Tales from 57 States: The Donkey Clan Gathers

Kyle-Anne Shiver & Lee Cary
In the third Silly Season of the Third Millennium, the Clan of Donkeys met near the Mountains of Rock to choose their champion for the race where the winner would be crowned Potus of the 57 States.

As was preordained by Donkey votes among all the villages and hamlets of the Realm, they chose His Obamaness, the young adopted scion of the powerful Daley family who dwelled on the southern shore of the Lake of Michigan. There, His Obamaness had once been, as an apprentice of Saul of Alinsky, a community organizer - a mysterious guild surrounded by much smoke and mirrors.   

Now, among the Donkeys who gathered was the powerful Nancy, Dolly of Trolleyland, Leader of the House of Serfs. Nancy was, at that time, being viewed with much alarm by the Scribes of The Holy Writ for she had been bold to announce her interpretations of the Sacred Scrolls as though she knew more than the denizens of the Big Temple. The real Holy Writ Scholars looked askance upon her pronouncements. A few spoke against her. Many, though, merely shook their heads and moved their eyes toward the heavens, mumbling things inaudible. Despite their reaction, Nancy said she had spoken the truth and would not yield, for she was richest in hubris and talked often of things of which she did not know. 

Meanwhile, His Obamaness had, he said, received an oracle from on High. He revealed it to the Donkeys, saying, "We are the ones we have waited for. And I am he who is to be your Potus. Therefore, I must not be spoken of with criticism or ill-will. Nor shall I be questioned about Tony the Landlord, Ayers the Bomber, Jeremiah the Shaman, or others I might have known, but, if so, only in passing. Because, in all my life, no one I have ever known has had any influence on me, for I am who I am, and none has made me what I am except my grandmother, an average white woman."

Then, after he had spoken the oracle, His Obamaness asked the Donkeys, "Can you believe this?" And all the Donkeys, except some among those who once followed Hillary, sometime Maiden of Bill, brayed back with one voice, "Yes, we can!" 

Now, while this was going on, a few among the town criers of the Realm, like Ludobbs the Border Guard and Joseph of Scarborough Fair, were bold to speak up against their fellow artisans of the Guild saying, "Many town criers are worshipping His Obamaness, and not telling the people all there is to know about Himself."  These words were not heard with glee by the town crier guild. Many criers glanced a moment in their direct with furrowed brows, and then continued along their way saying, "Two months to election, and all is well with His Obamaness."

For, you see, in those days many town criers had lost the skill to tell time, and relied most heavily on their own private clocks, set to the time they wished it to be. And, sadly, many among the people of the 57 States were seldom told the real time.    

[hat tip: Gerard Baker, Times of London, Master Craftsman of this Literary Genre]
In the third Silly Season of the Third Millennium, the Clan of Donkeys met near the Mountains of Rock to choose their champion for the race where the winner would be crowned Potus of the 57 States.

As was preordained by Donkey votes among all the villages and hamlets of the Realm, they chose His Obamaness, the young adopted scion of the powerful Daley family who dwelled on the southern shore of the Lake of Michigan. There, His Obamaness had once been, as an apprentice of Saul of Alinsky, a community organizer - a mysterious guild surrounded by much smoke and mirrors.   

Now, among the Donkeys who gathered was the powerful Nancy, Dolly of Trolleyland, Leader of the House of Serfs. Nancy was, at that time, being viewed with much alarm by the Scribes of The Holy Writ for she had been bold to announce her interpretations of the Sacred Scrolls as though she knew more than the denizens of the Big Temple. The real Holy Writ Scholars looked askance upon her pronouncements. A few spoke against her. Many, though, merely shook their heads and moved their eyes toward the heavens, mumbling things inaudible. Despite their reaction, Nancy said she had spoken the truth and would not yield, for she was richest in hubris and talked often of things of which she did not know. 

Meanwhile, His Obamaness had, he said, received an oracle from on High. He revealed it to the Donkeys, saying, "We are the ones we have waited for. And I am he who is to be your Potus. Therefore, I must not be spoken of with criticism or ill-will. Nor shall I be questioned about Tony the Landlord, Ayers the Bomber, Jeremiah the Shaman, or others I might have known, but, if so, only in passing. Because, in all my life, no one I have ever known has had any influence on me, for I am who I am, and none has made me what I am except my grandmother, an average white woman."

Then, after he had spoken the oracle, His Obamaness asked the Donkeys, "Can you believe this?" And all the Donkeys, except some among those who once followed Hillary, sometime Maiden of Bill, brayed back with one voice, "Yes, we can!" 

Now, while this was going on, a few among the town criers of the Realm, like Ludobbs the Border Guard and Joseph of Scarborough Fair, were bold to speak up against their fellow artisans of the Guild saying, "Many town criers are worshipping His Obamaness, and not telling the people all there is to know about Himself."  These words were not heard with glee by the town crier guild. Many criers glanced a moment in their direct with furrowed brows, and then continued along their way saying, "Two months to election, and all is well with His Obamaness."

For, you see, in those days many town criers had lost the skill to tell time, and relied most heavily on their own private clocks, set to the time they wished it to be. And, sadly, many among the people of the 57 States were seldom told the real time.    

[hat tip: Gerard Baker, Times of London, Master Craftsman of this Literary Genre]