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Subject: Story I Wrote For School

Written By: YWN on 02/14/09 at 8:46 pm



"And whatever you do, don't let them release those tapes!”

      These were the words of Governor Andy Klinger to his staff on July 9,
2009.  A well-liked Republican from the Lone Star State, he had spent
the past twenty years building up a name for himself as a friend of
taxpayers, avenger of the little guy, and the leader who always stood
up against corruption.  In the last Texas gubernatorial election he
trounced his opponent by a margin of sixty percent—just one testament
to his popularity.  But some peculiar things had happened since that
election.  People were starting to look at him suspiciously; even
friends and family members projected an aura of discomfort in his

      He took a chair again at the round table in the staff meeting room.
His staff having been seated through five minutes of this man's
threats, they alternately stared at him or another, or simply looked
straight ahead and wriggled in their seats.  It was upsetting for many
of them who had worked with him for years, the ones who had respected
and admired him, to watch this man spiral right down into flames right
in front of them.

In the corner of a room was a slightly faded campaign sign.  This Is
Klinger Country, the placard read.

"I'll tell you what we're gonna do," the governor told them anxiously.
"We're gonna hit all the prime time slots in America.  Put me on
King, Letterman, or…The Daily Show!  They're considered cool, right?"

"Sir," replied Steven, a young aide fresh from college, "it may be
best for you to, you know, talk to a lawyer?  Before you do anything,
that is."

"Lawyers are for people who have done something wrong," the governor
shot back, obstinate.  "Did I do anything wrong?  No.  And that's what
I'm going to be out there doing, clearing my name.  I, Andrew Klinger,
I, I did nothing wrong.  And that's what the American, ah, the Texan
people want to be assured of.  People will realize my innocence and
then I'll be back in black."

"But what if the people won't believe you?" another, more experienced
female aide asked.  "Why are you ruling out that possibility?"

"Because I'm their Governor," Klinger replied simply.

"No, that's not a good reason at all.  And going on TV with that
attitude, you'll come off as, pardon my French, a jackass.”  Helen stared at him a bit.  “Do you want to be impeached?"

      The younger aide Steven bristled at the word she used to describe him
and looked around.  The other staffers however were familiar with this
kind of talk from Helen and did not raise an eyebrow.

      "I…uh, well of course not," Klinger stammered.

      "Then you better find a new approach," Helen advised sharply.

      There was a pause across the room as everyone appeared to consider this.

"What if you talked to a lawyer?"  Steven offered happily.


“Hello Governor  Klinger, its nice to have you on the show.”
“Its nice to be here, David.  Thank you.”
“I guess what I want to ask you is...”  Letterman paused, mocking deep thought.  “Why are you here?”
“Uh,” the governor replied, then laughed a little nervously.  “That’s a good question Dave.”  He looked at the audience, and could read the crowd’s expression.  They wanted human sacrifice and they wanted blood.  He was all too familiar with it.
“I heard you were having trouble these days, Governor,” sighed Letterman.  “Are the allegations true?”
“Absolutely not,” the governor denied emphatically.  “Not only are they lies, that is to say, malicious falsehoods, I also abhor anyone who would do what I am being accused of.  It is completely unnatural and threatens traditional family lifestyles.  And the idea of me…actually engaging in that, in front of my family, at the breakfast table…that’s despicable that anyone would make that claim.”
“Well some say, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”  Audience laughter.  “But small talk with me.  How are your wife and kids?” Letterman inquired.
“Well, as you can imagine they’re pretty upset under the circumstances.  My lovely wife has been supporting me—meanwhile, my kids are forced to hear things about their poor dad that just aren’t true.  And it really isn’t fair to them.”
“Governor, how does it make you feel that your wife and two children are the most prominent witnesses in the trial?”
“It hurts, David.  It hurts bad.”
“Everybody’s got their ol’ ball and chain.  If it makes you feel better, mine makes me do my own laundry.”  Audience laughter.
Andy Klinger forced a pained chuckle, but it sounded sad to everyone else.  “I guess so, Dave.”
“Before we close the show, do you have anything else you’d like to say?”
“Yes.”  Klinger turned to the audience.  “I am an innocent man.  I would never have done this!  I know the boundaries of decency, and I…”
Loud audience booing.
“Thank you, Governor.”

Press Conference

Saturday, July 22, 2009 11:02 AM
“Governor!”  “Governor Klinger!”  “Governor, I have a question!”  “Governor, NBC.”  “Governor, CNN.”  “Governor?”
Time to meet the press.
“Governor, were there children present?”
“No comment,” Klinger replied.
“How many times was it, Governor?”
“No comment,” said Klinger.
“Do you feel any remorse at all, Governor?”
“I cannot feel remorse for something I have not done.  I feel remorse for bad things I actually have done.”
“Governor, you are officially on record as stating ‘I feel remorse’.  Do you think this will commute your criminal sentence?”
“What?  No, you twisted my words around.  What I said was--”
“What’s he doing here?”

