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Subject: CODY: MY STRUGGLE, Part 2 Dole From: email@example.com (Mithryl) Date: 1996/11/01 Message-Id: <firstname.lastname@example.org> Newsgroups: rec.arts.prose,alt.sex.stories MY STRUGGLE By CODY ANN MICHAELS c. All Rights Reserved PART 2 DOLE Note: This story and those preceding it in this series are the property of Mask Operating Systems, Inc.(c.), which retains all rights. It is not public domain. Archivists are requested the curtesy of a notice to the present e-mail address. Thank you. --- Note: This and the following two chapters are Part 2 of a so far untitled novel (I'm thinking about "The Fruited Plane") I started to write in response to letters I got when I placed the following ad on Usenet: "Cody's Lonesome. Tell me a story: Green eyes. Long red hair. Big tits. Long legs. Likes plenty of pain and violence. Not necessarily in that order. Will reply in kind." I'm posting this part here because it might have some interest to the present political situation; not because I think people are wildly interested in my sex life. If stories like that bother you, don't read it. For those interested in the earlier chap ters, I refer you to rec.arts.prose or alt.sex.bondage, or you can contact me. Yours truly, Cody Ann Michaels Chapter 5 Dear Michael, Okay. Call me at 212 262-5008. Let's see how good you are. Dear Bill, You are not the only person I write to. You can't expect them all to be as intelligent or perceptive as you. Or as gifted. Some things have to be spelled out. Why are you telling me what I already said? Why do you think I'm trying to find things to write about besides myself? Also, stop talking about me as if I were somebody else. By the way, do you know how to fix my lynx connection so the cursor high light doesn't appear on the next line from where it's supposed to be. The tech people at this server are totally useless. They said I needed a 12-line modem. Whatever that is. Dear Keith, Thanks for the address. I will write to them. I have an idea most of my stories will be too hot for them. The question is, what can I write that isn't totally obscene? Maybe my Dole novel. I wonder. Is that legal? Can they throw me in jail for wri ting a novel about Dole? Well, it wouldn't actually be about Dole. Just that the main character would be named Dole. But some people might put two and two together and think I meant Dole. It's not that I want to shoot him or anything. Just use the name. Dear Velvet, I had such a good time at your party last night. Thank you for inviting me. I've always wanted to meet Mrs. Huffington. For me, the main reason I know that Dole is going to win is that he's the only human being running. Of course, that's not to say h e isn't flawed. He's an old man who's completely wasted his life. But the other three are like Ken Bots. Look at Kemp. Don't you think there's something pretty pathetic about a sixty-one year old man with the haircut of a president who's been dead thirty years? I mean, would Marilyn Monroe sleep with a fat pig like Kemp? I wonder if he fantasizes about her when he blow dries and tries to look presidential. Come to me. Come to me in your skintight silver evening gown. Happy birthday dear Jack... They have the same name. Dear xxxxx, Actually, I don't know anything about Dole. The only thing I know is he comes from Kansas. And the only thing I know about Kansas is The Wizard of Oz. So the Dole in my book is not Dole the candidate. Even though Dole is a candidate. For president. And Dole is from Kansas. Just as was Dorothy. Just as was Count Basie. Just as was Wyatt Earp. Just as was John Brown. So Dole shares a common background with some of America's greatest folk heroes. Although he is no hero himself. Let's get something straight. Dole is no hero. No matter what they say. Being blown to bits does not make someone a hero. Dole was a soldier. He was there because he had to be there. Not because he was on some kind of archetypal mission to save hum anity. And he got blown to bits. Which frequently comes with the territory of being a soldier. He stepped on a mine or something. It's never exactly clear. In the stories and legends. Exactly what happened. Maybe not even Dole knows. But it's not like he threw himself on a grenade to save his buddies. That would be heroic. But Dole didn't do that. So he's not a hero. Dear Mrs. Huffington, I adored meeting you the other night. Michael told me so much about you. I was surprised he hadn't told you about me. I have to say you took it very well. No, I don't want to destroy Mike's career. But I do have to pay my rent. And go to school. I 'm studying to be a doctor. This is a copy of the video. Doesn't Mikey look funny in a fireman's hat? Dear Rick, (Do they own your book if you send it to them, or only if you win a prize? And what about the movie rights? You have to take responsibility for your work and what happens to it. Otherwise, you will end up getting fucked.) I'm trying to think what it would be like to think like Dole. Look through his eyes. Smell the way he smells. He and Newt sat next to each other for twenty-four hours going back and forth from Shamir's funeral. I bet Newt got a noseful. Dole back ho me, pulling off his necktie, telling Libby about it. What it's like to spend twenty-four hours with a fat pig. The different ways you can spent time with people. Sitting next to them on an airplane. Huddled in a bunker as the shells come in. Under the house while Dorothy bangs on the cellar door, screaming to be let in. You think they didn't hear her? You th ink they couldn't hear her cries for help? You think... While I was in Florida, I saw this PBS show about making the Wizard of Oz. Angela Lansbury narrated it. Okay. I'm not going to say anything. Kelly had the clicker. What was interesting was how Judy Garland looked when she was sixteen, and seeing her in a tape when she was on the Jack Paar show in the nineteen fifties. This was only twenty years later. She wasn't even forty. When did she die? I thought my mother looked bad. This woman must have been the ultimate punching bag. Kelly saw it, too. So did Alex. In fact he sat up straight. Even Luanne was playing with herself. Because each one of us could each visualize in her own way the successive steps in a process that would change a girl as pretty and vulnerable as Judy into that woman on the couch. We all looked at each other. It was a moment of instant bonding. Like we had been blow together by explosives. And welded tight. Suddenly we were a family again. Luanne started to cry. Kelly smiled. Alex... oh, forget Alex. Me, I felt strange. This was before I got the idea to write Dole. Not until when I saw his daughter get up at the convention and describe herself as the "imperfect daughter of a great man ". And I thought, huh? Sez wha? Is she serious? Or is Robin just cracking an in joke? Like everybody knows. The convention broke up. Give me that again? The different ways of being together. Like two times the last year he was married to her mother. Real quality time, dad. I really feel a great bond towards this man. Who did so much to enhance my awareness of togetherness. You stinking son of a bitch. She was on a roll now. I thought I had been responsible for my parents' divorce. In some way, I had driven a wedge between them. Just like me. I thought that. I blamed myself. Daddy had picked Luanne up in a bar out in West Dade. Everything dissolves. Dear Buckley, The book is progressing nicely. I do not yet have a title. It is about a man who runs for president. I am trying to reduce the elements to the barest essentials. man president runs for Cut out what you don't need. man. No. a man. It is not man in general. It is a specific man. Who is like everyone else. a man president What is president? Or who? All precedent and accounted for. The White House. Wow. Real symbolism. the house white A modern day house wright fails in her duties to house and Rome. Dole vanishes. Kemp it simple. Not bad. Not good, either. This could be a real story. Into Mexico. Like Bierce. El old Gringo. Pierce. Glad to see you. The magnificent seven. Into the shadow of dath