This evening, just after I had just been seated at 1789, my Blackberry cheerfully announced a caller – but there was no ID – blocked, apparently. I knew it wasn’t Cerise, because she had called me before I left the office to let me know, that due to unavoidable circumstances which had suddenly arisen at a certain federal facility in Langley, she would be about half an hour late. And, knowing that, I figured I might as well answer and have someone to talk to while I sipped a Glenmorangie Nectar D’or on the rocks, waiting for her to arrive.
Tom: Hello?
Voice: Guess who this is!
Tom: Um… Michael Steele?
Steele: [Expletive], Tom Collins! Yo sho’ ‘nuff ain’t no [expletive] fun at all!
Tom: Oh… right… uh… okay then, who dat?
Steele: Who dat?
Tom: Who dat who say “who dat” when I say “who dat?”
Steele: I be… Uncle Ben Rice!
Tom: Oh, yeah, and I bet you be in bed right now with Aunt Jemima! Come on, who you really be?
Steele: I be… Stepin Fetchit!
Tom: Naw! Who you really, really be?
Steele: I be… da Boogie Man!
Tom: Uh-uh! Who you really, really, really be?
Steele: I be… Super Spade!
Tom: No way! Who you really, really, really, really be?
Steele: I be… chairman of de Republican National Committee!
Tom: Yowsa, yowsa, yowsa! Dat who you be, alright! And what be fo’ dinner at yo’ next RNC fund raiser, Mr. Chairman?
Steele: Fried chicken and watty-melon!
Tom: Wit dem grits ‘n’ gravy ‘n’ cornbread ‘n’ butter beans?
Steele: And sweet potato pie!
Tom: Wit’ dat black-strap molasses?
Steele: An’ dem collard greens stewed wit smoked pig ears! All washed down wit 40-ounce Colt 45 Malt Liquors!
Tom: I swan, brotha’ Mike, you be feedin’ dat soul food to dem dere white Anglo-Saxon Protestant billionaires and dem Bible-thumpin’ redneck cracker millionaires and [expletive], yo’ gonna be turnin’ dem inta ‘Bammas and Homies and downright downtown [expletive]!
Steele: Downtown… [expletives]?
Tom: Oops. Guess I got a little carried away there, huh?
Steele: Hey, fun’s fun and all, but only black people get to say “[expletive]” – you know that.
Tom: Sorry.
Steele: You’re “sorry?” For being white, and saying “[expletive]?” Just “sorry?” That’s all?
Tom: I’m… abjectly sorry; bitterly sorry; woefully sorry; totally and completely sorry. I humbly beseech your exalted African American forgiveness.
Steele: Okay, that’s better. I accept your apology.
Tom: Thanks. What can I do for you, Mr. Chairman?
Steele: I’m extremely concerned that my contributions to the Republican Party aren’t being adequately appreciated.
Tom: Which, I presume, thereby affects your prospects for re-election as RNC Chairman next month?
Steele: Precisely.
Tom: Honestly, what’s the matter with them? Thanks to you, the Republicans control 239 seats in the House of Representatives. They picked up six seats in the Senate and won seventeen state gubernatorial races. Why, the last time Republicans had this much raw political power it was 1928.
Steele: Tell me about it! But for some reason, all my accomplishments don’t seem to matter – everybody’s gunning for my job, I tell you – Gentry Collins, the RNC political director; Saul Anuzis, that guy who used to be the Michigan Republican Party Chairman; Anne Wagner, who used to be the same thing over in Missouri; Mike Duncan, who used to have my job before I got it; Maria Cino, who used to work for old George W. Bush…
Tom: At least Chris Healy dropped out this morning.
Steele: Yeah, so he did. Pussy!
Tom: But then, there’s still Reince Priebus…
Steele: [Expletive], yeah! That [expletive], too! And that’s a total [expletive], for sure! You know what he said when he declared his candidacy?
Tom: Um, let me see if I recall… Ah yes, he said he was going to offer the RNC “Less drama, more hard work, more results and more focus on winning.”
Steele: Which is calling me… ah… well, a…
Tom: A lazy drama queen loser who can’t cut the mustard.
Steele: Um… Yeah. I guess.
Tom: Apparently.
Steele: Ah, well, uh-huh, I suppose so. And then he said he was going to unify the Republican Party…
Tom: Implying that you split it apart.
Steele: Right; and that he’s going to keep expenses under control, as if I was some kind of compulsive nut job, throwing money around like it grows on trees or some such [expletive]!
Tom: Um… yeah… he did say that.
Steele: And that he was going to bring mainstream Republican donors back to the RNC!
Tom: Implying that you scared them off with constant displays of bizarre behavior, insane proclamations, weird ideas and perversely demented antics…
Steele: None of which is true, of course!
Tom: Uh… sure… of course not.
Steele: Right! Can you believe that son of a [expletive] used to work for me?
Tom: I know. He was your campaign manager for the RNC Chairmanship election. How ironic.
