Once Gawlmighty made it to Texas, he started to feel safe.
Now he was back home where people understood little things
like horse- and country-thieving. So confident was he that he
began to whisle, wrongly, the only song he didn't know all the
way through— "Deep in the Heart of Texas."
The man who was giving Gawlmighty a ride—a little orange-haired man
with a big orange beard who wore orange sweats—said, "You're trying
to whistle 'Deep in the Heart of Texas." Does that mean you're from Texas?"
"Yeah, what of it?" Gawlmighty said.
"Well, I thought you might have seen President Gawlmighty! He's run off
from a little old church in Washington with the collection plate and the
choir director. He's a short green thing in a big yellow ten-gallon hat with
a red star on it and big red cowboy boots."
"Aint seen him," Gawlmighty said, cringing in his big yellow ten-gallon
hat with a red star on it and his bright red cowboy boots. "President, huh."
"Yeah," said the man who loved orange.
"How far you goin'?" said Gawlmighty.
"College Station," said the man. "Goin' ta see my boy play ball."
"Great, whatever," Gawlmighty said as he pulled his hat down over his eyes
and lay down in the back seat.
Hours later, when the orange man screeched to a halt in an alley in College
Station, Texas, Gawlmighty slammed into the back of the front seat and
down to the floor of the back seat. In a few seconds, Gawlmighty came up
sputtering and cussing. "Damnit, son! Who taught you to drive, Ray Charles?"
"Get out lizard," snarled the orange man. "This is the end of the line for you."
"Ya dang Aggie! Ya don't have to be so sweet about it! I'm a-gettin'"
Gawlmighty stood glaring at the man's car and never once thought about
the coincidence of orange. Gawlmighty didn't tie things together unless
somebody told him they should be associated. He saved a lot of time that
way and didn't have to think as much.
Gawlmighty could not have known that this was the very alley in which
a miracle had given him and his siblings life. But something seemed
very familiar about the alleyway. It was full of garbage and boxes and
grease like every other alley in the world. Gawlmighty knew at once
that he was in an alley.
He sat down on a wooden box and felt sorry for himself. "Oh, whoa is
me! Oh, whoa is me! I, who rose so high, simply to serve the sheeple
of this great nation, have fallen so low because everybody is out to get
me for some reason. Oh,whoa is me!"
Just then a door across from him in the alley banged open and Gawlmighty's
blood turned to Mountain Dew. He never expected to see, in this alleyway
of all the alleyways in the world, the three people who frightened him more
than anything in the world—the Dixie Chicks.
You could almost here the theme song from "A Fistful of Dollars" as Natalie,
Martie, and Emily stepped out into the alleyway, glaring at Gawlmighty. He,
in horror at the site of his archenemies, raised his hand and tried to back
away. But there was nothing but slimy brick wall behind him. So he instinctively
did what all great cowards before him had done—he begged like a little boy
about to get a spanking.
"Well, well, my, my, the Dixie Chicks!" cringed Gawlmighty. "Isn't that interesting!
Well, I"d love to stay and chat but I've got important president things to do."
The Dixie Chicks had already fanned out, blocking all exit.
"Now, girls," he said. "I don't think you're the kind of young ladies who would hold
a grudge over a little thang like me revokin' your citizenship while you was out of
the country criticizin' me!"
"Oh, we're not mad," Emily said. "Looking back it was kind of funny. We're not
doing this for what you did to us. We're doing this for what you did to all the young
people who have died in your bogus wars. We're gonna whip you like Mama whupped egg whites."
Natalie, stepping just a little closer and said, "Gawlmighty, old friend, some really
powerful people have paid us a lot of money to do what we've been wanting to do
ever since you first showed up."
"Umm, what's that," Gawlmighty winced.
Natalie continued, "We're gonna administer the ancient art of bitchslaps."
"Uh, oh," Gawlmighty said and tried to hide in his hat.
With that, Natalie sprang forward and bitchslapped Gawlmighty so hard that
he was still spinning clockwise when Emily slapped him with her left and sent
him spinning in the opposite direction. Then Martie jumped in and slapped
him with both hands; Gawlmighty couldn't spin in both directions so he only
fell over.
Then Natalie jumped behind him and put a dainty boot in his dooky shoot.
