Who’s On First?

It’s a strange scene. An office conference table, a Bull named Gordo and a Skeleton named Lazarus. They’re politicians.

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Gordo’s on a diet. Lazarus needs a resurrection. They can’t agree on things. They get close, yet remain far apart. They work on a modus vivendi, an agreement to reconcile two opposing parties. Entrenchment makes consensus difficult.

But what can be expected from polarization of ideology? They read their respective newspapers. For Gordo, it’s the New York Times. For Lazarus, it’s the Wall Street Journal. Political party affiliations? Guess.

Their tete-a-tete goes something like this:

Lazarus: Here we are, looking for answers for Beltway’s travails.

Gordo: Better here than hanging like an ornament on a lawyer’s wall.

Lazarus: (laughing) Yeah, politics beats my old real estate job.

Gordo: Who are you anyway?

Lazarus: I’m a metaphor. Right-wing Conservative. You?

Gordo: I’m a symbol. A Progressive, just fat and happy. Like lawyers.

Lazarus: That’s part of our problem. That, and money.

Gordo: (thinking) Huh?

Lazarus: You know, fat and happy. Money does that. Where’ve you been?

Gordo: Hanging around the feed lot….eating. Rich lobbyists, you know. No boring job. Everything’s free. Government trucks back up, fill the troughs. Food stamps, disability, unemployment insurance, stuff like that. Got it made.

(Pause)

Lazarus: No free lunch, Bullhead. Somebody pays.

Gordo: (glances at the NYT’s) Says here our party won. Says yours lost. Maybe you pay? More taxes, right? We don’t pay taxes. We’re winners. You’re losers. Losers pay. (He burps)

Lazarus: (opens his palms, attempts to reason) Yellow journalism. Look, do you know why I’m skinny? I’ll tell you. Conservatives diet, work hard, have tea parties and tithe. OK, so I did have to eat my own flesh to survive for the last six years. We’re not on the public dole like you. God’s on our side.

Gordo: This is politics, Scrawny, God doesn’t take sides. We shook down Wall Street. The Golden Checkbook is ours now. We’re even milking the scapegoat. Anyway, this newspaper suggests the President is God.

Lazarus: (Laughs) You stupid bovine, he just talks. Don’tcha know, sometimes mud gives the illusion of depth? Remember, when smashing monuments, save the pedestals—they always come in handy. Anyway, I’m gonna leave it all behind when I’m resurrected. (He shouts “Amen.” A slight applause echoes in the distance)

Gordo: (yawns) You should eat more protein, Bonehead. And lay off the hallucinatory supplements.

Lazarus: (pops his knuckles, his bones creak) My paper says Bigears is a socialist. He’s hanging himself with words, all these promises about cheap insurance, “no matter what.” Didn’t Lord Chesterfield say, “Cunning is the dark sanctuary of incapacity?”

Gordo: Have you forgotten, “WMD, Mission Accomplished?” That was your man Bush. Say, are you still at war with women?

Lazarus: (irritated) Man, that’s a myth. Just a small rift between some disgruntled pro-lifers and a few women’s righters, both nutcases, stirring up the Pope. Got him fired. The Press is incendiary.

(They take a breather. A calm descends)

Gordo: (now inspired, waxes academic, and changes the discussion to platitudes) Skinnyman, did you know that in a war of ideas it is the people who get killed?

Lazarus: Interesting, Bloathead. It’s a nightmare—too many ideas floating around, Twitters, bloggers, pundits. Reminds me of fleas on the necks of giraffes…from that height they begin to believe in immortality.

Gordo: Look, Thinman, did you know the first condition of immortality is death?

Lazarus: Good one, Fatso. You climbed pretty high to reach that deep thought. I think I’m beginning to like you, even if you are on the other side of the aisle.

Gordo: Yeah. We’re not that different, you and me. Can we be friends? I don’t want to have to cross heaven’s Streets of Gold when I see you coming.

Lazarus: Oh, sometimes I wish we could sleep off death on the installment plan. I love Washington.

Gordo: Man, let’s don’t talk about death. We’re too important. I don’t know about you, but I prefer signs that say NO ENTRY to those that say NO EXIT.

Lazarus: That makes me think about freedom. To whom should we marry freedom in order to make it multiply? (His demeanor becomes self-congratulatory)

Gordo: (Ponders the conundrum, them speaks) How about we include the letter of the law in the alphabet? (Conceit shows on his face)

Lazarus: You sound like a prophet. Remember, even the Prophet’s beard can be shaved. What will he hide behind then?

And so it goes, this aphoristic engagement.

Gordo: Let’s not leave until we agree on at least one thing.

Lazarus: OK. How about this: “Women will probably be the last animal civilized by man.”


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Uh oh, Lazarus drops a loaded bomb. An eerie quiet pervades the room. There’s always a brief silence before an explosion is heard!

Bud Hearn
November 8, 2013


Note: Lest I should be accused of plagiarism, I wish to thank some of the great aphorists for the loan of their wit, including Geo. Meredith, Lord Chesterfield, Oscar Wilde, Ogden Nash, Stanislaw Lec and a few others I can’t recall.