The Impeachment Trial

55 representatives were present with somber faces.  Some would have said it was reckoning time.  The roll call lasted twenty minutes, and there were the other formal matters of business that had to be carried out.  After that, the testimonies.  The witnesses came up by one: the governor’s wife, the governor’s two kids, the staffers who had seen it all, those who overheard, etc.  Andy Klinger felt sick as well as betrayed, as if everyone else turned on him.
He turned to someone seated behind him and said “I’m not feeling well.”
“That’s what you get for what you did,” the man spat back.
The President of the Senate pounded his gavel. “Order, order!  Members of the Senate, the Governor will now make his closing remarks.” 
Klinger believed he had dozed off during the proceedings somehow.  He had no idea what had happened over the past six hours.  “Ladies and gentleman of the Senate,” he began thoughtfully.  “There is nothing more I love than to talk to the people of this proud state and to share ideas and comments with other legislators.  So it is nothing new for me to be here before you sharing my mind.  As I have proven, I do not need a lawyer, or witnesses besides myself.  Lawyers are for people who have done something wrong, and I know this court will vindicate me if justice still lives in the land of the free and good ol’ Texas.  Moses once said, ‘Let my people go.’  Well, I say ‘let my constituents go’.  The working Joes who supported me, voted for me and put me into this office are suffering right now because I am not where I should be, serving them.  My presence at this court means I cannot be doing everything I can to help those guys plug along.  Because I’m here.  So, this day, I ask of you that you find it in your hearts to give a break to the hard working citizens in our state and to acquit me.  If not, I can only assume, they can only assume, that you hate them and look down upon them because they are so hard working.  Much like our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ I have been wrongfully accused by a vindictive cabal who only seeks my destruction.  I have suffered incredible, unjust pain at the hands of these Romans you see here today speaking of me.  And do you know what I say to them?  To my staffers, my wife, and children?  ‘Forgive them Father, for they know not what they hath done.’  Ladies and Gentleman of the Senate, before you cast your votes, answer me this: would you impeach Jesus?  Thank you, everybody.  Thank you for your time.”
He looked around the room.  Everyone was staring at him open-mouthed.  He was confident he knocked them dead with his speech, but it was time for the roll call vote.
“Yes,” one representative sneered while making a thumbs down gesture in the air.
This pattern continued for the remainder of the roll call. It was finally over.  The screen on the wall showed 55 Ayes, 0 Nays and 0 Presents.
“The Governor as of now is officially removed from office,” the President of the Senate declared.
“I would like to make one statement, Mr. President” the now-former Governor Klinger declared.
“If you must,” the President replied.
“Okay, I did it.  I did.  I don’t understand what the big deal is.  I don’t understand when we stopped recognizing privacy and when it was okay to snoop into the personal lives of others, even public figures such as myself, and I feel like my right to privacy has been violated.  Not to mention on such frivolous terms.  I want to know why my eating Reese’s for breakfast, yes, Reese’s for breakfast, warrants this public outcry, disgust, rancor, and my ultimate removal from office.  Granted, it is not the most conventional choice of breakfasts, but you know what?  I enjoy it.  Is that so bad?”
“You sick man!” a woman exclaimed from the back.  “Reese’s aren’t for breakfast!”
“Preferably they’re for dessert or after a meal,” an older man pondered aloud.  But certainly not for breakfast, no.  In all events the verdict was justified.”
“Are you people serious?” Klinger asked.  “Tell me you haven’t woken up one day and eaten, say, pizza for breakfast.  I know you have.”
“Well…yes, yes, I have,” a lady reluctantly admitted.  “But it certainly was not Reese’s pizza, and that’s what you did.”
Cries of approval and some breakfast-related epithets were shouted from across the chamber.  Once again, it was clear the crowd was against him.  He had already lost his job.  What else was there to lose?
He opened his briefcase and pulled out a box of Reese’s Puffs cereal.  Gasps were heard across the room.  Several audible whispers of “Could it be?”
“Ladies and Gentleman of the Senate,” Klinger announced.  “This is Reese’s Puffs, a breakfast cereal.”
“My God!” the President of the Senate nearly collapsed.
“They sell it in Wal*Mart.  They sell it in your local grocery store.  It’s advertised on your children’s programming, and I don’t see why it’s such a big goddamn deal.”
Several women started sobbing.
“For Christ’s sake, it’s cereal,” he shouted, exasperated.  “It’s…cereal.  I don’t even know what else to say to you people.
Every member of the Senate, witness and lawyer looked around, embarrassed.

Ten years later
“Reese’s?  For breakfast!?” some adults in a television commercial cried. 
Since the trial and loss of his job, Andy Klinger sold the phrase to the Reese’s company and now gets lucrative royalties anytime it is said on television.  The criminal charges were dropped and, although he had been removed from his office, Texas made it up to him with a double-sized pension and a state monument of Klinger holding a cereal box high in the air.  Everything was going really well for Klinger now, especially since he divorced his wife who promptly married the Governor of Illinois, then the Lieutenant Governor of Indiana, then moved to Berkeley with her children and sent her children to an alternative spiritual school. 
Not that Andy cared.  He was a little tired, but he was rich now, richer than he was as the Governor, and happy as he could be.  And as far as he was concerned, everyone could eat it.

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