Ahistorical Fiction: for those who like their fiction short, carelessly written, and riddled with anachronisms, inaccuracies, and outright lies.
So there was a cow named Bessie, and she ran for Senate in 1920 against Herbert Hoover. Bessie was doing well in the suburban districts because of her stance on pasteurization, but Hoover was ahead in those districts where people liked the way British people called their vacuums “Hoovers.” One of Bessie’s staffers tried to launch a sort of proto-Swiffer called the “Bessie” in parts of London and the surrounding areas, but it didn’t catch on, maybe because of the prevailing craze for mechanization, maybe because in 1920s London a “Bessie” was slang for a sex act involving a slide rule and a first cousin.
Anyway, Bessie the Cow and Herbert the Hoover met in a moodily (if you are into bovine puns, emphasize the “moo-”) lit street one rainy night outside of the sort of diner where chance encounters were bound to happen, because of the way that its neon signage reflected so visually-compellingly in the puddles in the parking lot, and because its name was something like “Destiny’s Child,” which, being 1920, sounded super-deep and had nothing to do with ladies leaving their men at home.
When he saw the visually-compelling reflection of the word “Destiny” neonically reflected in a puddle in the parking lot then being visually-stunningly broken into ripples of light by a hoof striking into the middle of the puddle, Herbert looked up into the compellingly-cowly eyes of a cow, the cow, HIS cow, the cow of his dreams, Bessie.
Suddenly he realized the reason he’d had his political operatives pay English people to start calling their vacuums “Hoovers” in order to sabotage his bovine political opponent and her narrow suburban lead had been because he wath protethting too much, like the lady, because he was in love, love, LOVE with Bessie the senatorial candidate cow.
He ran to her, to sweep her up into his arms and declare for everyone in the world, or at least in the “Destiny’s Child” parking lot, to hear: “I , Herbert Hoover, future American president and subject of a song in the Broadway hit musical ‘Annie,’ love, you, Bessie the senatorial candidate cow, and I want to make you my wife!”
Of course, before he could get in so much as a half-hug, Bessie hoofed him in the temple, and he later died of a cerebral hemorrhage.
Bessie was acquitted on grounds on self-defense.
And that is how Herbert Hoover became the first Zombie-American to hold the executive office.
© Lisa Hurley