Soul Kitchen

By Kevin Michael Marley

Soul Kitchen is a collection of impressive and daring short short stories. They are written in the vein of Franz Kafka and Haruki Murakami. Many of the stories such as "The Ticket," "John Lennon's Still Dead," "I Know Why The Drunkard

• Language: English
• Publisher: Human Spirit
• Release date: Jan 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781495153891

Book preview

Onboard the R.M.S. Titanic—again

I am sending you a postcard of the Titanic. We started from Southampton about 12 o'clock last Wed. Slept well the first night. I’ve been on ship one and half days. I am not sea sick yet. I am enjoying myself very fine. Goodbye for now.

J H Lovell

Somehow, I tumbled through Time. I fell from the higher worlds, along with the others, and then over tiny cirrus clouds at 37,000 feet, and then through some dark cumulous clouds near ground level, barely missing a flock of migrating geese, until we landed here on the legendary and shiny black R.M.S. Titanic—I couldn’t believe it! This marvelous ship that was several football fields long was imposing in both height and girth, and rising out of the dark waters, verily, as a testament to the feverish technological genius of the early 20th century and indeed, it was like the 8th Wonder of the World! I landed with a hard thud along with Allen and two other castaways. But we bounced a few times like a very durable ball, like a fastball pitch with some grease on it. No one noticed we were here. They were too busy with their own muddled thinking, almost like a little chick still in its eggshell. We were Time Travelers on another mission! So, I stood up like the English gentlemen that I was, and summarily brushed my white shirt, dark pants and jacket off, and looked at my leather wallet and immigration papers to make sure everything was correct—make no mistakes! Ahhh, yes!!! Henry Lovell! I was a five foot ten and skinny as a bean pole rather uneducated British lad immigrating to America, The Land of Dreams. I had a slightly freckled face, short cropped black hair, an unconventional handsome face with a Roman nose, and witty charm that I had so far used often unsuccessfully with the ladies. And I was here for what important mission? Oh, there’s always a perpetual fog, a great amnesia, a thorough scrubbing of the grey and white matter between the two ears of every homosapien who lives on this planet, a terrible forgetting of who you truly are, and why you are here. And I had it again like the pandemic flu! Hmmmm. Yes. It’s coming back to me! I remember that I was a farmer with barely two shillings to rub against, pockets turned inside out like rabbit ears and now I was going to meet relatives and start a lovely and hopefully, large bucolic farm outside of Chicago, Illinois! Yes, that’s it!! And I’m rooming with Allen – since I was 3rd class. Let me see my trusty pocket watch! 5:15 p.m. And it is April 10th, 1912, the first day into our journeys.

You okay, Henry?

Yep.

Any broken bones?

Nope.

"Bruises?

None that I can feel right now.

Good. A successful transition into their broken-down jalopy-like period.

I exhaled and inhaled. I felt the capillaries absorbing tiny particles of oxygen and was more like a crab groping at the bottom of the sea getting used to the obscure and cold darkness. I brought out my White Star Line published itinerary from my back pocket. Ahem. We were supposed to sail from Southampton, England to Cherbourg, France to pick up more passengers on this virgin cruise, and then to Queensland, Ireland. If we made it, and there was no reason why we couldn’t, I promised myself I’d be able sit back, and see the NY Yankees and the lanky six-foot four Ray Caldwell pitch and Bird Cree snagging fly balls in right field, and eat buttered popcorn and drink Coca Cola all day. Most of the people on board were unabashedly filthy rich. I mean, if money were dirt, they were rolling in hog’s heaven. There were Molly Brown and John Jacob Astor, probably the richest man in the world, by far, and then Mr. Guggenheim who could buy the nicest things on earth save the hidden treasures that most of my colleagues were assiduously chasing, and Mr. Ismay, the managing director of White Star Line, and a lot of high flutin’ new passengers, a very boisterous lot, whom I had just heard of. They walked around as if they owned everything imaginable. For the 2nd and 3rd class passengers, they had had to fight and claw just to survive in a meager manner and to scrimp and save for a long time for these precious tickets. But all that was about to change! A new life full of wonder awaited us if we could just make it like a thirsty camel through the eye of an itty bitty needle.

