Letter from Al - satire - Al Gore - Humor - Brief Article - Column

National Review, Oct 9, 2000

Dear Rusty,

Now that I'm president, I have the opportunity to make dreams come true!

Okay, strike that. See, what's been happening lately, Rusty, is that I've pretty much accepted the fact that I'm going to win the election. On some level, of course, I always knew that I would-the Bible is pretty clear in predicting a Gore presidency-but it took some time for the truth to really sink in. Like Jesus Himself, I doubted.

See, there I go again. Tipper's been after me about getting too cocky, too sure of myself. She's been a worrier all her life, Rusty. And now that I've got this one in the bag-three points ahead in the battleground states!-she's convinced that I'm going to do something to blow it.

"You're getting stiff and superior again, Al," she said to me, after a wonderful day of connecting to working voters.

"I am not, Tipper," I said unto her. "Didn't you see all those marvelous working people cheering for Me?"

"You're saying 'me' in a funny way, Al," Tipper nitpicked. "Almost like you're capitalizing the 'm.'"

"That's so silly," I spake. "I am a simple farmer. I bring a message of joy and free prescription drugs to the people. They receive that message with gladness and gratitude. I testify to my good works-low unemployment, a booming economy-and promise them a future kingdom. What's the big deal?"

"I'm just worried that you're getting carried away, Al. I can hear it in your voice. You're getting that priesty tone again."

Tipper always forgets that I went to divinity school. And while I freely admit that I'm an imperfect soul, some of that divinity I studied must have rubbed off, right? I mean, it stands to reason, doesn't it? When I look out at all of those hopeful faces-the faces of the hardworking Americans who just want targeted tax cuts and free Percocet, I'm struck with the awesome responsibility of my mission. If not now, Rusty, then when? And if not Me, then why bother?

"I'm just trying to fill the hungry with good things, Tipper," I said. "The rich and the powerful interests and the HMOs and the big oil companies I'm going to send away until February."

Later that day, I connected on a powerful level with another warrior for the working American, my very good Jewish friend, Joe Lieberman.

"Joe," I spoke, and thence came the utterance: "Tipper thinks we may be getting a bit too cocky, a bit too sure of ourselves."

"Gosh, Al," he said, "I can't see how. We've been racing around the country non-stop, fighting for America's working people, fighting for America's prescription-drug habits, fighting for America's working prescription-drug families."

"I agree, Brother Joe," I said. The long sleeve of My earth-toned robe grazed him lightly as I laid My hands upon him. "And we've been taking on the filth-mongers and the false prophets of the entertainment industry, too."

Brother Joe nodded sagely.

"That check came in, by the way," I spake. I handed him a large check from a Hollywood talent agency. He took it in his hands, pressed it lightly to his lips, and placed it in his jacket pocket.

"Look in your pocket, Brother Joe," I said.

"But why?" he doubted. "There's nothing but a check from a talent agency in there."

"Look in your pocket, Brother Joe," I said, louder, through the whirlwind.

He did so. A golden light shone from his face.

"Look, Brother Al!" he cried. "That single check has become three checks. No, four! No, five! One from a studio, one from a Baldwin brother, two-no, three!-from major record labels. And after we've been criticizing and threatening them, yet they still give us money? And we take it? It's almost, well it's almost immoral."

I looked into his eyes and became very quiet.

He cleared his throat. "Almost," he said. "I think the key word here is 'almost.'" I don't want to boast, Rusty, but with a man of such devout Orthodox faith on my side, I'm reminded of another simple man, also a fighter for the poor and the sick. Guess Who I remind Me of?

Your Friend, Al