It was in our corner of Real America where it happened. We just take care of our family and our own. We don't expect no guff when we go to work at A.B.C...X.Y.Z Inc., formally Ace Shoes, Bob's Bicycles, Coal Inc. They were separate companies that got picked up and picked apart in a leveraged buyout, or a leased sold out, or something like that, something financial. Then they got picked up by Tan's Tofu, a small company from Shanghai, China and...Well, that's getting me away from my point which is we don't expect no guff, certainly not at work.
We don't expect no guff when we go to church on Sunday where the Reverend Princeton T. Pompadour preaches against the gays trying to get in our army and trying to get married in our churches. You know why? Cause they are trying to spread their "queer cooties!"
Finally we don't expect no guff after church when we go to the Alabama Breaded Chicken for their Sunday "Whole breaded bird in a bucket snack special." It was at Alabama Breaded Chicken, however, that the guff started.
The Widow Hubbard went up to the counter to order her usual, "Gimmie three buckets of that A.B.C P.D.Q!" when the voices started.
They came up from underground. We first heard, "Give me government handouts 'cause I don't want to build my business by myself," and then "Let them burn our flags and kill our ambassadors. We got plenty where they came from," and then "Welfare benefits!"
We got all them and other voices shouting at each other and at us. The local paper, The Salacious Scallywag, took to calling it the "Cacophonous croak!"
Well, all that cacophonous guff was ruining our lives. At A.B.C...X.Y.Z Inc, young Billy Bob P. Wazzoo got in a shipment of parts from Shanghai and had to do some high end manufacturing, putting tab a into slot b, but he got so distracted by that incessant noise that he soldered his eyes shut!
The Reverend Pompadour was so disturbed he didn't know where he was. He thought he was in church writing his sermon. Instead, somehow, he ended up in the men's room in the forest preserve at midnight. And he thought that trucker with the handlebar mustache was his wife! Thank goodness his assistant was there to tell him where he was. That assistant is such a smart and nice guy. You would think he would be married by now instead of being the eternal bachelor that he is.
And the Widow Hubbard was so upset she was off her feed! The following Sunday she only had one bucket!
The voices were going on and on. We had to stop them! We recited the Pledge of Allegiance but they was too damn loud. So we stuck some cooking lard in our ears, but they was to damn loud! If something wasn't done soon we would all end up blind in a forest preserve starving to death. That was when Governor Dash Realestate, presidential candidate and all-round good guy came to our town.
He came to our little piece of Real America because he needed to recharge his batteries from the fight against the Incubus—I mean the President. No, I take that back. I mean the Incubus!
That man claims he was born in this country when we all know he was born in Antarctica and that his long-lost daddy was the leader of the Third World Penguin Revolt. Why he still has got the stink of his daddy's "tuxedo" on him!
Realestate stopped in our town before he went back to the never-ending battle against the President for the swing states.
"Swing states." Just the words sound evil. The Reverend Pompadour told us about those "swing parties" where people get together in a house. Men, women, dogs, children and a whole barrel of light sweet crude that they rub all over their bodies and...Well, I can't say. It makes me sick just thinking about it. It's a good thing the Reverend and his wife did all that undercover research at those things so I know what to warn my kids about!
So Realestate rode up on his wife's white horse and said it's good to be in Real America where there are no problems. We educated him otherwise.
"You are running as a 'problem solver' so solve our problem!"
Realestate being the good business manager that he was did some executive thinking in his mind. Could he do it? He had to do it! He'd promised America he would solve the problems that four years of the penguin boy had caused. So he had to do it! He'd done it before! He remembered when he took the family camping in a car that wasn't big enough for the expensive camping equipment and the dog! He solved that problem right away! Strapped the dog to the roof and away they went! Because Realestate is a problem solver.
"By Jiminy Cricket! That's just what I'm going to do!" said Governor Realestate.
But the question was how! Sure you can say you are going to fix things like the President does, but real action needs a plan! A real detailed plan! And as Realestate was a problem solver he came up with one. Fracking!
Fracking is a process where water is smashed through shale to force the trapped gas up to the surface. Well, the Governor thought that he should be able to reverse the process and use the water to force a giant cork into the ground to shut up the noise. Now the question was would it work? Fortunately he had a place to find out, A.B.C...X.Y.Z Inc.
He was connected to A.B.C...X.Y.Z Inc. because before he was Governor he was heavily involved in the creation of the company through a leveraged buyout, or was it a layoff burnout? Well, it was something like that, something financial. I don't understand it but, fortunately for America, Dash Realestate does. He was the founder of Finance Inc. He created jobs, through finance!
So he went to the engineering department of A.B.C...X.Y.Z Inc. and told them his plan. They batted it around in that weird engineering slang they use. I didn't understand a word of it, but I've got a real good memory so I wrote it all down:
"Frack you! We used to have to two incomes. Now my husband is unemployed and I work for both of us, but I only get paid half of what he got because equal pay for equal work is European socialism!"
"You have one paycheck? Well frack you! No one in my house has steady work and we haven't had any since the economic collapse at the end of the Bush administration."
"Hey, frack you and frack you! I haven't worked since the Bush administration, my husband hasn't worked since the Bush administration, and my five sisters haven't worked since the Bush administration. We all had to move back in with Mom. The only reason we eat in our house is because of my kid and her cousins' lemonade stand."
It would work!
So Realestate uses his water gun to bust down into the underground beneath our town. What we saw shocked us all! Urban types! In Real America! With their urban colors of blue, green, and chartreuse, speaking their urban words:
"I ain't gonna vote for Realestate because I got cancer and nobody will give me medical insurance. I need a European socialist-style handout!
"I ain't gonna vote for Realestate. My kid's school is covered in lead paint and nobody could afford to remove it so we got a grant in the stimulus package. I believe in government handouts 'cause I'm a helpless victim."
"I ain't gonna vote for Realestate. My daughter was raped but I'm evil, so I took her to an abortion clinic. Realestate is a good, honest, family man. If he wins my kind will have to self deport!"
Realestate looked up at his god in a silent prayer: "You see what I have to work with?" It was when he looked to the sky that Realestate saw it. The urban talkers were just the bottom of a pile of thousands of urban types and there above them all, feeding off them, was Penguin Boy.
"My fellow Americans," he said, "you didn't build your evil businesses on your own. You didn't decide to become soft on America's enemies on your own. You didn't do things that are abhorrent in the eyes of all right-thinking Americans on your own. You did it because of me! Your slimy sloth-like actions feed me and allow my evil to spread. Today Real America, tomorrow the world! Now get the interlopers."
As a firm believer in a keeping a strong Defense Department, Realestate knew what to do—just what the Great Ronald Reagan would have done. He used the water gun and blew Penguin Boy and his minions away. I know. I was there.
U. P. Eople is one of those people who wants, wants, and wants. He should stop it and get in the ring if he feels he can do better.
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