Difficult.

But not impossible!!

Admittedly, everyone was proud of themselves for having even gotten here on the Titanic, the premiere ocean liner of its day. Obviously, the word Titanic was no ordinary word itself as it was, etymologically speaking, derived from Titans, the twelve Greek Gods who were very strong, wily, petulant and indomitable as mythical gods can be until they were overthrown by Zeus and his fellow Olympians; only this time, things were a little different. It was Modern 20th Century Man who was the current anomaly and who was taking Titan-like steps in his own technological prowess and who was capable of defying awesome Nature. Obviously, this was epitomized by finally overcoming the very cold Atlantic which had been nothing but a restless graveyard to numerous ships and sailors. Indeed, the Titanic was a marvel of new engineering, and as Mr. Andrews, the ship’s architect, proudly said, The very best that human minds could make her. Beyond a doubt, it was the pinnacle of human achievement and a stolen Prometheus- like boon that had everything you could imagine: an on-board swimming pool, a gymnasium, a Turkish bath, libraries, a squash court, two Marconi radios that allowed for trans-Atlantic communication, the finest European furniture and decorations imaginable, no expenses spared, the most delicious culinary delights, and two of the finest steam engines ever built by human hands! Allen and I walked about a little to get our bearings and to shake out the cobwebs and to strengthen our rubbery legs that needed to become sea steady. But when through curiosity I leaned over the railing, and stretched my head to get a good look at her, I was flummoxed by the majesty of Titanic’s beauty, 9 glorious decks, 882 feet long, and from magnificent keel to funnels175 feet wide. I considered ourselves fortunate to be on this particular assignment and no other. Mankind had a right to be proud! You could even feel her, the R.M.S. Titanic and her 48,328-gross register tonnage, slicing through the waters and announcing herself to all the marine life below and brooding Neptune himself.

Allen and I watched and awaited the christening of the R.M.S. Titanic as a bottle of the finest champagne hit its black hull – SMACK!! Cheers arose. The oceans were finally conquered after so many millennia. It was quite a sight as humanity borne from the continent of Africa a mere few cosmic seconds ago had taken a new step forward on its wobbly feet. Captain Smith, the crew of the Titanic, politicians, businessmen, newspaper reporters and spectators were on hand to give their speeches. They enjoyed the spectacle and were fond of waxing and waning like Sir Alfred Lord Tennyson in prosaic poetry about these new technological accomplishments and a new era of civility dawning. They babbled about how Man had taken flight at Kitty Hawk a mere decade ago as Leonardo DaVinci had himself imagined, and how Man was now sailing in these impressive ships and had ingeniously conquered, almost single handedly, the oceans and deserts, the green forests and the mountain ranges and the seven continents. Of course, to their minds, this represented another important step where Nature’s laws were fast being understood and then wisely utilized with the aid of modern science, and how we were so very privileged to be standing here today to witness the R.M.S. Titanic. According to them, the cold and ravaging Atlantic, once feared by Phoenicians and Vikings alike, was about to be finally conquered from one European continental shore to its American shore now in requisite safety, luxury and style!

Greater technological feats awaited us!

The sky was the limit!

Pride always comes before The Fall.

Finally, after the long awaited ceremony, we moved out of the placid harbor at Southampton. However, the R.M.S. Titanic’s engines churned so strongly and powerfully that a smaller ship, City of New York, broke away from its moorings. It became caught within the wake of the Titanic, and came within several feet of hitting us, and seriously impeding our journey. But fortunately, it didn’t. From afar, I saw First Officer Murdoch gulp and reswallow his English breakfast.

