Now, I’m not the type of fella to kiss and tell tales outside of school, but I’ve been holding on to a little gem of a secret for quite some time now, and I simply must tell somebody. Otherwise, I just might burst!
It all started one dreary afternoon. I’m a cute little garbage man by trade. Some might describe me as the cutest little garbage baby this side of the Chippewa River, although let’s be honest, that’s not saying much. When your only competition is ol’ Peter “Glass Eyes” Peterson, earning such a prestigious title ain’t so hard. Especially when your competition has not one, but two glass eyes. It’s a miracle he’s even allowed to drive a garbage truck, if you want my humble opinion.
Anyway, as a cute young thing, I’ll often peruse dating sites. Ya know, Tinder, Christian Mingle, Farmers Only, those sorts of sites. I’m a picky fella when it comes to finding a nice lady to keep these old bones warm at night, so I spend a lotta time swiping left. Sometimes, you get into a pattern of swiping left, and you do it so often that it becomes mechanical. Man is reduced to nothing but a cog in a machine, jaded to the beauty of womanhood. This went on for quite some time until I saw a lady I might like to lie down with. We matched and promptly set up a date.
When I arrived at our meeting spot, I noticed that there was a limousine parked outside with a miniature American flag waving wistfully in the gentle breeze perched atop the antenna. Dice hung from the rearview mirror, one dice noticeably higher than the other.
Now, I may be a spritely, young 22 year old, but let me tell you, I have seen quite a bit of life in my day. I’ve seen the cruelty that man is capable of; the dark, twisted alleyways a man will shamble down in their futile effort to build up their fragile egos. I’ve even seen Snow Dogs in theaters. But never in my life have I seen a limousine parked outside of a shabby nightclub.
I walked inside the establishment, and to my shock and awe, there sat the United States senator from Arizona, John McCain. His suit was pristine, tailored perfectly to fit his strong, muscly body, other than the fact that it was bursting at the seams. His suit could hardly contain his massive biceps and triceps. So I guess it wasn’t tailored as perfectly as I thought, as it was ripping at the seams, but then again, mere man isn’t supposed to have strong muscles like that. This was no man. Nay, this was a god. I stood speechless, for how long I cannot say, but by the time I came to, my eyes and mouth were dry from having been open in awe of this titan.
I came back to my senses, only to find a woman standing in my line of sight. Oh how I resented her so for blocking my view of Senator McCain! Her friendly smile, her insistence that we met on Tinder. I hated it all! I hastily pushed her aside and, with a fire in my step, walked toward Senator McCain, determined to meet this man.
“Hello, sir,” I said, standing before him. I reached out my hand and he shook it. “What are you doing in this fair city?”
“I’m in town for Eaux Claires,” he replied. “I gotta tell ya, man, I love Chance! That dude fucking slays!” He then played an air guitar solo for twenty minutes while I stood in front of him, bewildered. And what a solo it was! He put his leg up on a chair and everything. I don’t know what was more baffling, that a sitting senator was endlessly playing an air guitar solo in front of me, or the fact that someone who claimed to love Chance the Rapper could be so wrong about what type of genre his music is. Regardless, I had to get to know this man more.
“Can I have a seat?” I asked McCain.
“Sure thing!” he said, setting his leg off of the chair and back onto the ground. He continued strumming his air guitar though, this time playing a soft acoustic tune one might hear at a quaint coffee shop, like Starbucks.
We proceeded to have the longest conversation of my entire life, talking about everything and nothing. Sometimes in life you meet people who make the hours seem like minutes, whose company you enter and don’t ever want to leave, and you can’t help but think to yourself, ‘my god, how have I lived without this person for so long? How can I possibly return to my cruel façade of a life without this person by my side?’ This was one of those times.
Anyways, the conversation went really well, and before we knew it, the facility was closing and we had to part ways.
“Jack,” he said to me, “this has been a special day for me, as I trust it has been for you as well. I want you to know something before I go.” He leaned in close, putting his mouth next to my ear to tell me a secret. “I know who killed JFK. I’ve known for years, and god dammit, it’s been tearing me up inside. A man can’t live with secrets left untold. They stay in your stomach, and if left long enough, they rot and dissolve, and the only thing that can fill that void is hate. I’ve got hate in my gut, ol’ Jacky, and I just can’t live like this. This isn’t how man is supposed to live.”
“Tell me, Mr. McCain,” I said eagerly. “I’m a very powerful man, and if you tell me the truth, I will see to it that every major newspaper in these United States will publish the truth once and for all!”
“Alright,” he replied. “Now, I’m not the type of fella to kiss and tell tales outside of school…”