Election-Lady Land

I was walking down the campaign trail yesterday when I saw something really weird.

Just off the trail, next to a greasy old diner that looked very misplaced since it wasn't in New Hampshire, I saw a couple of wiggling little legs poking out of a dumpster.

What's that?" I asked one of the onlookers.

"Who. It's Michelle Obama."

"Huh?" I was confused.

"She's dumpster diving."

Now this was a new one one me. "'Scuse me, mam, what are you doing?"

Mrs. Obama righted herself, a concession to dignity and the growing crowd. Good thing. She wasn't wearing a pants suit like that other candidate's spouse, Mr. Clinton. "I'm looking for my voice."

My head shook in puzzlement. "In a dumpster?"

Mrs. Obama replied, "That's where Hillary found hers"

That sounded quite reasonable, so I dove in to help. I had to help. It was the Christian thing to do.

"Hey, look!" someone shouted, "The fellow is acting like a Huckabee!"

I began to dig. McDonald's bags, q-tips, tampons, pizza boxes, Campbell's soup cans, shredded bills, shredded wheat, some shredded e-mails from the office of Dick Cheney. But no voice of Michelle Obama.

Still, there were some interesting things in there. Something was stirring in the corner. Just barely peeping out from under a Wonder Bread bag, a little something was whispering. I strained to hear.

"Sqweak, sqweak, sqweak..."

Awww, it was a Dennis Kucinich.

So cute, but I kept digging. I saw a can of pork and beans struggling to move. Maybe something was trying to get out. I lifted the can.

"Free at Last?" I joked, hoping It was Martin Luther King and I'd beat him to his punchline.

"I am not a crook."

Ha! A Nixon voice.

Well you don't always find treasure, even in a dumpster. But maybe this was a lucky break. He was, after all, unlike the future first lady-man, unimpeached.

"Please, President Nixon," I asked, hoping for an answer for today. "Tell us the secret plan to end the war."

The former president's jowls shook, just like in the good old days. "You can't handle the truth."

I didn't know Nixon did impressions. He was doing Jack Nicholson, though it also sounded a lot like McCain talking to conservatives.

We kept digging. Michelle was getting deep. Deep into grits, coffee grounds, stiff dried spaghetti, Styrofoam carry-out containers, an empty catchup bottle. Somebody must have cleaned out their refrigerator. I stepped over an oatmeal carton and onto a hypodermic. Ouch! Medical waste! What kind of refrigerator got cleaned here...

I saw a rolled up newspaper. I love to read, so I reached for it. Maybe I'd look at it just for a second.

Before my hand got to it, it jumped up and hit me on the nose. Rudolph Gulliani.

We were starting to get a little smelly. "This must be how the other half lives.", Mrs. Obama said.

She had found a voice, just not hers. I told her.. "Mamm, I think you're talking like John Edwards"

I have to admit, though, it sounded good on her. Maybe that's because I'm poor, white, and worried about my job. According to the polls, that's the Edwards "demographic." Ofcourse who I'll vote for now is beyond me.

A limo pulled up and guess who got out? Why you guessed it, Barach!

"Honey," he said, "You can stop looking." He handed her a present.

Mrs. Obama undid the bow and opened the package. Inside was a pretty little voice. It was Edith Bunker."

"AAAAAAAchie, I mean, BaraAAAAACH, dinner's ready!" She rushed into the diner.

Senator Obama smiled. Goodbye assertive, bossy, wife... Hello happiness!

As he climbed back into his limo his wife came scurrying out. "Wait Baraaaach, don't forget your beeeeer."

The senator took his plate, took his beer and took a sip. The crowd started clapping; he had proved he was a regular guy. And that's all it took. He had locked up the midwest vote, just in time for super-Tuesday. And we all know, as Kansas goes, so goes the nation.

Maybe Bill Clinton won't be first lady after all. But it's not over yet. Feminists, don't give up. You can still have the audacity of hope...