Captain J. Smith was at the helm, however, and he looked as somber as Neptune clutching his Trident possessed of a burly salt and pepper beard and piercing black eyes as he had bravely sailed the Atlantic for 26 years without fear. He had an imperial presence. Yet, he was capable of being a regular man when the situation required and was jovial and informal with the R.M.S. Titanic crew who liked him immensely. A strange urge came over me. I wanted to tell him of the many perilous dangers that we faced. But Allen told me we could not intervene like that. We kept sailing guided by the Zodiac, the bright stars and our foolish notions. In the late afternoon, we picked up more passengers at Cherbourg, France and then Queensland, Ireland. I could see a sprinkling of rustic cottages, cobbled stone streets, vendors, and steeples of churches and the town itself. The Titanic was too deep for her shallow waters; her belly was too full, nearly scraping bottom, so the passengers had to be ferreted out by small boats. Quite rightly, the Titanic was billed as The Ship of Dreams by much of the press. Its engines hummed and its smokestacks billowed with pride as this monstrosity carried us forward to a new life. Indeed, she was a marvelous piece of sophisticated machinery capable of a long life. Like their ancestors, these mostly European passengers felt blessed to be sailing on her to The New World! This far exceeded the past where sailing the turbulent oceans was a very risky business. For flipping through the pages of history books, the Persians had their sleek and fast-moving ships; the Greeks had slow clumsy boats that were more often than not turned into fighting platforms; the Romans had their light galleys; and at last, a small navy that didn’t never matched the prowess of their prolific armies; and the Vikings and the Phoenicians had their more seaworthy ships per their well-deserved reputation. But despite their bravery and numerous accomplishments, the vast oceans had never been conquered.

It had been unthinkable, until now.

On the R.M.S. Titanic, everyone seemed to be in exceptionally good spirits except for the new passengers who had a poor attitude about everything and a very strong obstinate penchant for arguing as though the entire world owed them something. They still didn’t know why they were here and what they were here to do. I made a point to get to know some of these sad Souls. But Allen dragged me by the scruff of my neck. I spent it in steerage with the salt of the Earth who painfully tilled the land day after day so that that a much smaller percentage could live in the idle lap of luxury. There was a Light in everyone’s eyes even though their purses were meager, and their ordinary clothes were of a humble origin. It was as though we had known each other for a long time. There was an unspoken secret amongst us. There was a sense that we weren’t strangers to each other, at all, but an airy crispness of déjà vu. We looked and unabashedly studied each other’s faces. There were the same visages and the remarkable stained-glass windows of the human soul. Beyond any whimsical doubt, we knew each other. There were Mr. and Mrs. John Bourke, and their little girl, Mary, who were English farmers in the countryside, like I had been near the borders of Ireland slavishly tilling the soil for their brusque landlord. Mary sang hymns and played with dolls. They survived in a meager way, like I had, by counting my blessings. But like a new book chapter, they were looking to make something out of themselves. How ‘ere you, Jack? Fine. The winds ‘ere blowin’ blustery today. So, don’t lose your breakfast now. They might charge you twice! We flyin’ full mast today? I think we’ll make it this time. All ya half to do is learn to turn the real steering wheel to the port side in time! But they always grab the wooden one. A damn pity. More familiar faces as I made my way reacquainting myself with those in steerage: Mr. Stephen Hold. Ms. Kate Holman. Mr. Dintcheff. An excitement buzzed. Then I came across old friends, Johanna and Ellen Pettersson still in their teenage years from Sweden, and the Gustafsson brothers from Finland playing cards as before. They were wonderful people: the dirt poor Irish, a few Scots who drank cheap whiskey from dirty glasses, dark skinned Italians from the Mediterranean who had left many family members behind, the Belgians, the French, and the working class English now rubbing elbows. We had all sensed this déjà a vu. But no one spoke of it. If you looked at the deep lines etched on their faces, it was like reading a palm of an old woman that told a unique story and the heartache. It made these people somehow more invisibly rich and beautiful. A gossamer thread connected us all as though part of a greater web. When I stared, a certain scintillating light sparkled and even the R.M.S. Titanic herself. I began to feel right at home. But then that unsubstantiated dread about this journey began to come back. No matter how many times I tried to rouse myself, I couldn’t shake it.

There were the new passengers onboard the R.M.S. Titanic who were in contrast very garrulous, irascible, conniving, and filled with braggadocio, and not very forthcoming about the truth. They were here, as we were, as God’s mill turns very slowly, but surely.

It cannot be denied.

Damn us for our arrogance!

