So there's this guy who got this job that requires a lot of talking and taking of questions,

a guy who just got bored of talking and tired of taking questions,

which would be OK - one expects a bit of piss and strut, progress being slow, of course,

if you believe in that sort of thing - footed fishes and monkeys and such - it would be OK,

getting bored, I mean, with the responsibility of deliberation,

Unless you're King of the Gol-Dam City on the Hill Which Shines its Light Like a

Freakin' Beacon to the Rest of the World, which mainly speaks English but also

Whatever Else Other Jabber Gets Spoken,

Unless, as King of the Hill, see, you just feel you don't need to explain why you say what you say

or do what you do because -

Because why? Because that's the interesting thing about being King - you don't need to

say much when your blocks get knocked down and your beautiful towers lay

about your feet For All The World To See, over and over again, at 5, 6, and 11,

for all the world to see.

Look at that shit (the people kept saying), just look at it. So you punch that

bully in the nose and say, "Let there be blood."

But then, you see, here's the rub. He kept on punching and punching (as angry people

sometimes do) and there was nobody around big enough to grab a'hold of him,

the King, from behind I mean, to pull him off, to hold him until he cried, saying

shush now - it's OK, it's OK,

But it wasn't OK because them A-rabs see, them A-rabs they hate God and they hate Us

cause we love God and they envy us our Happy Meals, our Freedom Fries our

Monster Burgers, our bottomless Big Gulps and our big fat asses which we have a

Gol-Dam RIGHT to grow, and that,

That is what they hate, yes THEY, them A-rabs in Afghana-Wherever and Iraq-a-Ran, and

don't worry if I get my Stans mixed up, you know, because though "I rarely read

the stories, I get briefed by people who are probably read in the news

themselves."

And it's just not fair, all this talk, all these questions ... about WMD, and Niger, and

that miss Flame lady, because there's something called HONOR.

When your blocks get knocked down, see, you just don't stand there, 'cause, you know,

I'm from Texas, and in Texas you jerk up yer jeans by yer beltloops so

everybody can see the size of your gun and, besides, what else is a man supposed

to do?

Sit around and read French poetry by some drunk poet named Bode-lare who's always

talking about being drunk all the time, which is a sin? No sir. It ain't easy being

the leader of the free world.

You've got to, like, do stuff.

Somebody knocks your blocks down, see, somebody knocks your blocks down,

well, you kick ass,

Take names later.

You don't just sit around, admiring pumpkins. Piss on that.

Did I tell you I'm from Texas?

Bill King is a Professor of English at Davis & Elkins College in Elkins, WV, where he lives with his wife Beth, son Walter, and daughter Elizabeth. He enjoys teaching creative writing, literary criticism, and American Literature, and is a volunteer for the Randolph County Democratic Headquarters and the Randolph County Community Arts Center.