"YeeeOWW!!!" yelled the ex-president as he flew into the opposite wall of
the alley. His stop was abrupt.
Before he could struggle to his feet, the three Dixie Chicks were upon him
with a fury that hell never knew. Gawlmighty was slapped spinning in so many
directions that he almost turned to butter. And every few seconds one of the Chicks
would give him a swift kick just to keep the rhythm lively.
Gawlmighty didn't know how much more a man could take. But he knew that
an overgrown piece of Gila monster doo-doo was reaching its limit.
Finally Natalie stopped her girlfriends and said, "This is for all the boys who
really believed they were dying for their country." And then she jumped up in
the air like a Ninja and delivered a fierce kick that sent Gawlmighty's head
and hat rolling down the alley as his body and boots toppled over.
Then the Dixie Chicks came together like three angels in Sunday school on
Christmas morning and sang, in perfect three-part harmony:
You can bet your bottom dollar,
And you're money's safe and sound,
Whichever way he said it was,
It's the other way around.
You can take it to Las Vegas,
And lay your money down,
Whichever way he said it was,
It's the other way around.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
Marathon Dodgeball
Gawlmighty felt like a cat in the dog pound. Everywhere he turned,
people were trying to kill him. The big ape had still been bouncing
the orange fool like a basketball when Gawlmighty slipped out the
door and ran for his life. Gawlmighty wasn't sure who was behind it
all but he had his suspicions.
"Dang hobosexuals!" he whispered.
Gawlmighty, like most cornered animals, thought only of going home
when mercilessly pursued. They'd never think to look for him in the only
place he'd lived in his whole life before moving into the White House,
he reasoned with an obvious lack of practice. He'd catch a ride with a
trucker and be back in Texas in no time.
After standing on the side of the highway for twelve hours with his thumb
stuck out, Gawlmighty finally got a ride. An antique Ford Fairlane slowly
glided over to the shoulder a few yards in front of him. Gawlmighty held
onto his hat and ran up to meet his benefactor.
A little old lady with an orange flower in her hat sat in the driver's seat of
the Ford looking through the steering wheel as he came up alongside the
car. When he opened the door, she looked his way with a big smile and
said, "Hello dear, how far are you going?"
Gawlmighty waited for the expected reaction to his fame. But, though
she looked right at him, she showed no recognition. "Gawldurn, lady,"
Gawlmighty thought, "I been president for three years. I'm a green lizard
in a yellow cowboy hat and red cowboy boots. Ring a friggin' bell?"
But the old dear just kept looking in his direction and smiling.
"Uh, I'm headed fer Texas," Gawlmighty said.
"Why that's just fine," she said pulling back out on the highway in front
of a truck that ran over the meridian and crashed into a tree to avoid
her. "I can take you as far as Arkansas, "she said as if nothing out
of the ordinary had just happened.
Gawlmighty looked back at the smoking truck and said, "I hope you
can, lady. I hope you can."
Somewhere between Virginia and Tennessee, the old lady introduced
herself as Elmira McGoo and told Gawlmighty that she really wasn't
supposed to be driving because the dumb doctors claimed that she
was legally blind but they didn't know what all they were talking about
because she could see just fine if she squinted.
Gawlmighty, a horrified look on his face, both hands gripping the seat and
both boots up on the dash, couldn't help but believe that she'd never seen
a treetop in her life. If she'd caused less than a hundred wrecks since they
left Virginia he had miscounted. A
She was arrested in Arkansas for 7324 unpaid tickets. Gawlmighty, still
unrecognized, was put out on the side of the interstate. He stood on the
side of the highway for two hours with his thumb out before a bright
orange Cadillac pulled over to give him a ride.
The coincidence never occurred to Gawlmighty.
people were trying to kill him. The big ape had still been bouncing
the orange fool like a basketball when Gawlmighty slipped out the
door and ran for his life. Gawlmighty wasn't sure who was behind it
all but he had his suspicions.
"Dang hobosexuals!" he whispered.
Gawlmighty, like most cornered animals, thought only of going home
when mercilessly pursued. They'd never think to look for him in the only
place he'd lived in his whole life before moving into the White House,
he reasoned with an obvious lack of practice. He'd catch a ride with a
trucker and be back in Texas in no time.
