Short stories and essays by Shaun Costello, as well as excerpts from manuscripts in progress.

Posts tagged “The White House

ME AND JFK IN THE OVAL OFFICE

white-house

ME AND JFK IN THE OVAL OFFICE

An odd dream last night – actually this morning.

Kennedy and some of his senior staff were standing there, in the Oval Office.

Kennedy and some of his senior staff were standing there, in the Oval Office.

I’m a naked and newly born infant lying on the President’s desk in the Oval Office. The President is John Fitzgerald Kennedy. He is standing at his desk, looking down at me. Some of his senior staff are standing on the other side of the big desk. Although newly born, I have an enormous erection. Kennedy remarks to his staff, in his distinct and easily recognizable voice, “Hey, that’s quite a Woodie on this little fella. I didn’t think that was possible.”

"Hey, that's quite a Woodie on this little fella. I didn't think that was possible."

“Hey, that’s quite a Woodie on this little fella. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Dissolve to another room, off the Oval Office. I’m lying on a small table – still naked. I still have an enormous erection. I am approached by a teenage Caroline Kennedy. She is smiling – obviously fascinated by the sight of this naked infant, and his enormous erection. She reaches out and pokes it with her index finger. I instantly ejaculate in orgasm. She shrieks with joy.

She kept poking it.

She kept poking it.

 

 

 

She pokes it again. I come again. She never stops smiling. She keeps poking and I keep coming. This goes on for quite some time, until I feel a sharp pain in my left hand. My cat Jazzbo has just bitten me in an attempt to get me up – one of his many ‘wake-up’ tricks.

Jazzbo wants me to wake up and play with him. I have the scars to prove it.

Jazzbo wants me to wake up and play with him. I have the scars to prove it.

 

It worked. I am now awake – sort of. I can still hear the music. The dream lingers, then begins to fade. Then it’s gone. But I can still hear the music. From beginning to end, this dream is scored by Bing Crosby and the Andrews Sisters singing “Pistol Packin’ Mama”.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b39ALX4neIk

 

 

Here are the lyrics, written by Al Dexter in 1941:

“Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin’ Mama, Lay that pistol down.

She kicked out my windshield, She hit me over the head,
She cussed and cried, and said I lied, And I wished that I was dead.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin’ Mama, Lay that pistol down.

Drinkin’ beer in a cabaret, And dancing with a blonde,
Until one night she shot out the light, Bang! That blonde was gone.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin’ Mama, Lay that pistol down.

I’ll see you every night Babe, I’ll woo you every day,
I’ll be your regular Daddy, If you’ll put that gun away.

Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin’ Mama, Lay that pistol down.
Lay that pistol down Babe, Lay that pistol down,
Pistol Packin’ Mama, Lay that pistol down.”

bing-and-the-sis-2

I have no idea as to what might have prompted these nocturnal images. I have not thought about JFK in quite some time. Fidel Castro died last night. Do you suppose that’s what caused it?

fidel-2

 

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© 2016 Shaun Costello

 

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CONSPIRACY THEORISTS A LA MODE

CONSPIRACY THEORISTS A LA MODE

by Shaun Costello

They're real, folks.

They’re real, folks.

There is a type of person for whom reality is just not enough. They hunger for truth, and suspect the hand of Satan behind the everyday events that most common folk find acceptable. They have a keen interest in science fiction, and can’t understand why others don’t share their awareness of the dark powers that lurk just beneath the surface of daily life. They know, for instance, that the CIA and the Defense Department control a secret base just outside Roswell New Mexico, where for five generations, they have bred, in captivity, the descendants of the original Martian colonists, who were captured in 1947. They know that Castro killed President Kennedy. And that, in 1993, President Bill Clinton caught his aide Vince Foster fucking Hillary on the White House kitchen table, shot him in the head, stuffed him in the trunk of a car, and staged a phony baloney suicide scene in a nearby park.

Involved in a plot against America.

Involved in a plot against America.

And they know beyond doubt, that Hillary Clinton, acting in cahoots with splinter groups of the Muslim Brotherhood, plotted to have Ambassador Chris Stevens, along with three other State Department personnel, murdered at the American Consulate in Benghazi. The reason? Suspicion of cheating at Bridge, while a guest at the White House the previous summer. Secretary Clinton just hates a cheater. And the proof? Just look at the date, friends. September 11, 2012. Say’s a lot, doesn’t it?. Clinton thought that American people would be too grief stricken over the anniversary of the Twin Towers attack to pay much attention to the swarthy doings at some remote Libyan outpost. A clever trick Madam Secretary, but you can’t pull the wool over the eyes of these folks. They’re on to your little revenge game. These people know a thing or two about what’s really going on in this country. They want America to be great again.

You're Fired.

You’re Fired.

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