The President

In 1964, an otherwise ordinary man was committed to a sanitarium after assaulting a famous actor in a restaurant in Los Angeles. The name of the man, as well as what he looked like, was forgotten with time, but his strange encounter was retold many times by the owner of the restaurant, to add a bit of local flavor to his location. On one such evening, I was fortunate enough to happen in while he was recounting the story to a group of tourists.
“He comes in, an’ he just starts swingin’ away at the actor – busts open his nose, he does. There’s blood everywhere. I go an’ pull the bastard off him.
"What the hell are you doin’?" I ask him. He looks at me, his eyes wide, and he says, 'You’ve got to let me kill this man. He’s going to end the world. It isn’t going to happen now, or when he’s in charge, but it will all be his fault, you’ll see, if you don’t let me kill him.' He didn’t say much after that, because Casey came from out of the kitchen, knocked him out with the mop. We called the cops, they took a few statements, and left.” He looked around the group of tourists, admiring how he had captivated them. I was certainly impressed.
“So we offer the actor a free meal, but needless to say,” he pauses to set up the story’s punch-line, “but of course, he never took it.” The tourists all laughed, and he left to check on their meal.
On his way past me I stopped him. “I stumbled in about halfway through your story, and I’m just a little curious. Who was the actor who got attacked?”
“Well, ain’t it the damndest thing,” he said, scratching his head, “It’s our new governor, Ronald Reagan. But hell,” he smiled, “It isn’t like he’ll ever be president.”
Category:Historical Archive
Category:Reality
Category:History
Category:Micropasta