After standing on the side of the highway for twelve hours with his thumb
stuck out, Gawlmighty finally got a ride. An antique Ford Fairlane slowly
glided over to the shoulder a few yards in front of him. Gawlmighty held
onto his hat and ran up to meet his benefactor.
A little old lady with an orange flower in her hat sat in the driver's seat of
the Ford looking through the steering wheel as he came up alongside the
car. When he opened the door, she looked his way with a big smile and
said, "Hello dear, how far are you going?"
Gawlmighty waited for the expected reaction to his fame. But, though
she looked right at him, she showed no recognition. "Gawldurn, lady,"
Gawlmighty thought, "I been president for three years. I'm a green lizard
in a yellow cowboy hat and red cowboy boots. Ring a friggin' bell?"
But the old dear just kept looking in his direction and smiling.
"Uh, I'm headed fer Texas," Gawlmighty said.
"Why that's just fine," she said pulling back out on the highway in front
of a truck that ran over the meridian and crashed into a tree to avoid
her. "I can take you as far as Arkansas, "she said as if nothing out
of the ordinary had just happened.
Gawlmighty looked back at the smoking truck and said, "I hope you
can, lady. I hope you can."
Somewhere between Virginia and Tennessee, the old lady introduced
herself as Elmira McGoo and told Gawlmighty that she really wasn't
supposed to be driving because the dumb doctors claimed that she
was legally blind but they didn't know what all they were talking about
because she could see just fine if she squinted.
Gawlmighty, a horrified look on his face, both hands gripping the seat and
both boots up on the dash, couldn't help but believe that she'd never seen
a treetop in her life. If she'd caused less than a hundred wrecks since they
left Virginia he had miscounted. A
She was arrested in Arkansas for 7324 unpaid tickets. Gawlmighty, still
unrecognized, was put out on the side of the interstate. He stood on the
side of the highway for two hours with his thumb out before a bright
orange Cadillac pulled over to give him a ride.
The coincidence never occurred to Gawlmighty.
Scrambush!
Gawlmighty awoke one morning in May to a deserted White House.
Consequently it took him longer to get ready because he had to wipe his
own kiester. When he was ready for the day, the day wasn't there.
"HELLO!" he yelled as he was adjusting his hat.
There wasn't even an echo.
"HEY, THE SORTA PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SAID
FUCKIN' HELLO!!!"
Still no echo.
"HEYSOMEDAMNBODY!!!"
Echoless still.
"Wonder where ever'body is," Gawlmighty growled. "If they had another
evacuation and forgot to tell me, it's somebody's ass!"
Too stupid to be afraid, Gawlmighty got his bicycle and pedaled it through
the halls of his empty castle. Nobody on the first floor. It was starting to
look like it was going to be the same thing on the second floor, when a
baboon the size of a convenience store stepped into view.
There was only one baboon this big. The baboon had been bred in a
secret experiment jointly funded by the U.S. Military, Halliburden,and the Chiquita Bananas
Company. This was no accident of nature like Gawlmighty and his shinola
siblings. This was the product of twisted human minds. This mungo baboon could have slapped
the Packers and made them cry.
Gawlmighty, still too stupid to know the danger he was in, said, "You!
New here? Anyway, where the itchy blazes is ever'body?"
"Gone smash!" said the Mungo Baboon.
Gawlmighty, holding his bicycle, jawed on as if the Baboon had said
nothing at all. "I'm tired of always being the last critter to find out about
ever'thing around here. I'm the dang President of the United States! I
oughta be told at least third or fourth!"
The Mungo Baboon swung at Gawlmighty, missed, and left a suitcase-
sized hole in the wall of the hall.
Gawlmighty still misunderestimated. "Hey, be careful! Tripped over yer
own feet, huh. I done that a couple of times before. Now move so I can
get by with my bike!"
But now the Mungo Baboon reached down and grabbed Gawlmighty in
one fist—bike and all—and then walked back the way it had come. It
repeatedly punched the walls with the fist that contained the Sorta
President of the United States.
It was Gawlmighty's decided misfortune that the place that the Mungo
Baboon was taking him was outside the White House about nine and
a half miles. But Gawlmighty (clasped tightly in the big baboon's fist
which repeatedly smashed into trees and walls along the way), was
beyond thought. Usually almost so, he was now completely thus.
This went on for about an hour, during which time Gawlmighty and his
bike were hammered into one compact mess—half bike, half biker.
