' forehead for all we care. Listen, man, all we need is a taste. C'mon, just something to get us through the winter. Otherwise the country is going to be treated to some weird candlelit shadows dancing across their Oscar ceremony.

Well, that's enough yakking. Get back as soon as you can. Got to light the Tiki torches around the pool and take the SUV in for its 500 mile check up. Catch up with us on the cell."

Will Durst was recently kicked out of K-Mart for violating the dress code.

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