Pavo Rotti my parakeet is a great supporter of the arts and keeps up with the latest trends in music. He was thumping a rap tune from a new age musical as I approached his cage. “What’s the occasion budgie buddy?” I asked, breaking the beat. “Why the happy air?”
“Oh, Hi Big Guy,” he said eyeing my hands to see what I had brought to eat.
“Happy days are here again.”
“And why pray tell?” I asked.
“Started last night Big Guy. Concern for your concerns.”
“Sounds a mite redundant Pavo. Why were you concerned?”
“You’re always wondering what’s in store for your mud wrestling amigos in the political ring, right?”
“True Pavo. They’ve been such a source of inspiration and wonder to me over the years, I’d hate to see any of them out of work and suffering.”
“Exactly my sentiments BG so I did a little clairvoyancing. You’ll be glad to know they’re all safe, and are destined to be happier than mussels by a sewage outfall.”
I have to stop here and tell you that when Pavo gets bored, he reads doodoo dots on the floor of his cage. Sort of the way fortune-tellers reads tea leaves. But he’s an ethical little rascal. Refuses to tell me how to get winning Publisher’s Clearing House entries or Megabucks lottery numbers.
“Your friends will all be in alternate careers,” he continued. “Built on their political experiences.”
“Tell me more.”
“Not unless I get some new treats. I haven’t traversed this political minefield to come away empty handed you know.”
I pulled a baggie from my shirt pocket and filled his food cup with A-1 seed. His beady eyes lost their hard stare.
“Give me a name I’ll tell what’s in store,” he said jauntily after cracking a few sunflower seeds.
I tested to see if he was faking it by dropping a list of my old friends on the bottom of his cage. I know that his knowledge of phonics fails him sometimes and he has trouble with pronunciations but he never forgets a face.
“Hmmm,” he said squinting at the names. “I’ll start with the easy one, the Newt. You’ll be glad to know the satiated salamander will become a Pulitzer prize winning author, book salesman and champion of family values. Being fast of feet, slick of tongue and steadfastly upright will keep him from being accused of sleeping around.”
“Not surprising Pavo. His past activities gave me the idea that staying erect would be his goal. Now, what about his old upper chamber counterpart?”
“Former Senator Droll remains a true believer that those who use public services should pay for them. He will become chief fund raiser for PBS. He will have his own kiddie show displacing the late Mr. Rogers. Will do an outstanding job of getting kiddies to empty their piggy banks. His theme song will be Mr. Personality and his entertainment specialty will be backflips while running.”
Sometimes my pal gets a little too glib, so I have to slow him down. “How can I be sure these predictions are accurate Pavo?”
“Trust me Big Guy. I’ve been studying Senator Aldo Matto’s ways. Aldo’s destiny is the priesthood and lecturing on morality and ethics. His philosophy is that it takes one to know one so those best suited to expound on the virtues of circumlocution are those with the most experience. Do you think, after studying with such a master, I’d lie to you?”
“A point well made Pavo. Who’s next?”
Former Senator Backwoods, still known as Hot Lips. Still big in affirmative action circles. Will take ownership of a Sierra sawmill, hiring women only. Specialty will be tonguing and grooving.”
“What about other currently inactive pols Pavo.”
“There’s former governor Alex Ander of Tennessee. The heir apparent to Estes Kefauver and his coonskin cap. Like his hero Truman, he’ll become a haberdasher selling walking shoes and plaid work shirts to the common man.”
“And what about the guy with the TV church, The Rev. Robberson, the one who causes you to examine your fundamental belief in God every time you see him smile? Can he really cure hemorrhoids half a world away by squinting at the back of his eyelids?”
“You’ll be glad to know he’ll be working his healing touch for a nature food store. Peddler of potions that will have gallstones passing into the alimentary canal like Venetian gondoliers.”
“And what about the name I circled in red near the bottom?”
“Oh, the big Hill’s Billy from Arkansas. He’ll still be a Real Estate investment developer. Still talking. Still smiling. Still fence straddling, keeping everyone happy.”
“And what about Hillary?”
“Ah the notorious femme fatale with one name. She’ll still be stirring conservative’s juices through ownership of ninja franchises across the country. Specialty will be in teaching politicians how to slash budgets and their opponents throats at the same time. Every state capital will have one.”
“Hmmm. Good for her, but there’s still one more Pavo.”
“Ahah! The other lady with one name, Sarah. The most successful of all. She’ll be a multi gazillionaire. Will write a book once in a while, in longhand using crayons, but she and her family members will have an iron-bound monopoly on Three Card Monte concessions across the country and have nothing to do but sit back raking in the dough.”
He turned the paper over. “Any more Big Guy?”
“Not today,” I said, thinking over my good fortune of having such a loyal friend. “But thanks for your input. I can see I won’t need my pacifier tonight.”