vader rode the six hundred. Dole campaigns through his eyes. A mole exterior shrouds him in his past. He had had the experience to be wounded in the war. Felling on a hand mind to rescue the six hundred. Up around Hamburg. Swiss cheese. Lemon on rye. Make mine Swiss. Swiss chis. Fortunately they saved the foot. And the hand. And both eyes. And most of the face. Is my makeup smearing? What I like about Dole is he's been a politician fifty years but he still looks confused. You can tell that the biggest questions in hi s life are not welfare or national defence but what if there's no bathroom and is my makeup running? Like many people who... people? I should say men. Like many men who have had a prostate operation, Dole wears a bag. I don't know if the real one does, but the one in my book does. Which fills up. And has to be emptied from time to time. I'm not m aking fun of him. It's there. That's all. Like FDR's wheelchair. Okay. FDR -- thank you for telling me it wasn't J.R. by the way -- hid his wheelchair. Do you think Dole goes around throwing his bag in people's faces? How would that look? For God' s sake, the man's running for president. Leave him alone. No one needs to know he wears a bag. But then you never rode halfway round the world and back with him for some stinking Jew's funeral. Shit. No wonder Newt was steamed when he got off that plane. Be glad he wasn't president. It would have been Worl d War 3. As it was, he just shut down the government. Clinton loved it. They had closed circuit tv on the plane, and he and Hilary lay in bed and watched the fat pig squirm. This is not a book about politics. But revenge. Dole drank a lot. Newtie cringed each time he asked for another ice tea. The bags slowly filled. Dole asked him if he would hold the full one while he changed it. Thanks. He had the inside seat. Six over and seven back. They lay quivering like water balloons on the small table in front of them. Newt asked why he saved them. Just a hobby. Something to do. Would you like one? The concurrencies of Dole's career with Dole's are coincidental. Dole rides a plane. To a funeral. Let's go back to Judy. The little girl banging on the cellar door to be let down. While he was with Nixon. Ways of being together. Old Dole. Togeth er again. After they had sewn him up. Where's the rest of me? Sorry, Bob. This isn't Kansas. This is West Germany. Was sint sie looking for? War criminals. He was looking for his eye. That's what he was looking for. And his genitals. And his mi ssing right foot. And a large chunk of his brain. Are you sure this is the place? I know it was around here. The woman was under the house. She had red and black stockings. And she had been blasted to hell. And then Billy Burke showed up and gave me the ruby slippers. What happened to Dorothy's parents? Who was related to who? Was Aunty Em her mother's sister or her father's or wasn't she related at all? And what about Uncle Tom? Was he her father or h er father's brother. Different societies have different codes. Amira Gulch was her husband's mistress. Which changes things. And what about Fala? How had he gotten in there? Munchkins played around the door. Have you ever examined the family values of a munchkin? You would be appalled. Dole. Shrieking. Dole. Come back, Dole. An old gunfighter. Clint Eastwood. Going out for his last shootout. Against.... Oh God, think of the possibilities. Marlon Brando instead of Yul Brenner. Napoleon Solo instead of Val Kylmer. Robert West instead of Arlene Francis. Beckett instead of Al Goldstein. Peter Lorre instead of Bret Ashley. Winston Churchill instead of Gregory Peck Bill Clinton instead of ... Fill in the blanks. Don't forget to vote. I worry sometimes. About mixing pornography and politics. I'm afraid pornography will get a bad name. Now imagine the shootout. It would be better to regard each campaign as if it were a board game, such as go, rather than a political contest. Thus, Dole would play at running for president with his opponent, each attempting to play the game more skillfully than the other. Dole moves. The bag comes loose and falls on the floor. Newt sniffs. Cody can't help laughing. I'm sorry. It was funny. You should have seen his face. Let me in. I hear music down there. Let me... Whyyyyyy won't you let me in? Then the tornado hit her. That's where they got the whiz. Wind wizzed in her ear as she was picked up and hurled against the house. She bounced. The second blast blew her through the window. It picked her up and slammed her on the floor. WHAM It was just like being in a shooting gallery. hey, what's up>? How are you? Melancoly baby, don't hit on me, babe. He slammed her up against the dresser drawer as it was ffalling out onto her turff that's what a twister, does, you know i never go out. I never go to the movies. They took her out of the bag and shoved her on stage. Let me entertain you. The boys at sea the melancoly boys at sea as the ship brought me back, that was a chain of terror, I'm telling you, I didn't think I was going to get home. it's all over but the shouting and the screaming they had to shout to drownd out the screaming as the big ship rocked fro and too Kansas City sound changed after that as Basie moved up the river to Showerton Closer to where he came from Wasn't it? Where can I get that? Stop telling me what to do. Click on this to Dole was no fool. He wasn't going to take this sitting down They had put a rod in his hip that was twisted by the second explosion he had to get back to Libby and the kids. His first wife. She was still living in Kansas. Dole provided for them. That is why he could only afford $18,000 as payment to his second wife. Who he married before he married the one before Libby. I don't know which one is Robin's mother. Her mother got a lot of money, but I don't know ,,, Like going up a flight of stairs. Something has to shape her. Like this dress. He wore it for the beheading. They fastened the noose around his neck. Dole watched them do it. In the hot Texas sun. In the town of Elllllllll Paso in the morning sun on the Rio Grand Day, Dole reads out the proclamation of infinite surrender. She touches him. And he shoots her. It's the hand. It's a twelve guage sa wed off shotgun. People shake it and Dole says "glad you could cum." And they go down the street. Dole doesn't care about them. He's an angler, fishing in a tight stream. Match the hatch, Ron. Match the hatch. Dear Ron, I finally realized it was you I wanted to write to. You cock sucker. All along. All along I wanted you to be Michael. And now he's almost here. Was he pissed when he found out it was $4.75 a minute. Now he's ready to kill. And now I don't know what I want to say. Except fuck you, Ron xxxxxxxxxxxx. I wish I had the guts to write your name. You fucker. You stinking fucker. I knew it was you. I knew it was fucking you. It just had to be. You minor function of shit. I always imagined doing this. Telling you what I... no. not what I think. what is it? What did I have to tell? Talk about fucking gun fights. Those two were incredible. Kelly and Ron. What a duel. It went on for a year and a half. And then, one day, she was gone. Not literally. He had just blown her away. I looked at him. You did that to her? He just made a jester. Like, what can I say? She blinked. I looked at what was left of Kelly shotgunned to the wall. It was real interesting. Like Basquiat might have done. When he threw up. What's that stuff they make bombs out of suitcases with? PCP? UFO? Arachnids, arise. You have nothing to lose but your shells. It looped in a lazy arc about the jetliner and toyed with it awhile before coming in just under her right armpit. Kelly s hrieked. Ron was a master. Not that Ron. Omigod, not that one. The names get confused. Not Ron the president. This was another Ron. But not like Dole was another Dole. This Ron is a fat jew from the Bronx. Jesus. If Farahkhan wants to see gutter , he should have met Ron. Who sat in an office in midtown and made deals. For instance, he made deals for the massage parlor on the next floor. It was right under his nose but he didn't know it. Ron, bubala. Bubba. From Texas. And his