He slipped into the room, invisible yet again.

He slipped into the room, invisible yet again. No one knew him. No one saw him. No one cared. He smiled briefly, allowing himself the modicum of joy. His anonymity served him well.

This was Bush Jr.'s first A.A. meeting since that shitstorm called "The Presidency." He would raise his hand and say, "I'm Dick Cheney and I am an alcoholic." The bald VP was

sitting next to him, but the cocaine was playing hell with the general context of his reality and it didn't seem like such a stretch that he was actually the man sitting next to

the fat, black lady across from him. He had the same hair and nose, and that strange sweater his mother had given him for Christmas that had the nasty, pear-shaped stain on the

left man-boob region. He used to joke that a lactating woman stole it from him once, but the truth is that the stain

in his underpants was a tell-tale sing that he

didn't have much to offer

but what I did have was worth Millions. But how could I exchange the bounty or cash. It would take a great deal of ingenuity and even more overt exhibitionism to get it done

in a way that would sound natural,as if I belonged there.And having a yellow cat on my lap would not help me with that,so I left it in the car and

decided to hitch a ride with a stranger. Let's blow this joint, I said to my sleepy yellow cat. Let's see what we can find beyond this yellow brick road.