Our Foundering Fathers

What a day. Once again, America was witness to a bloodless transition of power. Or bloody transaction of power. Or blood transfusion of power. I forget. Anyway, it was one of those, and it rocked, in a blood-referenced sort of way. I know there was a vein involved. Or a vain involvement.

Days ago, as the big event loomed, we were all glued to our television screens, while professional, highly-paid, all-growed-up news pundits counted, and then re-counted, and then discussed, and then analyzed, and then interviewed the five-thousand-plus Port-O-Lets that were hauled on to our National Mall. It was a point of American pride that we had over 5,000 available toilets for an estimated 2 million visitors. As one reporter pointed out, there were more toilets available than we have soldiers in Afghanistan. I'm pretty sure that this reporter is also in charge of the return-on-investment analysis of our Wall Street bailout initiative. Clearly not in the spirit of the thing, visiting superstar Madonna was overheard to say, "Pfhhh. 5,000 soldiers? That ain't a party."

The day started out on a bad note when outgoing Vice President Dick Cheney showed up. Yes, that IS, in and of itself, a pretty good joke. But I digress -- The day started out on a bad note when outgoing Vice President Dick Cheney showed up in a wheelchair, having thrown out his back the previous night when someone at a college reunion party flushed a covey of quail. Though all the birds survived, the family members of Cheney's unfortunate graduating class will be receiving guests tomorrow night at the Cheyenne Clandestine Memorial Chapel, from 8pm to 9pm.

A better tone was set when the incoming First Couple met the outgoing First Couple on the steps of the White House. There were hugs all round, and the incoming First Female Significant Other presented a gift to the outgoing First Female Significant Other. This kindness spurred the hovering photo-hounds into a frenzy of photo-hounding, until the Clintons leapt out of the First Shrubbery, stole the gift, and spirited it off to their First Legacy Museum. Bill Clinton then pardoned the shrubbery.

We got our first look at the new armour-reinforced Presidential limousine, which is supposedly able to withstand a direct meteor strike, or the first five minutes of a Wal-Mart sale, but not both. The limo, designed by General Motors, dropped an axle after it was nudged by a street hawker selling pictures of actual pieces of Obama's gardener's daughter's boyfriend's mother's ex-husband's mechanic. The pictures supposedly document an actual miracle, as they purportedly, every Christmas Eve, shed tears of real flex fuel.

The inauguration event itself was a true American memory. Attended by over 2 million Bank of America owners, it was a collective symphony of silly hats, including a lovely choice by Aretha Franklin, the incoming Secretary of Very High Notes, who seemed to have been cajoled into having a small game bird stapled to her forehead. Good thing Dick Cheney was busy not being available.

Around 11am, the Next First Official Motorcade And Way Long Bunch Of, Like, Motorcycle Cops And Stuff began the historic journey from the Linda Blair house to the site of the ceremonies. At least, I think it was the motorcade. All I really know for sure is that some helicopter was filming a bunch of cars going 2 miles an hour. For all I know, it could have been another O.J. car chase in L.A.

The motorcade proceeded apace and without incident, particularly since the motorcade route had been cleared of all traffic lights, curb-side trashcans, mailboxes, rude anti-anything cartoons, and crop circles that might attract eager Democrat-hating meteors. Even the manhole covers had been welded shut, which virtually ruled out any interruptions by Japanese movie monsters violently exhaling beneath the streets, resulting in an eruption of O.J.'s original legal team.

Granted, it got even more weird when the Vice President-Elect began his oath with, "I, Joseph Hussein Biden..." But fortunately, sixteen hours into his oath, he was dope-slapped back into awareness by his lovely and talented wife, the first Vice Lady, Dr. Phil.

Even the Spare Change Messiah had a tough go, as he stood with his hand in the pocket of the Lincoln Bible, waiting to take the oath of office:

Chief Justice: I, Bara...no, wait...YOU, Barack Hu...no, wait...

Prez: My name. I got it. Move on, Chief.

Chief Justice: Will you faithfully uphold th...no, wait...will you hold up the faithfu...no, wait...will you fai...

Prez: And NOW you know why I opposed your nomination.

Things picked up a bit after the main ceremony when, during a luncheon, the keys to the White House vanished into a dimple on John Kerry's left cheek. Minutes later, upon discovering it was a cash bar, Ted Kennedy experienced a Major Medical Condition and had to be airlifted to the nearest T.G.I. Friday's. FAA officials are still searching for his engines, both of which fell into the Hudson River. And not to be outdone, Senator Robert Byrd, Strom Thurmond's paternal grandfather, also required medical attention after biting into his own dentures.

But as the day wound down, America remained safe. And confused. And broke. And cold.

And that, too, like everything else in history, apparently, is George Bush's fault.

Even now.