trophy wife. Had the back office. Sky patrol. Come in Alpha. Make her a priority, will you? Will do. Roger and out. This was definitely not Kans. Broadway was just inches away. But she never made the connection. So he killed her. Now she faced him across a long divide. Knowing he was dying. And wanting to help. She stooped to pick up a paper and the gun hit her in the face. Kelly's features spread across the room. They were definitely not together. Dole yawned. This doesn't seem to be getting us anywhere. Can you get us a more sp\ecivic edaated. The bananas were free. Did you write that down? They gave them to us. We didn't ask. It wasn't a contribution. The planes loomed out around them as they carosoled towards Laramie. Is that in Kans? I forget. But Dole pulled the gun. And the whole world went off. That's what it felt like. The whole world went off .... with a bang? I don't think I actually heard it. I was just there. And then I wasn't. Like a house fell on top of me. You'll be alright. The slippers will follow you home. Get me some more ammunition. Each played the game unscrupulously well. Need I say which had the white stones and who the black? This was not the first vision Dorothy had had. The first, when she was eleven, was of the blessed virgin... say something disgusting. They held the mike out to her. She blew it. Dear Kel, I blew it. I didn't know what to say. So I just stood there. Big mistake. I was bending over. And he kicked you in the face. Yes. How'd you know? I think I know what it is. I'm pretty. That's why they do it. In some way, they have it connected in their minds that pretty means available. Not only available. But free game. Open bar. Happy hour. Carte blanc. And punishable by death. Or at least a whole lot of pain. I have to pay for it. By being stupid. And a cunt. And a sewer. A toilet. They locked me in. The funnel went in my mouth. And you pissed in it. That's why I can put w.c. after my name. Cody Michaels, w.c. Because I'm a toilet. Her Royal Highness, the Duchess of C. Lowered her bottom onto Cody's mouth. p.c. Cody shit. She had to keep shitting it out as it came in. She did a lot of chugging, I'll tell you. They slapped hands. Through the epoxy coating, you could see Cody squatting on her knees, her hair pulled back, forcing her face up. To lick the Dolp hins. That's the spirit. America will be great again. Dole questioned the wisdom of his adversary in giving so much power to his veto. Each placed stones in alternate progression giving each the pleasure of his deal. Jackson threw the dice. The old men fainted. Angela said Alf Landon had been considered for the role but turned down. Dole turned on his attackers. He brought the young ram down. It was like a Texas Twister. We got a lot of them in Kansas. Dorothy's body tumbled about the wildly g yrating house as the bag went off under her seat and the whole world exploded aunty em! Let me in. You mother fuckers. The great wind tunnel bore down upon the innocent teenager as Dole fumbled for his safety mechanism. It was on the wrong side of the gun. He always had to take the safety off first. Then he pointed the gun. And he woke up. This wasn't Kansas either. Thank god. He breathed a sigh of relief. Are you getting any of this? For god's saike let me in. Dole scratched against the girl lying next to him in the fox hole. Saw a bit of action, didn't you? We Ameridcans know how to do it. They streamed towards the Russian sector, their faces scarred. take me, schatzi, taken mein heir. Aft4er the war, the Germans weren't much good. So we took in their compadres. We had to make more Germans. Sig heil. All over Germany, you will find men like Dole, ready to fight at a minute's notice. These legends of a ur-Dole persist even today. That is why Germans are so fascinated with the Ameridcan west. Their's is a simian culture. Only different. In Germany, it was Hitler. An ancient God. Somewhat like Wotan. Except, different. Only rec ently has the concept of the ur-Dole come to public attention. The ur-Dole lives in antiquity and is called upon from time to time to make a speech. He's largely a figurehead. A puppet of the old regime. Ur-Dole speaks only on occasion. And then only under extreme provokation. Far to the north, the gods tremble. I haven't said anything about the others. Does that feel good to you? Why would you want a wounded president?> * Okay. Disclaimer time again. Nothing in the above episode should be construed as a threat to harm anyone, presidential or otherwise, or a seductive suggestion to do so. Like, cool it, guys. So the FBI should not come busting down my door -- unless you want a blowjob like the last time. Dear Ted, I miss your letters. They were a blast. * How big a bomb do you need to blow the front off a 747? Don't they use nails in those things? --------- Please note: This story and those preceding it in this series are the property of Mask Operating Systems, Inc.(c.), which retains all rights. It is not public domain. Archivists are requested the curtesy of a notice to the present e-mail address. Thank you. Chapter 6 I've been watching a lot of tv since I got out of the hospital. That's how I know so much. You can learn a lot from television. Maybe that's why it's so popular. For instance, did you know the word "hurricane" comes from the indigenous people the Spa niards slaughtered when they invaded Puerto Rico? Now the Puerto Ricans whine that the United States treats them the same way their ancestors treated the original natives of the island. Not quite. For one thing, the U.S. doesn't make them dig for gold. Digging for gold in Puerto Rico is sort of a thing of the past. Unless you count fleesing tourists. Anyway, I saw that on tv. I also saw on tv that in 1978 or 79, I forget which, the people who built the Citicorp building were wetting their pants because they had come to realize that it was so structurally unsound a hurricane could destroy it in an instant. One can only wish. What goes round, comes round. Eventually. Which, I guess, is what a hurricane does, doesn't it? Sort of redistributes the wealth. If a hurricane hit Citicorp's building, it would redistribute it all over northern Manhattan and the Bronx. They would have been picking pieces of it out of their hair in Westchester. Dorothy was an old woman when Dole was a boy. She was not from Kansas, originally, but Brooklyn. In the last half of the nineteenth century and early part of this one, there were societies which would take children from the slums, put them on trains, a nd send them west. There, they would be lined up in town halls and churches, for the local citizens to pick and chose. Sometimes entire families of siblings would be exhibited and separated. Some of these kids found good homes. Others encountered livi ng hells that made the mean streets of Brooklyn appear in their dreams like paradise lost. I saw all this on television. Dorothy had come west with two of her sisters. She was slightly crazy. The reasons for wanting to adopt a child who had no family and absolutely no means of support ranged from the totally honorable to concepts that would only be understandable in the media saturated culture of the 1990s. A number of those orphans are stil l living and they talked about the people who had adopted them. Dorothy told Dole about Aunty Em and Uncle Tom. I know. In the book he wasn't named Tom, but his real name was. The farmhands changed from one year to the next. Drifters mostly. Lazy. Shiftless. Horny. Also, that part in the movie where Aunty Em tells Dorothy to keep out of the way. That was pretty funny. Because Dorothy did most of the work. "What do you think we got you for? You should be down on your knees, thanking us." Well, actually, she was on her knees, scrubbing the kitchen floor. You could eat off it. And a lot of times, she did. Checkers was not allowed in the house. He was an old mutt who had followed her home from school one day. Half Rottweiler. He would definitely not have fit in a wicker basket. If you want to know what happened to Dorothy, all you have to do is look at Judy. In that Jack Paar clip. And in the voice. With its double tones. Self pity and