Steele: Ironic? Bet your [expletive] it’s [expletive] ironic! I feel like… oh, I don’t know… like I’m [expletive] Julius Caesar or something, what with him… not to mention the rest of them… ganging up stabbing me in the back like this! After all I’ve done for them – after all I’ve done for the Republican Party!
Tom: Well, Mike, you know what they say. Public service is a thankless profession.
Steele: But damn it all, Tom, these people were my friends! Or at least, I thought they were!
Tom: Well, Mike, you know what they say. If you want a true friend in Washington DC, you had better buy a dog.
Steele: Yeah, I know. And as a matter of fact, I went and got a dog; a rescue dog… cute, floppy eared mutt… he sort of looked like Petey, that dog on The Little Rascals.
Tom: Uh-huh, everybody knows Petey. He was adorable.
Steele: I named him Newt, ‘cause he looked like Newt Gingrich.
Tom: Oh, gee, Mike, that’s sweet. So you do, in fact, have a true friend in Washington, one that…
Steele: No, I don’t! Petey… he… he…
Tom: Come on now, Mike, pull yourself together! Stop sobbing like that. If there’s anything I can’t take, it’s listening to a grown man cry! What the…
Steele: He bit me!
Tom: The dog?
Steele: Yeah!
Tom: The cute, adorable little pound puppy that looked like Petey? He bit you?
Steele: That’s right, he did! And you know what every me-ma and nanna in the world knows about dogs, don’t you?
Tom: Um… yes, I do. Every granny in the world knows that dogs can tell things about people that most folks never could.
Steele: And our grandmas were right, Tom! Petey… I mean, Newt… he knew!
Tom: Knew what?
Steele: That I… uh… I’m… That I’m nothing but a silly old Uncle Tom for these rich, greedy, heartless and nasty old white folks, that’s what. No offense, what with you being named Tom and all, but you know what I mean. I’m just a Republican token Negro, that’s all, just like Clarence Thomas or Alan Keyes. Nothing but a gussied-up house [expletive], spending all day bowing and scraping, kissin’ up to those pin-headed honkies all the time, goin’ “Yassuh Massa Bush, yassuh Massa Cheney, yassuh Massa McCain, yasum Missus Palin, yassuh Massa Boehner, yassuh Massa McConnell, yassuh Massa Kyl, yassuh Massa Cantor, yassuh, yassuh, yassuh, yassuh…”
Tom: There, there, Mike, try to calm down; have you ever considered therapy? I know this excellent psychiatrist and I’m sure he could…
Steele: Don’t you see Tom? Don’t you understand what’s happened? Now that the Republicans got the white trash all steamed up about the Tea Party and such [expletive], they’ve gone and figured out that they don’t even need token Negroes anymore! Now that they got Joe Six-Pack doin’ what they say and votin’ the way they want, the GOP doesn’t even need to pretend that black folks even exist anymore!
Tom: I understand, Mike, and I can’t say I disagree with your analysis. But, if that’s the case, what in heaven’s name could I possibly suggest, which would save your career in the Republican Party?
Steele: Uh… I… you… that is… huh. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Tell me Tom, please. What… what can I do?
Tom: Remember the Oreo Incident?
Steele: You mean, back when I was running for Lieutenant Governor of Maryland, that time when black Democrats threw Oreo cookies at me?
Tom: Meaning you were black on the outside and white on the inside – that you were nothing but the Republican’s local Uncle Tom.
Steele: Yeah, all right. I remember that.
Tom: Well, now it’s time to turn it around, Mike.
Steele: Meaning what?
Tom: Meaning that if the Republicans don’t re-elect you to the RNC Chairmanship next month, dump them. Call a press conference. Tell the world what you just told me. Tell the media what a transparent bunch of hypocritical hucksters the Republican leadership really are. Tell everyone, everywhere that the Republican Party, their platform and their philosophy is nothing but a transparent, manipulative fraud. Then go on the lecture circuit, and spend the next two years denouncing the Republicans and every self-serving lie they spout. Debate their lickspittle lackeys, like Glenn Beck, Michelle Malkin and Bill O’Reilly – and win! Demolish them! Expose them! Lay waste to them like the demented, stunted, ignorant troglodytes you know them to be!
Steele: And… and then what?
Tom: Why, run for public office as a Democrat, of course. There’s nothing the average American loves better than a good story of sin and redemption, and yours will be one of the best they have ever heard!
Steele: I… Tom… I don’t know if I have the guts to do something like that.
Tom: Believe me, Mike, if nothing else, by next January, I guarantee you will definitely know for sure whether or do or not.
Steele: You think so?
Tom: I know so. Gotta go now, though. My date just showed up early after saying she was gonna be late.
Steele: Whoa, and don’t we know that means?
Tom: Means I better order her a drink and find out what she wants to eat, that’s what!
Steele: Solid, my man Tom! Later!
Tom: Okay! ‘Bye!