Ace, Cups

Hey, Bobby. Whatcha doing?

“I’ve joined Fleetwood Mac.”

That is not Fleetwood Mac, Bobby.

“Then I owe this woman an apology. I’ve been calling her Stevie all day.”

I think she’s from the Ace Of Cups. The all-girl rock band from back in the early days.

“Ah. Tight band. They had some tunes. I, uh, also liked Vixen.”

Who?

“Vixen.”

The hair metal band?

“They had some tunes, too. Considered joining the group when Jer was in the coma because, at the time, I was also living on the edge of a broken heart.”

I swear you’re getting weirder.

“Jammed with ’em a few times, but it didn’t work.”

Why not?

“They don’t know any cowboy tunes.”

Sure.

“And, uh, they used to have pyro effects. You know: boom! And, you know, that’s exciting for the kids but it scared the bejeezus out of me.”

CELL PHONE NOISE

“I gotta take this. It might be another excuse not to go home.”

Go to it.

…

“Weir here.”

“Weir? Good. This is the President.”

“Which one?”

“The right one, dammit.”

“Oh, hello, President Nixon.”

“Weir, I’ll get right to it. I know you’re a busy man. Appearances, recording dates, that sort of thing. The itinerant life, you musicians.”

“Minstrels do tend to wander, sir.”

“Ha! Well, uh, well-said. That’s what Nixon never had, that quick wit. The rich boys, the blond boys, they looked down on Nixon for that. Mocked Nixon. Well, who’s the President now?”

“That depends on which ‘now’ you’re talking about.”

“Never mind that hippie talk. Bob, your country needs you.”

“I know. That’s why I tour.”

“Listen, boy. You get to Washington, chop chop. Hop on the next DC-3 and get here. Bring that time doohickey of yours.”

“The Time Sheath?”

“That’s the one, yes. Make sure you bring it, you hear?”

“What’s the scam?”

“We’re going to kill Baby Bob Woodward.”

…

“Yeah, I dunno.”

“Weir, you listen to me. Listen to your President. This man, Woodward, he’s bad news. Think about it: what if you had the ability to go back and stop World War II from starting?”

“I do, but I don’t. Phil kept trying, but it always ended up worse. And then Mickey got on a kick where he tried to save Lincoln. It turns out that Final Destination rules are in effect in this reality.”

“Dammit, boy, you bring me that Time Sheath.”

“Huh. Mr. President, are you, uh, threatening a man with a time machine?”

“Just stating facts, son. If you don’t bring me that–”

SHWAZZATHOOM!

“–Time Sheath, I’ll…My God! Brontosaurs!”

“Give my apologies to the Rose Garden.”

DIAL TONE NOISE EVEN THOUGH PHONES NO LONGER DO THAT

…

“I don’t wanna talk to him again.”

I can understand that.