Xenon lights in purple and gold luridly dapple the Red Room of the White House. Quite the shin dig, this is. Now I know Strom Thurmond will never die. Sure, he kicked a few months ago and they have that animatronic filling in for him while he retires from public observation, but they have his grey cottage-cheese brain somewhere downstairs (I think in the Vermeil Room, on the mantle beneath the Chandor of Ellie Roosevelt). Well, they have it downstairs now.... The last time I was here I saw it gurgling in a jar on the 19th century Pallasart mahogany and brass table that Le Pres D'Ubbya had received from the Kremlin as a gift for his involvement in 2001’s L'Entente Française De Paix De Fromage. I was curious, took a small sip. The greenish water tasted the way it smelled, of burnt hair and absinthe. Oh, and Strom’s brain, of course. A bit cottage-cheesy. After that, they began locking the brains away.

permalink