Good morning readers. Thanks for coming by for a read this morning.
Ring
Me: Wassat? The damned telephone? Where the hell is it? Ahh! Under that. Get off there, cat!
Ring.
Me: [scowling. Into the phone.] This better be good.
Telephone: Old Jules?
Me: Who’s asking?
Telephone: This is George Armstrong Custer MacGruder. I’m calling for the president.
Me: President of what?
Telephone: President of the United States.
Me: What? The black guy? Tell him I don’t vote.
Telephone: He knows you don’t vote.
Me: Then why the hell are you calling?
Telephone: He reads your blog. Hopes you’ll answer some questions.
Me: I don’t want some president nosing around in my affairs. I don’t stick my nose into his business. He needs take care of whatever it is he does up there.
Telephone: Nothing he’s tried so far is working. He’s casting around for ideas. desperate.
Me: That’s laudable, anyway. You’ve got the wrong number. I don’t have any ideas. Tell him to take up Zen. Learn to use the I Ching.
Telephone: I Ching?
Me: Yeah. The Book of Changes. Chinese. Divination. Confucius. All that. The John Richard Lynn translation of Wang Bi’s the best one I’ve found. Yarrow stick method. Damned coins will throw you off. Tell him to pay close attention to the changing lines. You still there?
Telephone: I’m taking notes. Sorry.
Me: Anything else you need? I’ve got things to do here.
Telephone: So you’re saying the President needs to consult an oracle?
Me: You said nothing else is working didn’t you?
Telephone: Can you think of any other advice you’d like to give the President?
Me: I don’t give advice. Except I advise you not to call me again. I get pissed off sometimes when people bother me.
Telephone: Could he send you an email?
Me: As long as he’s not trying to sell anything, persuade me to vote, or ask my advice.
Telephone: Thanks.
Me: Sure. Anytime.
Old Jules
So Far From Heaven 