On the Titanic, time sped forward. It churned like a deep river with strong currents and eddies and tides moving always towards the great unknown. It was now Friday night. There was much card playing, the eating of sandwiches and fruit, the drinking of ale, ribald joking, and the singing of songs, and the endless talk of the future. She flirts and teases like a seductive Mistress, you know, but whom you never get to truly consummate your relationship with. At times, it’s much better to bid adieu. But I began to slowly remember my assignment like a fog burning off in early morning. Allen was busy working in the engine room, as usual, tinkering with these newer steam engines. He kept muttering, We need to make them hum like free verse! Otherwise, we’re doomed! The other two walk-ons, a handsome young man and a Mennonite woman, were busy somewhere, too. Come on, Daniel, we’re dining first class tonight! I said to a young rather shy lad whom I had recently befriended from Ireland. I threw on the wooden table: a very nice dinner jacket, a fine pair of dark trousers, a white cotton shirt and a silk tie. Neatly, I laid them out and brushed them with my hands as though of the finest materials. I don’t have anything. Don’t worry, I’ve got a set of clothes for you, too. What if we get caught, Henry? What are Captain Smith and Mr. Bailey, the sergeant of arms, going to do in the middle of the Northern Atlantic? Draw and quarter us? Sardonically, I laughed like a hyena which I was prone to do. Daniels’ face was pinched with anxiety. His blue eyes looked at me as though we were headed for a world of trouble. Not far from the truth. Busily, we got dressed as young men with great expectations. Then craftily, we assumed our new identities like undercover spies for the Allies, and then made our way from steerage to 2nd class by jumping wooden railings. We mingled for a bit with these passengers, and then went through various passages and then to 1st class by looking bright and confident. I had heard much about these new passengers and wanted to see for myself what our chances on this trip were. I told the waiter that I was a journalist, and Daniel was my assistant.

On a Dark Night,

Sailing through the starry kosmos,

In heavy seas and pounding waves, as usual,

Afraid of what was ahead of us!

In the first class dining saloon, we were a noticeable drop of oil in water, then we dispersed and mingled, and soon we were in with the rest of them! There were crystal glasses with bubbly champagne —clinking. Like at an English pub, the libations flowed and loosened the lips, a bit; and then the floodgates were opened and all sorts of raucous Canterbury-like tales poured forth. Indeed, the first-class passengers were Titans as they tried to outdo the other no matter whether the game was chess or checkers. But besides these inimitable traits, they were also very powerful men and women who were seasoned raconteurs and when slightly inebriated told fishermen’s tales that simply got bolder and longer as the evening wore on. But instead of talking about the fish being THIS BIG, they talked of laboriously building, building, and building Wall St. companies. They jibber jabbered about building and building brokerage houses, shipyards, insurance firms, banks, motor car companies, and even large national economies that now dealt in mind boggling billions and trillions of dollars! They were Titans standing like Gulliver, however, with few redeeming qualities about them among mere Lilliputians. They discussed with hallowed words that most important of all subjects which was global business and moneymaking! They spun the tawdry earth on their grubby fingertips. Then they congratulatory patted themselves on the back as they were prone to do and smoked cigars. Most of them were inveterate politicians married to capitalists who thought that everything was fair. In truth, they did not look exactly homo sapiens. For instance, Ms. St. Clair was not a homo sapien per se, but a felis cattus, an overgrown twenty-three pound Persian cat who incessantly clawed at the Victorian furniture, and occasionally, reared her back in anger; Mr. Ritter was more a canis lupus familiaris, a fat runny-nosed Schnauzer, who read the newspapers with his tiny bifocals and discussed his latest business dealings and conjugal exploits through half-barked words, almost indecipherable, with his closest companions; Mr. Buggles was not whom he appeared to be either, by any stretch of the imagination, but rather a Deutscher Schaferhund, a voracious barking German Shepherd, who immensely enjoyed drawing attention to himself, his many recognized accomplishments, and his bank account; on the other hand, Sandra Willer was slightly different. She was another felis cattus, a dark eyed lovely Manx, with a thick fur who fretted about everything, and who was in a wretched mess from too much catnip; and Mr. Jansen, behind appearances, was a frightful ol’ dribbling Bulldog, a canis lupus, in fact, who thought he owned the kennel, and who wanted more of everything! Boldly, he sat upright on his haunches, held his fork and knife with both paws, and dared anyone to challenge him.

