Some NSA guy sat in an office somewhere in

obscurity, not unlike a drone pilot on the third

floor of an office building in downtown Wichita

or wherever.  The NSA guy, fortunately not the

 

drone pilot, sat staring at us through our T.V. 

Our Chocolate Lab wasn’t feeling well and laid

at my wife’s feet under a blanket. We hoped he

didn’t have Valley Fever, a fungal disease which

 

gets in the lungs and not excitement over ASU’s

sports teams. We wondered if the NSA guy felt

sorry for Buddy Baloo and offered a prayer for

him from his office in obscurity. The show we

 

were watching was a bit boring so to entertain

ourselves we waved at the NSA guy.  To spice

things up for the guy during this festive holiday

season, I asked my wife to remove her shirt and

 

bra. Chagrined, she just stared at me and turned

and stuck her tongue out at the NSA guy I guess

for invading our privacy without asking permiss-

ion.  I hope she won’t be carted off to Guantanamo

 

but perhaps she will have already been released

during Obama’s first term because that is what he

promised, so she would be back home with her

feet up on the ottoman like now. But it is well

 

into his second term, so I guess, if she does go,

she won’t be getting out any time soon unless

Congress decides to get a life and stops trying to

sabotage the president and actually votes to shut

 

the thing down. I’m sure it would make Fidel and

his brother Raul happy not to mention my wife

and the dog who misses her already and that’s

probably why he isn’t feeling very well, so it’s

 

a relief to know that he doesn’t have Valley

Fever after all.  Meanwhile, my wife’s feet

are still on the ottoman and the NSA guy is

counting each toe, but the drone pilot appar-

 

ently doesn’t know, thank the Lord.