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Pop Culture Mess: Call me K-Ro

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“Governor Schwarzenegger?”

“Yes, sweetheart.”

“Karl Rove is here to see you.”

“Send him in, dollface.”

K-Ro entered the governor’s office, looking greatly unimpressed, and walked abruptly across the room to the gold-encrusted desk behind which the former thespian sat, eating poached condor eggs and washing them down with Tim Robbins’ tears. The governor stood and extended a hand.

“Karl! It’s great to see you. What brings you to my kingdom?”

“Hello, Arnold,” K-Ro said, shaking his hand, “I’ve been down in LA.”

“The old hunting grounds,” Arnold said, “I’ve been thinking about getting back there myself, maybe giving that Kardashian chick a test drive. I’ve heard good things, and Maria looks more and more like ‘Ghost Rider’ every day.”

“So, Karl, old friend, what can I do for you?” he added.

“What do you know about what happened at the Vick place?” K-Ro asked.

“I lost a lot of friends there,” Arnold said, “All over some stinking animals.”

“You don’t like dogs?”

“I’ll tell you what I like,” Arnold said, “I like large-breasted women and foul-smelling cheeses. I like dark, sour Ukranian beer and heavily salted sun-dried meats. I like snuff films featuring donkeys and pre-pubescent Asian boys and watching monkeys have sex and throw their feces on Animal Planet,” and then he paused, looking deeply, seriously, coldly into K-Ro’s eyes, “But I hate, I mean I absolutely despise dogs.”

“What about cats?” K-Ro asked.

“Cats are all right,” Arnold said.

“What if I told you there is evidence that could implicate the government in the explosions?” K-Ro asked.

“Karl, Karl,” Arnold said, “That is ludicrous. Why would the government be involved?”

“I don’t believe the government is involved,” K-Ro said, “I think someone is trying to set the president up to take the fall.”

“Who?”

“You tell me,” K-Ro said, matter-of -factly. Arnold froze.

“Why would I know…,”he began, but before he could finish K-Ro reached out and grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head down viciously and smashing his face into the gold-encrusted desk. Arnold fell back into his chair and looked up at K-Ro, dazed and bloodied. At first it appeared that he had lost a tooth in the attack, but K-Ro realized it was just the gap in his teeth. That famous gap.

“Who is behind this deception?” K-Ro demanded.

“Karl, of course I don’t know!” Arnold pleaded. K-Ro slapped him hard across the face.

“Who is behind this deception!” he screamed, slapping him again.

“Please, no more!” Arnold begged, “They’ll kill me if I talk!” K-Ro reached for his iPhone.

“What do you think I’ll do?” he said, setting the iPhone to “kill.”

“Wait,” Arnold cried, “I’ll tell you.” He went limp in the chair, his body moved only by deep sobs.

“It was Oprah,” he finally admitted. K-Ro tried to mask the alarm that he knew his face revealed, but Arnold was too busy sobbing to notice. Finally he looked at K-Ro.

“How did you know?” he asked.

“The poodle with the state seal on his collar I gave you as an inaugural gift?” K-Ro said, “I saw his tiny lifeless body at the Vick mansion. You killed him. Had I only known you hated dogs.”

“I’m sorry, Karl,” Arnold cried.

“Call me K-Ro,” K-Ro said, and walked out the door.

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Labels: Animal Planet, Arnold Schwartzenegger, Ghost Rider, iphone, Karl Rove, Kim Kardashian, Maria Shriver, Michael Vick, Nicholas Cage, Oprah, Oprah Winfrey, Pop Culture Mess, Susan Sarandon, Tim Robbins