The R.M.S. Titanic was sailing to destinations unknown.

A miracle in many ways.

Then new passengers came barreling in.

Like in an American Western, the first-class dining saloon doors made of oak swung wildly open, and almost knocked down one of the addled servants. Two American and British men of with an ambience of royalty came in. They talked rapidly – one with an obnoxious Texas twang and the other with an East End of London accent. They were dressed in the finest looking business suits, and had a dozen security men and women, at least, about them. There was a peculiar swagger to the American’s walk as though he were the lone sheriff of the world and had a five-star badge to prove it. Between them, they truly believed that they could rule the entire world. Halfway into the dining salon, they stopped, and stared at the fine accompaniments onboard, and even at the other passengers: Molly Brown, Mr. John Astor, and Mr. Ismay even though such behavior would be normally considered very impudent. The two men continued walking about the dining salon making hand gestures and raucously laughing at their own jokes. Obsequiously, the staff busily ran around serving these American and British men and others a ten-course meal fit for a modern-day king and queen. For all those lucky to be at this royal court, and have the prerequisite empty stomach, it was an indescribable meal of: oysters, cream of barley, filet mignon, sauté of chicken, creamed carrots, parmentier and boiled potatoes, punch romaine, roast squab and cress! If you survived that, by chance, there was mostly importantly, dessert: Waldorf pudding, peaches in chartreuse jelly, chocolate and vanilla éclairs, and French ice cream! But for these particular gentlemen, none of this would ever be enough as though they owned the whole world and it was very imperative that it be neatly divided amongst themselves on their plates with the finest cutlery.

In truth, they were the new kings and queens.

Their thrones were more modern and disguised.

They were not going to relinquish their power.

Not ever!

Unfortunately, they would always want more as empires, as Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, are merely symptoms of severe egotism.

My answer is to bring them on! the Yank blustered. I’m not afraid of any threats.

I’ve always admired your undaunted courage, George. Quite frankly, these circumstances would’ve made most mortals knock kneed if they had to face such existential threats.

By God, we conquered that country that begins with … umm … with a capital I –was it Iraq or Iran, gentlemen? I can’t remember which? In what? Forty-one Days?

An astounding military victory.

Shock and awe! An American Fourth of July fireworks display for all to see!

A very high television rating – a 6.4, I believe, George, that beat out America’s Got Talent, 60 Minutes, and NCIS.

Yep. But I just want you to know, Tony. They misunderestimated me. Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we.

Sure, George.

And when the going gets tough, we gotta get going. So, let’s get going to wherever we’re supposed to be going on this sailing ship!

Never more truly spoken.

I mean, this war wasn’t my doing. Not at all. There was already an Axis of Evil existing before I got to the Oval Office. Most people don’t realize that. All I did was combat the thing. The beast! Now the biased liberal media, ABC, CBS, NBC and CNN—the entire alphabet soup of the national press—is saying I misspoke about this, that, and the other thing. They say I don’t really know about these Iraqis with these Sunni and Shiite factions, and who hates us and who loves us when it’s hard to figure out Ted Kennedy, John Kerry, and those liberal Democrats I have to deal with every week in both the House and the Senate.

That’s quite true, George.

No, it’s poppycock!

Indubitably.

I’m just saying about this whole infernal mess fool me once – shame on you. Fool me – you can’t get fooled again.

Only William Shakespeare from Stratford upon Avon with his quill could have said it better.

I’ll be long gone before some smart person ever figures out what happened inside this oval office.

I wouldn’t worry about it, George.

Why?

Because Truth is always stranger than fiction.

All I know is that we cannot let terrorists and rogue nations hold this nation hostage or hold our allies hostage.

Right, George.

It’ll take time to restore chaos and order.

Definitely.

