I was enjoying my traditional king-sized breakfast and perusing the Journal this morning when I came across a feature on the upcoming Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), which is set to start tomorrow. What really threw me off is that they’re announcing the Blogger of the Year award on Saturday, yet to the best of my knowledge I wasn’t notified of being up for the prize or even invited to attend the event. Clearly, a mistake of some sort had occurred.
“Montgomery!” I bellowed. “Mont-gom-er-y!”
“Pip pip, guv’nor,” my layabout butler said, materializing from wherever he’d been lurking. “What can I do for you? More coffee? Another serving of steak and eggs? Perhaps a laxative, wot wot?”
“A laxative?” he repeated, holding up a box of Ex-Lax and shaking it suggestively. “You know, to clear out—”
“I know what they’re for,” I said. “I just don’t know why you’re offering them.”
“Erm, I’m not sure either,” he said. “A thousand pardons, my lordship.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Well, now that you mention it perhaps I will take the box to work with me. I have been awfully clogged this week.”
“Jolly good sir. Shall I place them in your briefcase?”
“Yes, please do. But look, this isn’t what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Oh? How may I serve you?”
“This,” I said, pointing to the newspaper. “CPAC. Did I receive any mail from them? Or email perhaps?”
“Not that I’m aware of, sir. If you had, I surely would’ve told you about it. Pip pip wot wot!”
“Huh. Well, it doesn’t make any sense, especially given their annual prize for the nation’s best conservative blog. After all, I write the nation’s best conservative blog! It’s like giving an award for most succulent hooters and not inviting Kate Upton to the announcement.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir. Would you like me to get the CPAC people on the line?”
“No,” I said, rubbing my chin while I pondered this mystery. “I have a better plan. Cancel all of my appointments, call the office to tell them I won’t be in until Monday, and book me passage on the next available flight to Maryland. It’s doubtlessly just an oversight on their part.”
“Jolly good sir.”
“And if it wasn’t an oversight, then vengeance is demanded!” I said, pounding the table for emphasis. “Plus, Sarah Palin’s going to be there and I’ve been waiting four years for the chance to meet her in person. Speaking of which, be sure to include a supply of Rohypnol in my luggage.”
“Excellent choice, guv’nor,” said Monty. “Any other special requests?”
“No, that should do it,” I said. “Oh wait, yes — pack plenty of lube and Speedos, too. I have a feeling I might just get lucky!”
“Very good. I’ll have it all arranged within the hour, or my name’s not Montgomery!” With that, Monty turned around and walked smack into a wall, knocking himself unconscious. Which will obviously delay my departure, but at least his hijinks provided me with a good chuckle.
Anyhow, I’ll try to keep you updated while I’m at the big convention, but don’t get your hopes up. Until next time — toodle-oo.