Finally, the oversized ape reached its home: the C.I.A. Complex in
Langley, Virginia.
With biker and bike still compressed in its fist, the awesome primate
made a beeline for one of the outbuildings behind the Complex. As the
bigboned baboon approached the huge door in the side of the orange
building, the orange door automatically raised to admit the beast and
closed behind it.
Absolutely everything inside the building was the same shade of orange.
The walls, the floors, the computers, the tables, the logbooks, the clocks,
the coffeemaker, the surveillance monitors, the Kleenex, the paper, the
pens, the printers, the keyboards, the mice, the staplers, the radios, the
handcuffs, the cattleprods, the thumbscrews, and even the ceiling—all
bright orange!
Not that Gawlmighty knew it. He and his bike were still sharing atoms
in the fist of the Mungo Baboon. Everything could have been blue for
all he knew.
There were, however, two things in the room, besides the Baboon, that
weren't orange. (I lied when I said everything in the room was orange. I
should have said almost everything but I got carried away.) The two
non-orange things were the hat and the complexion of the only other
occupant of the room.
Though Gawlmighty still had no idea of these facts (or any other), this
was the infamous Agent Orange. He was the agent that the Agency
called on when they wanted jobs done that were seriously wrong. They
called him "Agent Orange" not only because he loved the color orange
beyond way too much. They were also comparing his deadliness to
the nefarious chemical weapon
And Agent Orange never failed.
He was also seriously deranged and talked to himself.
"Fine work. Fine work," Agent Orange said from under his hat.
"Show me what you've got."
Mungo raised the fist containing Gawlmighty and his bike high and
gestured with the other toward his open mouth.
"Okay, you red-assed, blue-nosed, damn hairy ape, I'll get your damned
bananas but after I get Gawlmighty I'm gonna stick this cattleprod up
your whoop-de-doo, " mumbled Agent Orange as he walked to the
refrigerator for the fruit.
When Agent Orange returned with the bananas, Mungo opened his
fist and let the amalgamation of Gawlmighty and his bike drop to the
orange floor. There was no movement from it. Orange stood over the
tangle of tyrant and transport and continued talking to himself:
"Oh, yeah. Been a bad president. Started screwing up. Making
people mad. Powerful people. Rich people. Crazy people. Say
you gotta go. Gotta go. Too bad. I don't care. I get my orders and
I do the deed. But I got a little problem. Little problem. Now I gotta
separate Gawlmighty from that damned bike of his. What to do?"
He went on. "Okay, what's the difference between bikes and bastards?
Oh, yeah! Bikes don't jump when you zap them with a souped-up,
electric bastardzapper!" With that, Agent Orange stuck his electric
cattleprod into the tangle of gadget and midget.
Gawlmighty had never been able to yodel. He'd listened to the cowboys
yodel in the movies. He heard them on the radio. But, for all his practice,
he never got the hang of it—until just then.
"Yodeeoyodeeoyodeoodoodleedoodleehaw!!" screeched Gawlmighty.
As he stood, smouldering and stretching out of bike-shape, poor
Gawlmighty looked around. "What the hell did you hit me with you
orange idjit!"
"I just did that to get your attention, " said Agent Orange. Then he shocked
Gawlmighty again.
Gawlmighty yelped and then shouted, "Get him monkey! I'll buy ya a whole
truckload of bananas!"
Unfortunately for Agent Orange, the Mungo Baboon understood just enough
English to be deceived.
Consequently it took him longer to get ready because he had to wipe his
own kiester. When he was ready for the day, the day wasn't there.
"HELLO!" he yelled as he was adjusting his hat.
There wasn't even an echo.
"HEY, THE SORTA PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES SAID
FUCKIN' HELLO!!!"
Still no echo.
"HEYSOMEDAMNBODY!!!"
Echoless still.
"Wonder where ever'body is," Gawlmighty growled. "If they had another
evacuation and forgot to tell me, it's somebody's ass!"
Too stupid to be afraid, Gawlmighty got his bicycle and pedaled it through
the halls of his empty castle. Nobody on the first floor. It was starting to
look like it was going to be the same thing on the second floor, when a
baboon the size of a convenience store stepped into view.