despair. Vibrating against one another. Dole knew she had been through a lot. They sat on the porch of the little house on the prairie and gazed out at the flat land shimmering in the late afternoon heat. After she got hit on the head, she was even crazier than before. The Simpsons eventually turned her out. And got a new girl. Dorothy ended up in Kansas City. Which is where she met the wizard. He was the man of her dreams. Which is to say, she had seen him many times in her visions. Or someone like him. And he offered her a job in his wild western show. I forgot to mention that Dorothy could shoot straighter than Annie Oakley. And faster. She was a sensation. Annie was much over-rated, she th ought. That business of standing up in the saddle and shooting targets at full gallop, she had invented that. Annie, of course, was the one who shot the Prince of Wales through the head. So she had got all the publicity. Of course, by the time Dole me t her, she was living in retirement. Oz was a distant memory. So was Brooklyn. Actually, in her mind, the two places were inextricably intertwined. That is why in the movie, much of the Emerald City brings to mind Flatbush Avenue or the streets around Fort Greene. Few people realize it was actually shot on location. Dorothy remained a Dodgers fan until she died. The same year they moved to L.A. My book starts with Dole trying to decide which pajamas he will wear when he accepts the nomination. All through the book, Dole is wearing pajamas. Even at Shamir's funeral. No one seems to notice. Have you ever noticed the way men dress? At work, t hey all wear suits. And ties. In America. And most of Europe. But when they go to bed, they put on these costumes with the most outrageous colors. Why is that? You think maybe inside they understand that they are putting on ceremonial dress, getting ready to confront the real world of sleep and dreams? Dole is trying to decide whether to wear orange and purple stripes, or red and green flowers on a white background. This takes up the first sixty or seventy pages. Everyone else wears a suit. Bill-bot. Kemp-bot. Gore-bot. Because they're bots. They aren't real. Only Dole is real. Okay. Newt is real, too. Newt wears p.j.s, too. You can't invent something like Newt. But I'm not writing about Newt. This is n't a political book. It's about an old man with one arm wandering through the American landscape, thinking and remembering. Within the context of running for president. The shadows are darkening around his mind; he has glaucoma of the brain, but he's still Dole. He's holding on to that center whatever it is. I don't like to say identity. It's not really. Or concept. It's not a concept either. Dole, I think, doesn't think about being Dole. I mean, he doesn't wake up in the morning and say, I'm D ole. In fact, Dole is someone else. You hear him saying Dole is going to win. Like in the third person. So what is it looking out through the eyes? Squinting in the sun. Thinking. Wondering if he will get to the next bathroom before the colostomy bag fills up. Handing Liz the full one and hooking up another. Taking on the big issues. He had been young. And she had been old. And she smoked cigars. They used to shoot clay pigeons from the porch of her house. "Pull." She could hit anything. She worked him hard. But he learned fast. Old Dole could still hear her voice. She hadn' t always lived in Kansas. The years with Baum had been happy ones. The children grew up and moved away. Her mind moved in and out of vision. Dole sat there in his pajamas, listening to her ramble about the past. He half envisioned himself as one of h er lovers. Maybe Rodrigo of Oz. Or the Certified Mailman. The men merged together in him memory. Gradually, they made him Dole. He came back to life. Huh? "Honey, your pacemaker's buzzing." "Oh? Yeah." It needed a new battery. They would pick one up in Wichita. As falls Wichita, so falls Wichita Falls. So it is said. The general rode in the back seat. The lasagna had been good. It had been a damned good lasagna. Tomorrow, they would go to Casino. For the shooting. She would be there. If it rained, they would eat on the porch. But right now, he needed a new battery for his pacemaker. It was Sunday and all the stores were closed. Fucking blue laws. Dole never saw the movie. For him, she was always a tall, awkward woman with long black hair and a six-shooter hanging off her hip. Sort of a narrow face. Like Margaret Hamilton. Even in her fifties, she was impressive looking. During the thirties, Ma Dorothy had been an important part of the Kansas City sound. She had once been Buddy Bolton's mistress. Gradually, her image was pried loose from the dirty faced urchin shrieking at the cellular door. The Earps passed her around. Ike Clanton's wife. Dole thinks about this as he paws through his pajama drawer. His pajamas are laid out on the bed like Gatsby's shirts. Dole wishes he could show Dorothy his pajamas. He wishes she could see them. The green and yellow ones. And the ones with blue cor d around the collar. And an elastic waistband. When he was a kid, when he went to her house, during the depression, all he had was a crummy old nightshirt that had been handed down from his brothers. It was faded, the blue-gray cuffs frayed. He had wa ndered through the dust bowl in that shirt his mother had found at a church rummage sale. And a pair of bedroom slippers that had belonged to his dead grandmother. Pink slippers that had once had pink feathers around the tops. They were poor. They had nothing. If it wasn't for Roosevelt, they would have starved. His parents were on welfare. They called it relief. Whatever they called it, it was free money. From the government. And it helped a lot. A lot of people survived the depression and the dust bowl because of welfare. Which, of course, is why... But I said, I wasn't going to get political. No. I'm trying to be realistic. And if I start on welfare, then what's next? Teenage smoking? The death penalty? Terrorism? Every day I open the paper, I think I'm in never never land. This country has realized most of Adolph Hitler's fondest dreams. Racism. The reinvention of slavery? I know I'm only a teenage tramp, but these people are off the wall. Totally nuts. Of course, none of this has anything to do with Dole. Dorothy's first vision had been a vision of Alice. She had read the book. There was a copy in the parlor. It had belonged to Aunty Em's daughter, who had died the year before. Her name was Alice. And the two little girls sort of bled together in Dor othy's mind. There was also a small parlor organ. Every prairie home had one. And in the evening, the whole family would gather around the organ and sing. It was awful. For one thing, Em did not have the remotest idea how to play. She had one of tho se teach-yourself-at-home books. With colored cards that you stood behind the keys, which corresponded to colors in the books. Dorothy pumped the organ and Em played. And sang. Child abuse. Oh yeah. That's another good one. And child pornography. Dorothy was never exactly sure of the circumstances of Alice's death. Somehow she got the idea that it was connected to the organ. Like she had been punished for not practicing. They had spent all that money on the organ and the ungrateful child had no t practiced. Or she had not done it right. Em slammed the cover on her fingers. "She didn't care whether I played or not. I was just the cleanup girl. The maid. Although that was maybe too grand a word. People didn't have maids in Russell. At leas t, not in those days. They had a lot of secrets, though. Still do." Eventually the Simpsons moved away. And they found the bodies under the house. Six or seven of them. By that time, "I was long gone. I don't know what happened to them. Went west like a lot of people." The country was in motion. So was the earth. Dole knew that he could not stay in Russell. He had to get out. Like old Dorothy, he had a destiny to fulfill. One day, he found himself on a troop ship, headed east. I suppose you wonder why there is no sex in this episode, so far. Maybe you are thinking, why am I reading this? And very little violence. Explicit