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Pop Culture Mess: More Questions

SCNN has the pleasure of publishing installments from Fisherking’s memoirs. The elusive writer will be updating us on his quest for the Greatest Story Ever Written. To learn more, visit www.popculturemess.blogspot.com

The scene outside the Vick mansion was utter chaos. Mournful cries and shouts of horrified bewilderment rang throughout the compound, echoing across the throngs of news crews and onlookers, a sight seldom seen in our fair country, aside from any time a white, young, cute and white mother goes missing. I turned to K-Ro, who stood teary eyed and shaken, and realized suddenly that something had been amiss since the tragic beginnings of this horrifying story. A young woman standing near me collapsed into my arms, overcome by grief.

“Miss,” I said, “Are you okay?” She slowly opened her eyes and noticed me holding her.

“Oh my goodness,” she sniffled, “I’m a huge fan. Could you sign my breast?”

“Of course.”

“Make it out to Monica,” she said, and suddenly I was overcome with the feeling that we were in extreme danger. I quickly scribbled a two paragraph greeting on her substantial mammary and searched for K-Ro, who was gently swaying arm in arm between Ted Nugent and Larry Craig, who softly sang “Fire and Rain.”

“Keep it above the waist, Craig,” K-Ro said as I approached.

“Come on, bro,” I told K-Ro, “We need to get out of here.”

“Yes sir.”

We slowly made our way through the crowd, stopping frequently for autograph requests and to offer awkward excuses why I haven’t called. At the edge of the gathering we stopped at a vendor selling bottled water and “People Don’t Kill Dogs, Mike Vick Does” t-shirts.

“Gimme a water,” I ordered.

“Can I get a t-shirt?” K-Ro asked, “Look, it says “Free Paris” on the back!”

“Sure, bro,” But I wasn’t really listening, as I was telepathically receiving news reports directly to my brain waves via my iPhone. Every network was reporting live from the Vick mansion; CNN was calling it the greatest gathering of celebrities in the history of mankind. The eyes of the country, no, the world, were cast upon us. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were all in danger. Something was being overlooked.

“Hey K-Ro,” I said, “Who won the war?”

“What war?” He asked.

“You know, Iraq. Or was it Afghanistan? Maybe Iran.” I said.

“We won that years ago,” He said, “Remember that whole “Mission Accomplished” thing? That was my idea. Wait, maybe that was the war on drugs. Or illegal immigration. I don’t remember. How do I look?” He had slipped the t-shirt over his suit. He looked pretty good.

“Good, bro. Call Danica. We need to get outta here.”

“Yes sir.”

As Danica drove us back to the hotel, I wondered if we were all being manipulated. Had we really won the war? Why would Mike Vick get back into dog murdering? What does global warming have to do with peace? There were too many unanswered questions.

“Didn’t Rambo fight for Afghanistan?” K-Ro asked.