There was only one baboon this big. The baboon had been bred in a
secret experiment jointly funded by the U.S. Military, Halliburden,and the Chiquita Bananas
Company. This was no accident of nature like Gawlmighty and his shinola
siblings. This was the product of twisted human minds. This mungo baboon could have slapped
the Packers and made them cry.
Gawlmighty, still too stupid to know the danger he was in, said, "You!
New here? Anyway, where the itchy blazes is ever'body?"
"Gone smash!" said the Mungo Baboon.
Gawlmighty, holding his bicycle, jawed on as if the Baboon had said
nothing at all. "I'm tired of always being the last critter to find out about
ever'thing around here. I'm the dang President of the United States! I
oughta be told at least third or fourth!"
The Mungo Baboon swung at Gawlmighty, missed, and left a suitcase-
sized hole in the wall of the hall.
Gawlmighty still misunderestimated. "Hey, be careful! Tripped over yer
own feet, huh. I done that a couple of times before. Now move so I can
get by with my bike!"
But now the Mungo Baboon reached down and grabbed Gawlmighty in
one fist—bike and all—and then walked back the way it had come. It
repeatedly punched the walls with the fist that contained the Sorta
President of the United States.
It was Gawlmighty's decided misfortune that the place that the Mungo
Baboon was taking him was outside the White House about nine and
a half miles. But Gawlmighty (clasped tightly in the big baboon's fist
which repeatedly smashed into trees and walls along the way), was
beyond thought. Usually almost so, he was now completely thus.
This went on for about an hour, during which time Gawlmighty and his
bike were hammered into one compact mess—half bike, half biker.
Finally, the oversized ape reached its home: the C.I.A. Complex in
Langley, Virginia.
With biker and bike still compressed in its fist, the awesome primate
made a beeline for one of the outbuildings behind the Complex. As the
bigboned baboon approached the huge door in the side of the orange
building, the orange door automatically raised to admit the beast and
closed behind it.
Absolutely everything inside the building was the same shade of orange.
The walls, the floors, the computers, the tables, the logbooks, the clocks,
the coffeemaker, the surveillance monitors, the Kleenex, the paper, the
pens, the printers, the keyboards, the mice, the staplers, the radios, the
handcuffs, the cattleprods, the thumbscrews, and even the ceiling—all
bright orange!
Not that Gawlmighty knew it. He and his bike were still sharing atoms
in the fist of the Mungo Baboon. Everything could have been blue for
all he knew.
There were, however, two things in the room, besides the Baboon, that
weren't orange. (I lied when I said everything in the room was orange. I
should have said almost everything but I got carried away.) The two
non-orange things were the hat and the complexion of the only other
occupant of the room.
Though Gawlmighty still had no idea of these facts (or any other), this
was the infamous Agent Orange. He was the agent that the Agency
called on when they wanted jobs done that were seriously wrong. They
called him "Agent Orange" not only because he loved the color orange
beyond way too much. They were also comparing his deadliness to
the nefarious chemical weapon
And Agent Orange never failed.
He was also seriously deranged and talked to himself.
"Fine work. Fine work," Agent Orange said from under his hat.
"Show me what you've got."
Mungo raised the fist containing Gawlmighty and his bike high and
gestured with the other toward his open mouth.
"Okay, you red-assed, blue-nosed, damn hairy ape, I'll get your damned
bananas but after I get Gawlmighty I'm gonna stick this cattleprod up
your whoop-de-doo, " mumbled Agent Orange as he walked to the
refrigerator for the fruit.
When Agent Orange returned with the bananas, Mungo opened his
fist and let the amalgamation of Gawlmighty and his bike drop to the
orange floor. There was no movement from it. Orange stood over the
tangle of tyrant and transport and continued talking to himself:
"Oh, yeah. Been a bad president. Started screwing up. Making
people mad. Powerful people. Rich people. Crazy people. Say
you gotta go. Gotta go. Too bad. I don't care. I get my orders and
I do the deed. But I got a little problem. Little problem. Now I gotta
separate Gawlmighty from that damned bike of his. What to do?"
He went on. "Okay, what's the difference between bikes and bastards?
Oh, yeah! Bikes don't jump when you zap them with a souped-up,
electric bastardzapper!" With that, Agent Orange stuck his electric
cattleprod into the tangle of gadget and midget.
