I was ambling down the sidewalk when I spied a familiar form speeding along coming towards me. It was none other than my old friend Slimey, the original DC swamp monster. His 8’ reptilian form was hard to miss, even if he tried to disguise it with clothing.
“Slimey” I shouted, as I attempted to intercept him before he could race past me. It was obvious he was in a hurry, but he did stop as soon as he heard my voice.
“Friend,” he called out. “You are just the person I was looking for. You may be able to help me out,” Slimey hissed in that distinctive accent of his. Amazing what a reptilian accent sounds like. Some of the consonants just don’t come across completely.
“What can I do for you?” I responded. Most of the time, I scarcely knew what to do with Slimey’s issues. I could guess this was going to be another time where I would be at a loss.
“You may be able to help me out with a situation concerning my employer. See, I’ve taken a position in a Congressman’s office.”
I shuddered to think of any representative who would employ an 8-foot tall reptile who crawled out of the Tidal Basin. Then it came to me.
“You are working for George Santos!” I exclaimed.
“A very good guess.” Slimey confirmed my suspicions by his nodding of his enormous head packed full of razor-sharp teeth. “Now, I need your help with a problem he has.”
I thought for a moment about the massive fraud that is George Santos. How he was elected to office as the epitome of a volleyball-playing, large bank lackey, college graduate, with parents who survived the holocaust but somehow didn’t survive the consequences of 9/11, only to be discovered after election as a member of the checked box “None of the above” club. It seemed George Santos didn’t need any of my ideas about how to deal with his issues. Still, I owed it to Slimey to at least provide an effort at a response. “What exactly is George’s problem.”
Slimey took a second before answering, stretching his neck as his head surveyed the heavens, then he said “George really doesn’t need his glasses. He wears them strictly for effect. He’d like to alert the world about this, in order to give up having to remember them, but no one is ready to believe the truth coming from his mouth.”
It took me almost no time to form a response. “You say he’s having a problem since no one would believe anything he says is the truth?”
Slimey shook his head in affirmation. “Yes, that’s his problem in a nutshell.”
I walked along the Washington street in silence, trying to come up with a response that would be practical but also represent my deep concern about this fraudster polluting the halls of Congress. “Can I ask just one question? Given his proclivity to, er, enhance his resume on serious matters, why is he concerned about something he wears?”
Slimey looked down at me, and even though his face was mainly frozen due to his massive jaw and rapier-like teeth, it seemed as if he was sneering at me. He said, “I can’t believe you are diminishing his problem so much. This one item is occupying his mind full-time, and it’s up to me to come up with a solution.”
I nodded my understanding, and stood still in silence. Around us, the hordes of K Street denizens barely took notice of our presence, save to slightly swerve around us, Everyone was engaged with their phone. Indeed, I wondered whether Slimey could have existed in the pre-cellphone days. Someone would have noticed his enormous form.
I finally said, “Maybe you could try this. Since everyone is convinced what he says is a lie, try just one more lie. Say that he has contracted an eye disease requiring him to expose his eyeballs to full air flow. That way he can take off his glasses, and everyone will think, yeah, just another one of his frauds, er, enhancements. He won’t have to worry about carrying those glasses along, and this will slide down to the bottom of the list of items for the press to be concerned with.”
Slimey stood staring at me. Then he went, “Why didn’t I think of that? That is a brilliant solution. I can’t wait to tell him about it.” And he turned away from me and went on down the street, leaving me alone.
All I had to do now was try to remember what I was doing before Slimey showed up, Fortunately, my stomach chose this time to emit a rumble, reminding me I was in search of the perfect chili dog before I was interrupted.
For a previous look at Slimey in his DC abode, see this: https://wordpress.com/view/evenabrokenclock.blog#:~:text=evenabrokenclock.blog/2022/07/19/yosemite%2Dsam%2Dmeet%2Dslimey