On Labor Day I received the most exciting news, Joseph Kennedy had decided not to seek his Uncle’s Senate seat leaving only one Kennedy in the running, the newly christened Pocket Kennedy.
It was time for me to take my place, not just in the Senate, but at the Kennedy’s ancesteral home in Hyannis Port. I climbed aboard my Pocket Rocket and flew down Route 495, over the Sagamore Bridge, to the Kennedy compound.
I walked up to the wide porch and scratched at the door. One of those Kennedy men who look like they were created in the basement from the same mold answered and looked down at me.
“Hello, I am Pocket Kennedy!” I said.
“Theeers a doug on the pooch!” this unknown Kennedy said.
Oh no. I had taken so much time to prepare and there was a doug on me. What the heck’s a doug?
“Ask it what it wants,” a woman’s voice said from inside.
“Ahh, What do you, ahh, want?” the older Kennedy asked.
“I am a Kennedy. Pocket Kennedy. I am running for the Senate seat and I wanted to meet my new family.” I said.
“Well, ahh, how do I know that ahh, you ah one of us ahh?”
“Give him the test!” the woman said.
“Ahh,” the man said. “The ahh test, yes. Ah, who is your ah, fatha?” I said I didn’t know. “Ahh, that is correct, very good. Now, who is your motha?” I said all knew was my AKC paperwork said she was a bitch. “Ah, correct again. Finally, how many children do you have that ah, don’t live with you?”
“I can’t have children I have been fixed,” I said.
“Ahh, no, that’s wrong, we ahh, we breed like rabbits, but thanks for coming,” he then shut the door in my face.
What was I to do? If I couldn’t get into the inner sanctum how would I prove I was a Kennedy?
Suddenly the door opened again
To be continued