Gawlmighty had never been able to yodel. He'd listened to the cowboys
yodel in the movies. He heard them on the radio. But, for all his practice,
he never got the hang of it—until just then.
"Yodeeoyodeeoyodeoodoodleedoodleehaw!!" screeched Gawlmighty.
As he stood, smouldering and stretching out of bike-shape, poor
Gawlmighty looked around. "What the hell did you hit me with you
orange idjit!"
"I just did that to get your attention, " said Agent Orange. Then he shocked
Gawlmighty again.
Gawlmighty yelped and then shouted, "Get him monkey! I'll buy ya a whole
truckload of bananas!"
Unfortunately for Agent Orange, the Mungo Baboon understood just enough
English to be deceived.
Dropdead Fine
After Oklahoma stole the Alamo with a convoy of eighteen eighteen-
wheelers and three Mexicans, Texas came up and drove the Gawlmighty
Gang out of Oklahoma and made it apologize.
Gawlmighty was doubly humiliated to have to bow to the will of his own
home state where he had once been governor. It just didn't look right in
the newspapers. (But little of the damage he did ever made it into the the
mainstream papers who were all well-paid and proud to play along.)
Tired of Hitler, Gawlmighty went back to pretending he
was the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Then things went from bad to worse.
Gawlmighty was cokey and hadn't paid attention when Hurricane Hannibal
ate most of New Orleans and Gawlmighty was left looking like he'd been
cokey and hadn't paid attention. As Hannibal chased Louisiana up to the
Great Lakes region, Gawlmighty was watching the little wisps of grey
smoke come up when smokebubbles popped on the beach. Three days
after everything was dry again, Gawlmighty flew over the storm-ravaged
area in the Space Shuttle and told a reporter it didn't look that bad to him.
But his troubles didn't really start until he met Bambianna at a
dinner party in her honor. She was the ambassador from Bambidamn,
a small country in the Alps with no people. She was also sleek, lovely,
and hotter than Venus. Gawlmighty was introduced to her as if he were
the President of the United States.
"No! Zis must be, howyousay, a joke! You tink because I from a country
of no people that you can bring me zis handsome moofie star and tell
me he is zee President and I will know notzing of your ruse!"
"Nah, really, purty lady," Gawlmighty said, blushing lime. "I'm the real
Prez'dent. I stole it fair and square!"
Miss Handbasket lifted a lace hankie to her bombastic bosom and
smiled a smile that made it hard for him to think. It was then that
Gawlmighty truly grew up. And since he didn't wear anything but the
cowboy hat and the cowboy boots, it was obvious to Helena that
Gawlmighty liked her.
Miss Handbasket pretended that she was enamoured of Gawlmighty
because she had been paid very well to do so. Gawlmighty, on Ick's
advice, had used homosexuals as scapegoats the way Hitler had used
Jews. But unlike the homosexuals themselves, payback was a real
bitch. It was her assignment to wrap him around her little finger and
then dismiss him with a snap.
Gawlmighty took his hat off around Miss Helena like Texans did
around the ladyfolk. But the first time he did, Helena passed out
over the ugliness of his bald reptilian head. So he bought himself
a toupee that looked like he snatched it off a clown's head. It was
several days before Miss Handbasket could look at him without
having to run off somewhere and laugh.
Helena Handbasket dragged Gawlmighty through two months of
romantic degradation and had him kissing her slippers at the end.
He was so addicted to the comfort he was getting from the nimble
Miss Handbasket that he would do anything she said. When she
told him to pee on a Bible while she took photographs, he was
beyond denying her anything.
With relief, she learned from her gay patrons that her job was done
and she could leave Gawlmighty. She left, in the middle of one of his
lies, so amazingly fast that he thought she had disappeared and called
Ghostbusters. But he wasn't all alone. He was beside himself.
The awkward Christian soldiers who had been right behind him as long
as he pretended to do what they thought God wanted were
thumping their Bibles and gathering stones. He had betrayed all the
Christians moral values that had made this country the wonderful
mess it is today. How could he do such a horrible thing? Did the Devil
make him do it? If so, he had no business being the leader of a God-
fearing country! With the Washington Monument being so handy, there
was no need to look for a stake to burn him at. But he must be punished!
Christianity was a religion about punishment first and foremost in the
common hypochristian's mind. To hell with impeachment! Crucify him!