Well, Tony, I’m glad you’re onboard with me. Right now, you know we’ve gotta take care of these Iraqi insurgents pronto before the shit hits the big fan and a big breeze comes drifting over my constituency of the Haves and the Have Mores. I know it’s been a bloody war. A real mess that the liberal media are gonna begin to describe in great lurid detail. That’s why we’re hidin’ the military coffins from the TV reporters at Dover Air Force Base. But I just want you to know that when we talk about war, we’re really talking about peace. I actually ran against peace and prosperity—and won! And now, I’m a wartime President like Roosevelt or Truman and the people kinda like herds of good sheep should rally around me, Their Shepherd, the American President said as he moved his hands up and down as though directing traffic in nearby Lafayette Square. By the way, I can’t believe I’m on the Titanic, Tony. It seems a remarkable feat of engineering. The building of it, once again. This was the premiere ship of its time before it unfortunately sank.

The American was impeccably dressed in a dark suit and had an American flag on his lapel to further announce his own patriotism beyond any kind of impeachment. And the crew looks so awwthentic!

It’s a sheer miracle, George. She was rebuilt to her entire specifications by many firms, and in time, for the centennial celebration! the British Prime Minister said as he felt himself to be in charge here.

And I know, Tony, that a lot of people out there make fun of me.

It’s just potty mouth humor, George, by impoverished comedians trying to make a living.

Well, I’m okay with it. I’m Commander-in-Chief, and as far as my thinking goes, a good belly laugh improves the immune system and stimulates endorphin production. So, in a sense, I’m helping America to Stay Healthy! With my malaproppers. Or are they malapropisms? My new campaign slogan!

Me, too.

They both stopped in their tracks, and perspicaciously looked around the room as though John Jacob Astor, Molly Brown, Captain Smith, and the crew of the R.M.S. Titanic were all shiny pieces at Madame Tussaud’s Wax Museum in London.

Finally, they sat down for their dinner.

I hope she doesn’t hit an iceberg, again!

Don’t worry, George. These people are highly trained professionals. They’ve probably, have been doing their jobs on board for as long as we have.

That’s what I’m worried about, Tony!

You handled that G-8 meeting quite well, George. I was surprised there weren’t any strenuous objections about American hegemony and brash Yanks ruling the world well into the 21st century. You have a knack for pushing your agenda through whatever it may be.

Well, this entire thing is a lot like what Dicky Rumsfeld said it was from the very beginning: There are known knowns; there are things that we know that we know. Then there are known unknowns; that is to say that there are things that, we now know that we don’t know. But there are also unknown unknowns – there are things we do not know, we do not know.

Being Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, I definitely know that!

If only we were a John Wayne movie, I could straighten the entire Middle East with a little old Cowboy and Injun diplomacy.

Precisely.

Maybe we need to create another movie.

"Being a politician these days, Tony, is a lot like being Stephen Spielberg or George Lucas. Write a very good script. Shoot an excellent movie with the finest actors and actresses! Use your people in the studio to cleverly create great cinematography and metaphors like Karl Rove did for me, and then project all that onto the ubiquitous screen of television and the masses will applaud and think you’re a genius of the finest sort like Ronnie Reagan ridin’ on his horse!

Maybe you should go to Hollywood, California, George! Start a new career!

The American laughed as he bared his pearly whites while his coiffed hair stayed in place as he convulsed like a bobble doll on Fan Appreciation Night at Yankee Stadium. He wore a laurel wreath like a Roman Emperor and had taken great imperious strides aboard the R.M.S. Titanic not even acknowledging the presence of the other guests on this voyage. In contrast, the British man was a distinguished gentleman in his mid-fifties of modest upbringing, but of great ambition who was thin, affable, and a bit garrulous and who always possessed a silly grin used to conveniently predispose himself to others and home crowds as he tried to explain the purpose of The Union Jack since The British Empire had faded.

They had created shenanigans. Otherwise, they would not be onboard the R.M.S. Titanic.

For many years, we’ve sailed the Northern Atlantic carrying many passengers, Captain J. Smith interrupted the two power brokers as he was seated a few seats down from the table. Busily, they were trying to rewrite the history books and make themselves somehow look better before the ink finally dried. And I wouldn’t worry too much about anything, Mr. President Bush and Mr. Prime Minister Tony Blair. Is it? Beyond any fears you might have, there’s nothing to fear on our journey except fear itself and one’s own intractable ego as we move into the deepest blue oceans imaginable. As Robert Browning, the famous poet, once said, ‘God’s in his place. All’s right with the world.’

Captain Smith looked at the two of them as he pledged his utmost.

