The phone rang and it didn’t say Spam Risk. The sender was allegedly calling from inside the Beltway in Washington D.C. Of course, this didn’t mean a thing either since it could have been from a non-existent buckle of the Belt. I pick it up on the fifth ring and said something like, who is this and what do you want, in my most cantankerous tone I could manage. The voice said, please hold for Attorney General Garland. I thought to myself, Yeah, if you are the A.G. then I’m Al Capone. In fact, it was he asking me to serve as the Master.
Surely you must have the wrong Norm Levine, said I. I
have never even been a master of ceremonies. But he insisted citing the
undeniable fact that I am a man of no importance. I couldn’t argue with that.
Garland, may I call you Merrick, said they were looking for someone plucked
from a list of nobodies, to demonstrate impartiality.
I was flown to an undisclosed subterranean bunker where I
was to review the stash of purloined papers which Donald used to level his
tilted tables or doddle upon while watching reruns of himself on The Apprentice. He had scribbled on a few marked, top-secret
documents with his tag, worthy of eBay. Then there was a pile of scented
envelopes tied with ribbon which turned out to be love letters from Vlad. It
didn’t think it appropriate to pry, but I was startled to find a signed first
edition of Mein Kompf.
(To digress for a moment, I need to remind the reader of
this malarkey that I really did live on a small street across from Kew Forest
School where little Donald spent four or five of his formative years which may
or may not all have been in kindergarten. Centuries from now archeologists
might dig on this site for scraps of evidence to account for Donald’s pathological
behavior.)
My next find was an exchange between the nine-year-old boy’s
parents and his teacher.
Dear Mrs. Trump,
I’m so sorry you were unable to attend parent’s night. We
have much to discuss about your son’s behavior. Evidently Donald regards the
last four years in kindergarten as the best time of his life. However, running
with scissors and disrupting class projects calls for remedial attention. He
has also been bullying others with rather abusive language, and there remains a
suspicion of your child having embezzled milk money. Furthermore, his assertion
of re-election to the office of milk monitor after being soundly defeated has
brought dishonor to this institution as a model of fairness and privileged
education.
Dear Mr. Trump,
Your support for our beloved school is well-appreciated
however you disgrace your position on the Board of Trustees by threatening
withdrawal of delinquent tuition. You must know that having me dismissed does
no favor for your disturbed child who will likely grow up a menace to society.
At this point the real Norm Levine was ushered into the room
along with an abundance of apologies from Merrick. I was immediately replaced
by a true Master, whatever that may mean. Perhaps I had transitioned from a
nobody to a near-somebody.
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