violence. Such as I have been used to putting in my earlier stories. Maybe you're bored, and thinking , what is this twat raving about? Get to the nitty-gritty. Let me ask you: Does Jessica Savage show you her underwear? I was watching her last night, filling in for Peter Jennings, and she never opened her legs once. I mean, if she can do it for half an hour, so can I. Right? Nicht wahr? schatzi? Uncle Tom was an amateur photographer. He took many pictures of the little girls who worked on the farm. There is a rich archive of these photos at the University of Montana. I once saw them. When I was killing time between buses in Butte. I wandered into the library, and casually pulled out a box in the stacks. And there they were. Wow! Thomas Hinkle Simpkinsohn. That was the name they used in Montana. I think that was his real name. There were a number of pictures of Em. Man, MGM got it all wrong. Louie Mayer would have shit. Emeline Todd Sonnenberg was a really beautiful woman. She was gorgeous. And she must have been totally into leather. I didn't have time to make copies, and a year later, when I went there again, the box was gone. Nobody had ever heard of Simpkinson. Or his wife. I forgot about it, until the pictures turned up on a PBS special about early photographers and their art. They actually showed all those pictures of young girls posing in the back yard or in the barn. And out in the fields with the infinite horizon str etching to the background. Several were of Dorothy staring shyly at the camera. And a few were of Aunt Em. Dole stared at them. Thinking about the woman he had known, and trying to connect her to the wispy haired figure in the grainy prints. More time separated him now from her than her from them. And different people. Uncle Henry. Aunt Em. Metro Goldwyn Mayer. The Luisitania. The Golden Gate Bridge. Ma Rainey. Otis Redding. She was half black. One of her ancestors had been a slave . Will Rogers was a quarter Cherokee. Her's was a trail of tears. Baum died before he was born. Why would anyone want to get back to Kansas? She must have been nuts. All you have to do is tap your ruby slippers three times -- actually, they were silver, but Frank Capra changed them to ruby -- and make a wish... This really works. And you'll be in Kansas. Dole looked down at his pink boa slippers. Where else can they take me? Where do you want to go? Denver. Denver it is. How about Tiajuana? How about it? Ever been there? What do you think? I think you're a liar. She pulled him out of there. They went to Paris. New Mexico. Dole's head spun. Try again. Boston. Houston. San Bernadino. It was better than Route 66. Those were the days when it was legal. Before it was outlawed. When you could smoke anything. And take a trip anywhere you wanted to go. Take your trip, on Route 66. Its street name. You sure this is legal? Oh yeah, drugs. Another big issue. I forgot. Drug use among American teenagers is up. So what else is new? So like you're telling me something? This is a nation of junkies. You think Dole was the first to bring this up? Hah! Hinkle Symington's t op crop was Kansas Red. It is legendary. In the bars around K.C., the old jazzmen still talk about it. You can hear it in their horns. Their whales in the night. Spouting off in the prairie dark. Abe Shimmermann wheeled his barrow through streets broad and narrow, singing alive, alive o. When the weed died, Kansas died, too. It wasn't all bad. The earth needed to replenish itself. Cannabis eats up a lot of nutrients from the soil. It depletes it. Dries it out. The whole dust bowl was caused by overfarming. It would take at least fifty years for the land to come back. Prohibition. Another issue. Prohibition taught Americans to drink whiskey. Before 1917, wine was more popular. In the same way, criminalizing marijuana led to an increase in the use of heroin and other hard drugs, including many which are still legal . Such as cigarettes. That's another joke. I liked the teenage girl who the other night on tv said kids weren't going to listen to grownups, "especially Bill Clinton". Right on, baby. All Bill-bot has done has driven the Marlboro Man and Joe Camel un derground. Which is the best place to be. Especially, if you're a kid. Now they belong not to the ages, but to the X-Men. And Clinton belongs in a zoo. You probably wonder if I'm ever going to get to the good part. Wait til I save this to a second disk. No. In a few minutes, I'm going to blow out my brains with dope. And write what comes from the oracle. That's the deep hole inside myself where I go for cosmetic victims. And infinite pain. It often appears in my stories as scrambled letters and sym bols. Pages of them. Inside those inarticulated groupings are the keys to the universe and universal knowledge. Up until then, all that comes out is a narrow trickle. And then, WHAMMO. Is this legal? You might ask. Dorothy assured him that it was. Although it was being studied by a Senate subcommittee. Just like child pornography years later. And comic books. And teenage smoking. And Watergate. And terrorism. And Iran-Contra. But nothing had been done yet. So inhale deeply. Dole took a whiff and saw the world disappear. Dona Dorotea! His wooden face dissolved in front of her. She was someone else. The prairie had changed, too. It was more like a dessert. Miles of jello, up to their knees. Dorotea spoke in his ear, telling him what to do. Smoke. Smoke it all up. Then she made him lick out the pipe. And put it back between her breasts. Dorothy went many times to Oz. And Dole went with her. Stumbling through the jello. Falling down. Getting back up. Later, in Germany, it saved his life. He knew the exact moment to move aside she pushed him and he went careeening out into the desert in search of his beloved. hi what are you doing here? I came to say goodbye. You're leaving? Yes. On the midnight train. To topeka? Yes. Oh God, you can't leave me like this. She flashed a badge and was gone. She was a cop. Dorothy was a cop. On Chicago's lower east side which is where they found her tied up behind the bleechers we achieved emission. o ferme the end fermi put the bomb between her legs no Guiseppi don't do it he strung the detonator out into the other room they found the video from the cabin where everyone was sitting they had just taken off they were eleven minutes into the burn and then it all went purple lemmi e see that see. where her head comes off, very clear. Does anyone know about this? no sir. better tell them. how? They've already taken off. It won't fly with one wing. I know. Isn't there any way we can warn them. How about the Muster Method? How about it? It's only been tried on animals. We can't take a chance. It's too dangerous. While we're arguing, we could be doing something. Like what? How about ordering in? Good idea. What do you want? Chinese? Not tonight. I have no appetite. There's a lot more research to be done. A half a nano second isn't much to work with. Call the pilot. Let him know we're connected. No matter what happens. Gotcha. What does this do? They're never going to figure it out with what they're doing. I think the channel is open, sir. Go ahead. Damn the torpetoes. Full speed ahead. Admiral, we have a blip on the radar screen. Ready cannon. Space officers, stand by. Dole crawled up out of the cauldron onto the Galloptoes aisles. He was a danger. Take him down a peg. Is the president in? This is Dole. I have an important message for him. Tell him I'm... He remembered the president. But which one? Many had had him. But he had nothing. He hung up. Dole's presidency was reknown for one thing. He had been innocent. He was sure of it. But others weren't. And he had to tow a fine line between what people believed and what they didn't. Dole confronted them. He's innocent, I tell you. He's innoce nt. It's not even necessary to name names. In Dole's eyes, only one man could be innocent. His father. Everything else was a shade of grey. Until he met Nixon. Nixon who had a little swastika in the middle of his name. How could he lose? America adored him. And Dole followed him. In all his life, the only man he had ever known who could