A bushy fish for fishy Mr Bush (after Juvenal)

27 January 2003
Victor doesn't do political satire. Does it show?

Hernando Gonzalez was fishing for sea bass on the Californian coast. So far it had been an unusually quiet day - he could have expected four or five bites by now (it was mid afternoon). He soon found out why.

A most almighty tug on his line told him that this was no ordinary catch - an anchor, perhaps? How the hell was he going to get the thing out of the water? It doesn't matter to you how, does it? He just did. It was the largest catfish he had ever seen, let alone caught. Five or six stones at least; sure enough, the contents of the Pacific were in its stomach. The creature was covered from mouth to tailfin in thick, bristly hairs. No doubt about it, this was a prodigy, which demanded the attention of the highest power in the land, not least because Mr Gonzalez was still waiting for his citizenship to come through.

By the time Mr G arrived at the White House the Bush administration had already been alerted to the extraordinary discovery. Summoned at dawn, the advisors crowded the closed doors to the Oval Office: the subdued Mr Powell, the faceless Mr Rumsfeld, the determined Ms Rice, the shady Mr Cheney, standing in silence, shuffling feet, examining chewed fingers, until the double doors swung open. Out popped Hernando, smiling stupidly, a bodyguard guiding him firmly towards the nearest exit.

"Good morning, gentlemen, Condoleezza."

"Good morning, Mr President."

"I'm sure you are aware of developments overnight. I hardly need to add that we are now in a state of national emergency".

"What exactly is the problem, sir?"

"Well, look at it! It's huge! What are we gonna do with the sonofabitch?"

"There certainly isn't a plate in the White House big enough, sir. I checked with housekeeping this morning."

"Can we not cut it up?"

"You can't do that, Colin. Don't you see? It's an omen - of victory over world terror. Those spines on his back look just like Scuds. Besides, fish this large are protected by the United Nations. We'll have to wait for their fish inspectors to make a full report, and..."

"That'll take far too long. We've got two days before it goes off."

"That settles it, then. We'll bomb the crap out of it. Do you think Mr Blair would like to help?"

"Well, ...I know he doesn't like fish, sir."

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
11 December 2003. Dan writes: Spinning Jenny
8 December 2003. Victor writes: Rock Opera
4 December 2003. Matt writes: The Mirrored Spheres of Patagonia
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27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
24 November 2003. Jamie writes: El Matador del Amor; Or, the Man who Killed Love
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17 November 2003. Victor writes: Walking on Yellow
13 November 2003. Matt writes: Disintermediation
(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

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12 May 2003. Victor writes: The swings and roundabouts of outrageous fortune
21 April 2003. Victor writes: ...just sitting there quietly contemplating suicide
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27 January 2003. Victor writes: A bushy fish for fishy Mr Bush (after Juvenal)
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26 June 2000. Victor writes: I've seen the future, and it's feathered

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