Yes, I can personally vouch for the captain and the staff. They’ve done an excellent job over the years for White Star Line both with their service and attention to detail, Mr. Ismay, a portly gentleman who was a bit of a hypochondriac, fervently believing that he suffered from some kind of non-diagnosable ailment, added as he leaned forward to address our distinguished guests. Captain Smith has an unblemished record in regards to safety. They’ve gone way beyond the call of duty, and will help you with anything you might need.

A man of faith, like myself. I believe in the Almighty, too, sir. Like I told a devout group of Amish people the other day, I trust God speaks through me as President of the United States of America. Without that, I couldn’t do my job.

Of course, George. You do have a way of putting things into perspective.

But overall, I think there’s way too much second guessing these days, especially, by the national press. Isn’t that right, Tony?

Yes, George. We all make mistakes.

Indubitably.

A long time ago, believe it or not, I tried to model myself after Mick Jagger.

Well, it wasn’t a complete failure, Tony. You became the youngest Prime Minister of Great Britain since Lord Liverpool in 1812. Another big date, at least, for Old Glory.

In a few minutes, they were joined by six other distinguished foreign dignitaries around our table to increase, presumably, the security in the world that was at this very precise time becoming more tenuous and insecure. Many guests onboard were now being thoroughly searched and run through both a metal detector and a body scanner. In a few minutes, they were formally introduced as: Russian President Dmitry Medvedev, German Chancellor Angela Merkel, French President Nicolas Sarkozy, Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper, and Japanese Prime Minister Fukuda.

Molly Brown whispered in my ear to scribble as many notes as possible.

There was a golden aura of worldly power, political rank, and wealth at the dining table from these G-8 leaders as they were called, and an inimitable feeling of superiority, of being ordained to run their countries and to proclaim to each other and the world their many Herculean accomplishments as previously described; and indeed, it was definitely conveyed that they were distinctly better than us, that is, Mr. Astor, Molly Brown, Mr. Ismay, and in his absence, J.P. Morgan who had been personally responsible for creating this wonderful ship, the R.M.S. Titanic, that had no equal in the history of maritime or ever since, and that had unbeknownst to most kept sailing the seven seas on its own special mission.

An eight-man orchestrated band led by Mr. Wallace Hartley played mostly ragtime and waltzes to an upbeat tempo. Some of the passengers got up to dance. We could hear the notes, the chords, and the vast silence dancing together, and indeed, the music of the spheres, that kept the planets from bumping into one another.

I know there’s been a lot of debate and dissension in the international community, folks. That’s what we’re here to discuss. But let me point out: I’m The Decider, George Bush said as he slurred his words. "And I decide what is best, and after the decision making there really should be no more deciding after that ‘cause I’ve decided! You know, Iraq violated U.N. Security Council Resolution1441, and numerous other resolutions previous to that, and tried to kill my daddy, Poppa Bush, which would upset any son, especially, if he happened to be President of the United States of America.

"And America’s now a much safer place!!

"We built a careful coalition of nations: Mongolia, Georgia, Luxembourg, Bulgaria, Romania, Moldova, Estonia, the Tongan Islands and Eritrea in case you didn’t notice. Then we boldly went to war against one of the Axis of Evil on March 19th, 2003.

"We were God’s warriors!

"If you doubt that, gimme your Yahoo or Google email. I’ll send you the hush hush MS PowerPoint presentations that Rummie kept sending me that had a hell of a lot of good Biblical quotes scribbled on ‘em.

"Made me teary eyed, at times!

"I knew we were doin’ The Good Lord’s Work.

"Reminded me of Ecclesiastes: ‘There’s a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the starry Heavens. A time to be born. And a time to be drunk. A time to be sober. And time to be President. A time to retire. To be put out to pasture for stud with Laura somewhere in Crawford, Texas. And then a time to die like every other S.O.B. who held the Oval Office and who abused his powers.

"And if we re-examine Ecclesiastes more closely, there’s time to bomb the hell out of them! And a time to come together as the G-8, and forget about it all.’

