[this is satire]
by Rocky the Diabolical Cat™
Hector came by yesterday for a ristretto.
“Ah, The Abbey,” he said wistfully, adjusting his pince-nez. “One knew it wouldn’t last in that neighborhood of real-estate pimps, would-be ‘urban dwellers’ and those who have been hyping Massachusetts Avenue as the next big thing for, er, two decades now.”
“True,” I said, tipping back my cup. “And I really enjoyed my brief part-time job there a few months ago. Abbey, I bid thee adieu! But we shall meet again, in another location!”
I blew my nose into my monogrammed handkerchief.
“So, Hector, you have a finger on the political pulse, faint though it may be, of the country. What is your read on the presidential election?” I asked.
“Oh, Rocky, we are staring into an abyss. The criminal Bush regime will surely find a way to ‘win’ again. And can the country stand four more years of radical right-wing religious zealot insanity? Doubtful,” Hector replied.
“That’s why I’m going into my Italian exile,” I said. “By the way, how is the Language-Cruncher doing?”
“Funny you should ask. I was engaged by a consortium of news organizations to do a simultaneous translation of the utterances of Bush in the third debate. The idea was that I would type in the sentences — if one may call them that — as he said them, and then the translation would be transmitted via satellite-feed to the members of the consortium as part of their debate analysis. A superb opportunity for me and the Language-Cruncher,” he said.
“What happened?” I asked.
"I typed in Bush’s first sentence and the Language-Cruncher went up in flames and burned my whole house to the ground!" he cried.
"Ach du lieber!" I exclaimed. "It seems like every time Bush opens his mouth it leads to disaster!"