be the equal of Dorothy Clanton was Dick Nixon. If only they had known each other. But now, only Dole stood between them. Dole who had known her. And Dole who ha d known him. He wasn't exactly sure if they were the same Dole. But somehow they came together in his life. Like two images in a range finder. His father had known Dorothy. He had worked for her. On her ranch. That's how he, Dole, had known her. But when the dust bowl hit and the farms went bad, Dorothy had left town on a white tornado. Like she was riding a broomstick. And Dole was left behind with nothing but memories. And visions. By that time, weed was outlawed, so he had to get them other ways. Get your kicks on Route 66 was only a bent record. So he went in the Army. Nixon had been in the army, too. They fought shoulder to shoulder at Broken Ridge. Hadleysburg. Cold Harbor. The older man sheltered in the young one's shadow. Dole protected him. After he resigned, he never saw him again. Come back, Shane! Running into the sunset in his blue pajamas. Following the old gunfighter through some of the worst bars in Lincoln. Him and the kid. Dole was The Kid. In Alfalfa and Spanky. If you've ever been to Kansas, you know what alfalfa and spanky means. In the movies, though, all that takes place off camera. What you see is what happened next. After a & s. Those old movies are full of innuendo. My God, I go nuts every time I see The Belle of the South Seas. It all started when I was watching Judy, and realized tv is a wet dream come true. You just have to know how to look at it. Forget HBO. What you want are the scum channels. The show-your-home-movie channels. Do you have those? And the stately tv. When they think they're trying to teach you something. I was going nuts the other day in an English as a second language prog ram, it was so dirty. Every time the instructor said a word, I had an orgasm. Like, "Where is the car?" I can get off on anything. Even the evening news. Morley Safir should be wearing a chaldor. I mean, I didn't even think they allowed that on television. Come here, Kelly. Look at this. He's actually doing it. ooooo gross. That really freaks her out. When she sees a guy doing that. Home cooking. I won't even get into it. There is this old guy with glasses, who if he were in New Jers ey, he would have to be registered. And this is just the regular channels. I have seen so much on tv, you wouldn't believe. Forget Robin Byrd. That's normal. It's the other channels that should be banned. (I know there are a lot of you out there in the heartland who don't know who Robin Byrd is. What can I say? New York h as its priveliges.) Nightline. Ted Koppel. Is that a face? And a lot of local guys. Eventually, I had to be restrained. It's for your own good. They dragged me totally screaming from the room. I went into withdrawal. It took days. In the meantime, Kelly tied me up and whipped me. And sold my cunt and ass to strangers and her sick boy friends. Well, the boy friends got it free. What was worse, was the tv was on in the other room and I could hear all those programs and couldn't see them. I was so horny. I just w anted to be back with my tv, changing places, in and out. Going back and forth between the programs and the room. It was real interactive. All you needed was a clicker. Daytime tv. Jenny Jones. Tempest Storm. Montiel. Teen pregnancy. Teen sex. T een blowjobs. God, you have no idea. Now they were just noises in another room. Where I wasn't. I wasn't Dorothy. I wasn't .... Was I? Dorothy on daytime tv. Dorothy on Jenny... Do you dress like that at work? How old were you when your father r aped you? Did you like it? Yes. I thought I was slut. Could Dorothy remember her father? It was long ago. Dorothy was a vortex. So was a tornado. But it would be a cheap cliche to say that she was like a tornado. That thing was nothing compared t o what was going on inside the small girl in front of the cameras. Trying to explain why she was a whore. Or thought of herself that way. So you enticed him? Yes. Do you think that was right? No. Then why did you do it? The questions never stopped. Neither did the gentleman callers. Who Kelly ushered into the room. For a/ssm. ASSM is a high explosive, twenty times more powerful than PEPN, which is available for twenty pounds for ten dollars and you don't need a license. You can also make it at home out of Coca Cola. It really packs a kick. Like a very small amount would be all that was needed to decapitate a 747. No bigger than your fist. And totally undetectable by x-ray. You wouldn't want to shake it, though. It's very volatile. So if one of those teenagers was taking a jar of it to Paris to show one of his penpals, it might have gone off prematurely. There had been some turbulence reported in the area. It was part of his high school science project. To blow up the courthouse in Williamsport. He had gotten an A for it. Montoursville is just over the creek from Williamsport. Billtown, as they call it. I hate contractions. But it's impossible to say W'msport, and have anyone understand you. So you say it's the place where they invented Little League, and that clears everything up. But Montoursville has a name you can remember. Marie Montour was a half breed Indian who helped the French during the French and Indian War. You probably wonder where I'm getting all this. tvveeeeeeee. I keep telling you. TVVVVVVVVVVV. Get it? Okay, let me begin again. The story of Flight 800 has not been told. Which is what's causing all the confusion. But it's not out in a hanger full of spare parts they pulled off the ocean floor. My God, some of that stuff has been down there since the Titantic. In fact, some of it is the Titantic. Well, you know, contin ental drift. America is now right over the plate where the Titantic went down. In another couple years, we'll be banging against Europe. If only they had waited. But that's another story. TV is where it's at. You just have to watch it and you'll see. Look. There's Dole. He's about to make a speech. Now be quiet. Listen. --------- Note: Parts of the following episode have been censored. Chapter 7 Dearest Bill, You are such a great straight man. Before last year, I said I was nineteen because some people have trouble writing to people they think will cost them twenty years in the slammer. So I tried to make it easy for them. Besides, you know how accomodatin g teenage girls are, especially with older men. My birthday is November 28, so I still have awhile to go (before I'm legal). Thank you for saying that I, or at least the Cody who exists in your mind, is "always beautiful." Although to be truthful, ther e have been moments, mornings after, when even the most devoted of lovers would have had to work at gallantry so chivalrous. However, it is precisely because "[Cody] is forever ... being beaten/cut up/shot/killed enough times that she should have more scar tissue than skin, and has more experience and insight than anyone twice her age" that I am trying to find something differ ent from myself to write about. I mean, how many times can you do that before it gets stale? Also it's so self-absorbed. I want to do something worthwhile with my life. I see myself like Eva Peron, reaching out to the poor, the dispossessed and outlaw ed and giving them hope in a world that becomes more cruel and uncaring with each day. But it's hard to know where or how to begin. Maybe Dole isn't the best choice. But he's someone to start with. Or from. Like Kansas. Also, don't forget, I'm not w riting about Dole. I'm writing about Dole. That shouldn't be too hard to comprehend since you have already explained why I am not Cody, like when you wrote, "While I think you have put some of yourself into her character, I'm not yet sure which parts of her are merely a literary convenience, nor which parts of yourself you left out." That's my trouble. I leave nothing out. I'm like a vacuum. I suck everything up. And spew it at the page. Or screen. I feel I'm like one of those Irish freedom fighters decorating his cell with shit. I sympathize with your desire to take Pamela An derson to bed. I have to go now. Dole's speech is on tv. * I am Dole Dole