Big Al Busts a Move

The path of history often pivots on the most unlikely events. Unexpected, unusual, unlikely events, like the day an Apple fell on Isaac Newton's head, prompting him to switch to Windows.

Unexpected event: an Austrian Archduke is assassinated. Result? World War I.

Unusual event: a French medical student takes a second look at some bread mold. Result? Penicillin was discovered, causing France to surrender to Walgreens.

Unlikely event: a World Cup referee makes a correct call. Actually, this hasn't happened yet.

But history is a veritable swamp of such seemingly random events, like Obama's choice for Vice President. And as a result, history bends in a slightly new direction. Take, for example, the Presidential election of 2000, which Al Gore lost. Twice. Result? Ultimately, it caused the mild, unassuming civil servant to morph into a Sex Vampire.

Picture it. The day is 8 November 2000, the place, a hotel room in Palm Beach, Florida. The election results are in. George Bush is the new President, a victory based on absolutely nothing at all, other than the irritating, flimsy fact that he received the most votes. Twice.

And then it happened. One of those pivotal moments in history, like the day when Strom Thurmond and Helen Thomas drove Isaac Newton to the hospital and sideswiped the Tower of Pisa. An unlikely cause, an unexpected effect. Let's listen in:

"Darn. Darn, darn, darn."
"Al? You okay?"
"Tipper, I was robbed."
"I know, Al."
"I should have been President."
"Careful, Al. You'll bend your hair."
"It is not fair. It is not fair!"
"Al, remember to practice your contractions."
"I'm am trying to practice them, but it doesn't not come easy."
"Better. Better."
"It's is not fair!"
"Well, Al, you were Vice-President."
"That was fun."
"And you did invent the Internet. That worked out well, except for the porn."
"What? There's is porn on my Internet?"
"Easy, Al. I'm just teasing you."
"That was certainly a humorous thing to say, Tipper."
"Oh, Al, you almost smiled! C'mere. Let mommy oil your neck bolts."
"It is still not fair. Some legacy. Former Vice-President."
"Well, maybe President is out, but look at the bright side. There's always vice. Ba-da-boom!"
"Hmmm."
"Al! I almost told a joke!"
"Vice. Hmmm."

And history bent.

So here we are, a decade later, and a West Coast masseuse has accused The Mad Prophet Of Ecology of engaging in the kind of unseemly activities usually associated with medieval savages, marauding hordes and members of Congress. Gangsta Al has been charged with "Sexual Abuse III," which was way better than "Sexual Abuse" but not nearly as funny as "Sexual Abuse, The Sequel."

Now, admit it, people. Nobody in this room ever, ever thought they would hear the words "Al Gore" and "crazed sex poodle" in the same sentence. After all, this is a man whose broad range of emotive facial expressions range from "Dead Serious" to "Recently Deceased." It's widely known that the FBI uses the ex-Veep's vital signs when they need to recalibrate a baseline for their polygraph machines.

To be sure, the masseuse's "Attack of the Oregon Lust Monster" accusation is still just an accusation. This is still an alleged Humpty Dance claim, still a case of "He Droned, She Said." The Tennessee Wild Thang still deserves his day in court, where he will swear to tell the inconvenient truth, the whole inconvenient truth, and nothing but the inconvenient truth. If an American court can still scare up a Bible.

But according to several credible news reports that I just made up, Captain Babe Magnet appears to be caught up in a deviant downward spiral. Witness:

(a phone rings)
"Tammy's Tanning Salon. Can I help you?"
"May. May I help you."
"Oy. Must be a full moon. Okay, chief. MAY I help you?"
"I would like to inquire about a massage."
"I'm sorry, sir. Due to the new Universal Health Care tanning tax, we had to let our masseuse go."
"That is an inconvenient happenstance."
"Whatever, Professor."
"I am told that 75% of tanning salons are owned by females."
"Dude, if you think I'm gonna sit here while y ..."
"Are you, personally, at least 75% female?"
"Drop dead in the street, weirdopotamus."
"It is okay. You may trust me. I invented the Internet."

Independent sources have confirmed sightings of Al The Gal-Pal setting up unlicensed "Cash for Kisses" kiosks at carnivals and county fairs across America. Carney operators are understandably upset because, rather than charging for a kiss, Boudoir Boy is actually paying the customers, handing out money from something he calls a "lockbox."

(a phone rings)
"Rod Blagojevich. Talk to me."
"I understand that you have spent over $400,000 on clothing."
"What of it?"
"I further note that you have quite a head of hair."
"Who the ..."
"Are you, personally, at least 75% female?"
(understandably censored response)
"It is okay. I won a Nobel Peace Prize."
"Vinnie! Call the Fat Man. We're going for a boat ride."

A week earlier, things took an ugly turn at a fast food franchise when Mr. Mobile Warming misinterpreted the nature of the products being sold at a Las Vegas Chick-fil-A. Witnesses recall an soft-spoken, expressionless man with perfect posture, repeatedly muttering about "Chick-n-Strips." Finally, the strange man left after asking for directions to Wendy's.

(a phone rings)
"White House. Can I help you?"
"Could I speak to Fannie Mae?"
"Al, Fannie Mae is a government program."
"I am sorry to trouble you."
"Remember to practice your contractions."
"I'll will."
"Better. Better."