Anyway, well, hell, if you don’t believe me. Lemme tell yaa another story. Tony and I came in like one of those episodes of Gun Smoke—I forget which one!—like two sheriffs with guns a blazin’ like in Tombstone, Arizona, like between the Earps and the Clantons, trying set to restore law and order. Anyway, I think they misunderestimated the two of us. Thinkin’ we’re not too smart, and stuff.

Yes, they did, George, Tony Blair chimed in.

But you never did find any WMD’s?’ French President Jacques Chirac said as he graciously dabbed sour bread into his onion soup, and looked at the other world leaders who nodded in agreement.

Oh, Christ, if you don’t shut up about WMD’s, Jacques, I’m gonna lose it! I’m gonna turn French fries into American fries! And stop the exporting of Jerry Lewis movies to Paris, France! See how you like that one!

But George?

What?!!

Our entire premise for the war that the Iraqis had WMD’s was wrong. It was the entire basis for the war, and now 650,000 Iraqis died, and over 4,000 of your own countrymen. Where’s the taking of responsibility? The remorse?

George Bush got up.

Curiously, he began to walk about the room lifting the table cloth.

He began looking under the dining tables.

Checking even the waiters.

His coat pockets.

Before he announced, Those weapons of mass destruction have got be somewhere!

Everyone laughed – except for President Chirac.

Bush motioned towards Prime Minister Blair—an American ally—for help.

Well, Jacques, in this modern age of highly sophisticated media, the truth is sometimes flexible and even pliable. It can be shaped into forms kinda like Play dough, you know. I used to play with it a lot when I was a kid. So, from a certain perspective, mind you, you can say that we found the weapons of mass destruction. We found biological laboratories all around Iraq with germs galore much more so than when I was a beer guzzling and slovenly undergraduate at Yale! All we must do is call a germ—a germ! Think about it! And agree on something as simple as this. And then we’ll find more weapons of mass destruction as times goes by!

That’s what you said a few years back, Chancellor Angela Merkel reminded him.

I know we made some mistakes, folks.

We sure did.

Damn right.

"But we need to stay the course here. No matter what.

"We’re playing a very clever game of dominoes trying to topple some of these Middle East tyrants. So, that when one falls the others begin to fall, too. Kaplunk! Kaplunk! But we’ve gotta win their hearts and minds first.

"Heck, I’ve gotta win my own heart and mind here, too.

"So, you see what a tough job we’ve got!

"Anyway, we’ve gotta keep repeating things over and over again for the truth to sink in, and catapult the propaganda every day. Kinda like King William I at the Battle of Hastings in 1066 if I got my history correct this time. But in the final analysis, the weapons of mass destruction weren’t stored in any bunkers. There weren’t any hidden caches. Saddam decided to comply, at least, that’s what he said after we did a few water dunkings on him. But, no, he had kept this secret, unfortunately, to himself. You see, he didn’t want to tell anyone because he feared looking weak and vulnerable to other Middle East leaders.

"Especially, to those Iranians to the west of him.

"Or is it the East? I kinda get confused where we’re looking at the globe kinda backwards. Where’s my Google Earth?!

"But that’s not the point, Jack. You uppity French think you know everything with your fancy foods, expensive wines and various revisionist histories and tens of millions of liberals filling the Avenue des Champs-Elysees to back you up. But it all boils down to this: They had been thinking of attacking us, and that was enough in my book to launch a pre-emptive strike. You see in a post 9/11 world, we reserve the right to defend ourselves, and to take the bull by the horns. Surprisingly, the basic principles of life aren’t found in school or a good Yale or Harvard book.

"Believe it or not, they can all be found at a Texas Cowboy Rodeo.

"You should come with me, Jacques! I’ll show you. You just need to lasso the damn thing like a steer, rope it, and wrestle it to the ground—5.4 seconds flat.

"Sure, we Texas-styled barbecued a few Iraqis.

But they were all the bad ones!

George Bush then sat back down.

Then boldly he held up his large fork with a piece of bloody meat.

Before relishing eating it.

You know, it’s a different world say than it was a mere fifty years ago. We’ve gotta be subtler, you know, and profoundly think about their thinking, and then react to it with brand new thinking. Think about that, if you will, President Bush said as he looked at the other G-8 leaders. They began to feel a tinge of remorse for having