stands before you. Dole opens his mouth and the sound of a rusty screen door comes out, and you're back on a farm in Kansas, banging in the wind, as the dust rolls across the fields. What does Dole say? Another favorite issue is what did he know and when did he know it? Also Hilary-Bot. And education. And family values. What the American people want to know. And taxes, and the deficit, and foreign trade. And workers compensation and unemployment. And reduction and the economy. And jobs. And abortion. And women's rights. And anti-semetism. He's wearing grey pajamas. I would like to sleep with Dole. I would have liked to sleep with Fred Astaire. He was on tv last night. Channel 13. Newark. An old show with Gene Kelly. Fred Astaire when he was old was positively beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off him. When did he die? To die for. I started to play with myself, thinking about Fred and Judy. Some movie. Fifth Avenue? Easter Parade. The way she was all over him in that white dress. With that double voice. A dominatrix who could produce a voice like that in one of her slaves wo uld make a great singing teacher. America was a lot younger then. That's why television is so great. Anything in anything made more than ten years ago has mostly been forbidden. By people like Dole. Which makes it that more pornographic. And subvers ive. Teen smoking? Even Barney and Fred used to do it. I saw this cartoon... on tv. A Winston commercial with Barney and Fred. Very convincing. I taped it and showed it to all my friends. Soon Bill-bot will take away your right to smoke, too. When they came for the Jews, since I was not a Jew, I said nothing. When they came for my cigarettes, I went underground. Dole reminds me of the Marlboro Man. Old. Craggy. Handsome. A real dude. That cigarette cough voice. Will he make it to November? Real sexy. Kelly likes Gore. No taste. I mean, after all, look at Eddie. Eddie treats her like a dog, and she sti ll comes back for more. Kelly would do anything for Eddie. Lick his dick. Fuck his dog. What I don't like is when she turns me over to him. If that's the kind of thing that turns you on, I could tell you about that. I just think Dole's more interesting. I tried to concentrate on what he was saying. It was important to listen. My mind was in a haze. Maybe I shouldn't smoke so much. It was a voice from the grave. Or maybe far deep inside of him. Like it had come a long way to get out. Maybe all the way from those animals in the cave at Lascaux. Twenty, thirty thousand years. Did you know the earth takes seventeen thousand years to travel one light year? So the caves at Lascaux and elsewhere are artifacts from when the earth was one light year aw ay. But they just found another cave where it's almost two years from when the paintings were made. Isn't that something? That's the way Dole's voice sounded. Like it was two light years old. I saw him as that hunter. You know the figure with the stag horns among the animals. No one's exactly sure what it is. Well, I thought he was Dole. I was so bombed. He looked just like the Wizard. That's what they call it. Yeah. He was. She had finally found him. My brain slipped sideways into Cody. Wait a moment. This is an old computer and I save a lot. Both on disk and hard drive. Wouldn't want to lose any of this good stuff. Was Dole the master of animals? The Wizard of Oz is very much the equal to Waiting for Godot in the race for most significant literary work of this century. Although technically, the Wizard really is a product of the belle epoque and incorporates most of its values. As is well known, Beckett was heavily influenced by Baum, who also figures in Schoenberg's later symphonies. I wonder, can they put you in jail for saying that? What? That I want to sleep with him? It isn't wrong is it? It depends. On what? On whether you wear your guns to bed, I guess. Some guys like it. Some guys like to beat up women. Some guys like to beat up cowgirls. Do you think that's wrong? It depends. On what? She thought. I guess, who the cowgirl is. Tonight she was going to be the outlaw. No, Kelly. Kelly handed her the belt and panties. He's a frontier marshall. Or a bounty hunter. Black boots. Black stockings. A black fishnet body stocking that clung to her like smoke. A red neckerchief. Black stetson. Hmmmm, nice. Her long curly red hair spilled down her back and brushed the tops of her buns. The thong of the bodysuit was pulled up tight in her crack. Kelly gave her a hard smack. Cody jumped. Stop it! Kelly backed off. The teenager was learning to stand up for herself. Cody shook her head. I am me. I'm always me. None of it's made up. Please. Won't you believe me? I'm not going to go into the session. That would take forever. And interfere with Dole's speech. He is telling us about the economy. And he is saying... I can never get it. Maybe I'm stupid. I never understand what he says. What he's trying to tell me. I'm such a dumb bitch. O, Dole, if only I knew what you were saying? Is it me? Or you? I want to hear more. Keep talking. Don't stop. Tell me what I want to hear. But what do I want to hear? I never thought of that. What, exactly do I want from Dole? I want good conversation. Funny stories. Compliments. Plenty of compliments. Kisses. Jewelry. Presents. A fur coat. His big dick. What else? Family values. Yeah. I want family values. Like, feeding the sick. Taking care of the needy. Giving children a good education. Taking responsibility. Picking up after ourselves. Saying please and thank you. Saying our prayers. And kissing my ass goodbye. I thought I was a goner. Everyone laughed. They had to take me out of that foxhole in bits and pieces and sew them back together again at the field hospital. Roars of laughter. And then do you know what happened? They held their breath. I woke up. Dole knew how to move a crowd. Not since Theodore Roosevelt had anyone been a better presidential speaker. Dole raised the rafters with his voice. Sound system? What sound system? It's off. You mean that's what he really sounds like? Yeah. Sure. What do I know? Then he brought them back to earth. They came down with a thud. Splat. And screams of pain. It was as if the ceiling caved in. That was some speech. Gradually, she woke up. How could anyone not vote for Dole? She climbed out of her chair. It was sort of wrapped around her. Like the rest of the building. Like, you never know when it's going to hit. Or how. Mannnnnnnn, is that smooth. You mean, that's illegal? That's right. Deadly. I'm telling you. Give me another hit. This sort of thing must be stopped, Dole said. It's a national disgrace. What does he know? We've been doing this for ages. It didn't all start when they outlawed weed. Or with Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz. Or Hadleysburg. Or Tripoli. Or Garibaldi. You can stop now, Bob. I have to do something about Bob. He just goes on and on. Making things up. As he goes along. Honey, at least make paragraphs. He pistol whipped her butt. Oh God no. That's why I hate it. I hate being pistol whipped. It hurts so bad. And leaves such bad marks. aaaaaaaggggggh Get up. The only way you would treat a woman like that is if she was a child molester. Then she was fair game. Cody was dragged out into the street and kicked around. Shge went down in the mud and hurt herself as she was getting up. What? Now it's your turn, slut The girl looked at him with her hard eyes, making him walk around and hit her again She had lost control of the raging Dole and had to be punished. They rounded her up and brought her back to t\own like a doggie you know what a real doggie looks like? it looks like her. Fuck it. YOU AIN'T GOING ANYWHERE LET ME ALONE CHEAP SLUT HE HIT HER IN THE GUT THE GIRL BENT OVER AND CAUGHT IT IN THE FACE what a blow job the young woman walked down the street, Her back charm-school straight With a lot of ruffles and bows and a little girl make up and he was down off his horse and fucking Dorothy that's how it happened. she fed him the information he needed to run for president and that's what he's been doing ever since He's in the party, you know. They were toughs dressed