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July 13, 2009 | by  | in Opinion |
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A Fish Called Nixon

Cameron Cotter

November 1973

President Richard M. Nixon stands at the podium. A crowd of 400 gun-crazed freedom-loving NRA members sit waiting. As Nixon prepares to give his speech he feels a rush of energy through his cold veins. Nixon lived vicariously through his speeches and he felt most alive when standing in front of a crowd he was about to make love to…

“Good evening, my fellow Americans:—Tonight I want to talk to you about the perilous treat we face from enemies aboard and at home: the great unwashed peasant masses of communist regimes and the progressive-black-peacenik-student movement at home.

“Here at home we can no longer sit back and watch the liberals slowly destroy the fabric of society. They want to take away our guns and leave us as defenseless as a spanked child, they want to take away our good sense of parenting and have us all policed by the Lesbian Gestapo. I will continue to campaign until we drive these crooks and the Communists and those that defend them out of Washington. And so tonight—to you, the great silent majority, I say to you that the time for action has come, every American must exercise their 2nd amendment rights, every housewife in America must own her own weapon!” [hold for applause]

The next morning Nixon awoke with a dreaded feeling, his eyesight was blurry and his mind was filled with vague memories of violence. Immediately following the speech Nixon had been whisked away in a fury of applause to the White House for a midnight rendezvous with his pregnant virgin prostitute Tatyana. Nobody could explain how she was both pregnant and a virgin; there was only one recorded case in history but the details were sketchy, but it was the reason he loved her so. Nixon and Tatyana evaded the Secret Service detail through an elaborate system of tunnels underneath the White House, set up by JFK for the very same reason. Once outside the White House grounds the two checked into the Watergate Hotel.

What followed were hours of depraved drunken debauchery fit only for a President. They drank the minibar dry and abused the busboy. Things quickly got out of hand, words were shouted, light fittings were smashed, and the loud wooden crack of a spank paddle could be heard three floors below. A level of violence broke out that would have made even J. Edgar Hoover blush.

With a heavy head Nixon awoke and in the yellow morning sunrise he saw a horrible sight: a single bullet-shot wound to the head of Tatyana. Slumped in the corner dressed only in a bathrobe, Nixon sobbed quietly to himself, wondering how he would get out of this one. The jig was up, Dick, the hooker and the presidency. Eventually he pulled himself together and called in the plumbers. He ordered every room in the hotel be wiretapped. As the Secret Service shoved Nixon into a blacked-out limo he could be heard screaming “Find that busboy!” “Wiretap every last sonofabitch with extreme prejudice!”

2 Weeks Later

The White House Press Room was abuzz with idle speculation. Nixon kept the press waiting because he knew, like any good drug dealer or hustler knows, that a hungry customer will buy anything you serve them and only afterwards curse your name in vain. Nixon peered out from behind the curtain, took a deep breath and walked out. A hush descended over the press corps as the President took the stand and read from a prepared statement.

“This is the 37th time I have spoken to you from this office, where so many decisions have been made that shaped the history of this nation. Today I speak to you about these wretched allegations made against me by anti-American forces. I feel I shouldn’t dignify them with any answer, but people have got to know whether or not their President is a murdering whore-hopper. Well, I’m not a crook. I’ve earned everything I’ve got…”

When Nixon finally left the podium he looked tense and visibly shaken. A reporter was overheard remarking “Never believe anything until it has been officially denied.”

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