up in party clothes with their heads seal perfect and cigarettes dangling from their fingers in the big house, he asked for a Camel. And they got it for him. That's how he escaped. And how he got the nickname. Soldier of war. A she-camel on every leg. Many of the stories we told while sitting around the campfire, smoking our Camels were sheer hyperbole. (Look it up.) I mean, we knew things that no one else knew. We knew about women. We knew about girls. And we liked girls better. So we went for t he goilssssss. How about that one? She's Jewish. Mein Gott. And so beautiful. Come, sexy maiden, let uncle Dolphy put you on welfare. I give you shelter. Nice, family values shelter. Your whole family, they should come. Get in the nice railway ca rs, please. Your turn is coming. When they came for the weed, Kansas became a free state. They seceded from the union. Dole was their leader. After the war, he became their senator. He spent ten years in prison. Later, he was pardoned. I think he' s dead now. That's part of his charm. He's so stiff. Like rigor mortis. Only the hand is real. Making gestures. Signs. Figures in the air. One girl put a flower in it. Par Lagervhist once wrote a book called The Sybil. In it, Ahaeuserus travels to meet the unclean one. To ask for advice on how to die. And she tells him that whether or not God exists, He is still irrevocably bound up with man's destiny. Inextricably. I meant inextriably. But maybe the other, too. Because mankind cannot revoke God. Or get free from him. That's exactly how I feel in the presence of Dole. Dole bothers me. He bothers me deeply. I don't know why I love him. Or why I'm wasting my time with him. When I could be having my jaw broke or my twat cut out. Gee. Sorry, guys. I happen to think this is better. But who is he? What is Dole? Where does he come from? And where is he going? Can anyone tell me? The woman had been the oracle. Or the women through whom the oracle spoke. She was more than a priestess. She was a mouth piece. A conduit. Like I was a toilet. Apollo. Not the same god who cursed Aheuserus, but that's what it was about. What do you do in the presence of God? Or Dole? Or Dorothy. For she, too, had been used. By a lot of people. It was no fairy tale. Being a woman with visions was asking for it. Right in the face. In 1902, she had teamed up with a fifty-four-year old Atlanta dancehall queen named Mary Scarett O'Hara to start a newspaper. That's where the money came from. To finance Frank's rediculous schemes. Can you tell me anything? It ain't what it is if you tell it that way. Okay. Give me something special. How about this? I got down and started nursing his dick. Soon he was banging his head against the wall. A lot of them do that. Boy was he wasted. Want something else? Yeah. yeah. hold it. Okay. Go ahead. This is really special. A catheter. All the way up inside him. It makes him think he's getting raped like a girl. Like that's what a girl feels when she's raped. Well, maybe it is. After all, I don't know what it feels like to him. So I can't say. But somehow, I don't think it's that bad. Nothing could be that bad. Could it? Want some more? y yes this is when I put in the wire. Like you know, insert it in the tube. It's the point on the tip of my tongue. That's how I put it in. With my tongue. Much more sensitive to what's coming back. Down the wire. From inside. I really don't think girls would like this. Okay. Let's see some action. My mouth goes completely around his penis and balls. And I work the wire up from inside. oh the mirror . He broke his head on the mirror. Are you sure this is what you really want? s syues He was talking with the wire now. Through my tongue. That's how I understood him to continue. After that, it was sheer dialogue. Face to face. Kansas vanished. And in it's place stood that magical fairyland of Oz. And Harriet. America's sweethear ts. Come in. Sit down. Would you like an ax murder? Or a simple funeral. Lower him down gently into the brine that bore him, a fairy maiden singing in his ears. Dole xxxx on the prairie plane. And the singing takes over. Don't tell me to shut up. She listened to his voice. It was getting wilder. More mystical. Like it was all a dream. She hadn't fallen down the rabbit hole at all. It was just Kansas. Alice in Kansas. That had been a draw. Alice was dead. Em san g about her. Being in hell. Because she hadn't accepted Jesus as her personal savior. Sing on, o savior of the western land. Take us to your leader. This is it? It looks like a fire plug. Not everyone could do it. She lowered him slowly back to earth. Old Dole responds. To the crowds' cheers. They buoy him up. What they call the convention bounce. And off he sails into the sunrise. A mythical hero. Like the Wandering Jew. Or Dracula. Or the Marlboro man. Or Joe Camel. All heroes of the American grain. Dole rides on a high bounce. And then it was over. You crash hard. You bounce high. You come down low. You go back up. Fishnet stockings. High heels. Blonde wig. Dole's Missouri Journey. That was how he traveled. Starting from Billings, Montana, on the north fork, he floated downstream. They were ceremonial. And a pink teddy. When he came to a castle, they asked him in and gave him a love potion. He humped... whoa, boy. Not so fast. First you have to give us the formula. What formula? There's no formula. You just do it. Everyone chip in and xxxx xxxx x xxxxxxx xxxxxx. What's so hard about that? Dole, you don't mean it! What are you saying? I couldn't believe Dole would say that. I passed it off as an innocent rumor. And then I found out it was true. He did do that. He changed it in the press release. It hadn't happened. At least not that way. Dole accused the other side of making political hay. Later, he said that wasn't what he meant. My devotion to Dole was unquestioning. I really really believed him. But now I'm confused. I love Dole so much I wouldn't hurt him for the world. But how can I respect a man who would do that? Or say it. I will not be drawn into their webwork. Don't disturb me. I don't want to listen. Shut up. Please shut up. He didn't do it. He just couldn't have. He was with me at the time. My alibi would never stand up in court. I knew that. Insidiously the grey fog moved in. Looks like rain. Dole sitting on the dock in Key West. Yeah. Doesn't it? Red roses tonight. Sailor's delight. Sunup come morning, baby take warning. You don't want to see me the morning after. After I've been pistol whipped. And crawled naked through the streets. And shot up. And bleeding. And lying in a pool of blood. Waiting for Kelly's boy friend to come and get me. I can do anything to you I want. Dorothy hung in the balance. You really do have to confess xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx. After that, it's all over. They put you in jail for life. Call you a terrorist. Cunt and bleeding. They have Maia. What did you do? You let them take her? Are you nuts? Do you k now what those goons will do to her. We've got to get her back. Who are our allies? Well, no one. Everyone else has folded. Guzman. Che. Ponce. What a guy that was. Fred Astaire. Vintage Fred Astaire. Like you wouldn't believe. He had a young wife. A jockey. Can you imagine the combinations? He died in her arms. Now that is sex. Ponce was like that. They took him out at Broken Ridge. My soul shrieked. Knowing I would never see his fine emaciated body hanging in my doorway ever again. Strung up by the thumbs. Special with Ponce was special. We burned down Magrid. Originally, I had meant to say "the grid". But I changed it. On direct orders from the commandante. Ponce screamed. It was like the Monitor and the Merrimac making love at Huffington Roads. Their country estate. There was a power struggle in Oz. She upset the delicate balance of power. After she was dead, the country she was meant to protect was in big trouble. T anks moved into the occupied territories. As they cut off his penis and ate it in the cave with the animals. In the dark. After awhile, they began to see the animals. No lights. Just animals. And breathing. Very important. Don't forget how to breathe.
Introduction Index Part 3