But the worst of it all, from Gawlmighty's point of view, was the fact that
something should have been visible in the notorious photograph that
was so small that it could not be seen. Somehow, no one was all that
afraid of Gawlmighty after that.
But, just when Gawlmighty thought that things couldn't possibly get any
worse, something happened that dug his grave even deeper.
Blood may be thicker than water. But it's not as thick as money.
wheelers and three Mexicans, Texas came up and drove the Gawlmighty
Gang out of Oklahoma and made it apologize.
Gawlmighty was doubly humiliated to have to bow to the will of his own
home state where he had once been governor. It just didn't look right in
the newspapers. (But little of the damage he did ever made it into the the
mainstream papers who were all well-paid and proud to play along.)
Tired of Hitler, Gawlmighty went back to pretending he
was the good, the bad, and the ugly.
Then things went from bad to worse.
Gawlmighty was cokey and hadn't paid attention when Hurricane Hannibal
ate most of New Orleans and Gawlmighty was left looking like he'd been
cokey and hadn't paid attention. As Hannibal chased Louisiana up to the
Great Lakes region, Gawlmighty was watching the little wisps of grey
smoke come up when smokebubbles popped on the beach. Three days
after everything was dry again, Gawlmighty flew over the storm-ravaged
area in the Space Shuttle and told a reporter it didn't look that bad to him.
But his troubles didn't really start until he met Bambianna at a
dinner party in her honor. She was the ambassador from Bambidamn,
a small country in the Alps with no people. She was also sleek, lovely,
and hotter than Venus. Gawlmighty was introduced to her as if he were
the President of the United States.
"No! Zis must be, howyousay, a joke! You tink because I from a country
of no people that you can bring me zis handsome moofie star and tell
me he is zee President and I will know notzing of your ruse!"
"Nah, really, purty lady," Gawlmighty said, blushing lime. "I'm the real
Prez'dent. I stole it fair and square!"
Miss Handbasket lifted a lace hankie to her bombastic bosom and
smiled a smile that made it hard for him to think. It was then that
Gawlmighty truly grew up. And since he didn't wear anything but the
cowboy hat and the cowboy boots, it was obvious to Helena that
Gawlmighty liked her.
Miss Handbasket pretended that she was enamoured of Gawlmighty
because she had been paid very well to do so. Gawlmighty, on Ick's
advice, had used homosexuals as scapegoats the way Hitler had used
Jews. But unlike the homosexuals themselves, payback was a real
bitch. It was her assignment to wrap him around her little finger and
then dismiss him with a snap.
Gawlmighty took his hat off around Miss Helena like Texans did
around the ladyfolk. But the first time he did, Helena passed out
over the ugliness of his bald reptilian head. So he bought himself
a toupee that looked like he snatched it off a clown's head. It was
several days before Miss Handbasket could look at him without
having to run off somewhere and laugh.
Helena Handbasket dragged Gawlmighty through two months of
romantic degradation and had him kissing her slippers at the end.
He was so addicted to the comfort he was getting from the nimble
Miss Handbasket that he would do anything she said. When she
told him to pee on a Bible while she took photographs, he was
beyond denying her anything.
With relief, she learned from her gay patrons that her job was done
and she could leave Gawlmighty. She left, in the middle of one of his
lies, so amazingly fast that he thought she had disappeared and called
Ghostbusters. But he wasn't all alone. He was beside himself.
The awkward Christian soldiers who had been right behind him as long
as he pretended to do what they thought God wanted were
thumping their Bibles and gathering stones. He had betrayed all the
Christians moral values that had made this country the wonderful
mess it is today. How could he do such a horrible thing? Did the Devil
make him do it? If so, he had no business being the leader of a God-
fearing country! With the Washington Monument being so handy, there
was no need to look for a stake to burn him at. But he must be punished!
Christianity was a religion about punishment first and foremost in the
common hypochristian's mind. To hell with impeachment! Crucify him!
But the worst of it all, from Gawlmighty's point of view, was the fact that
something should have been visible in the notorious photograph that
was so small that it could not be seen. Somehow, no one was all that
afraid of Gawlmighty after that.
But, just when Gawlmighty thought that things couldn't possibly get any
worse, something happened that dug his grave even deeper.
Blood may be thicker than water. But it's not as thick as money.
War Monkeys
That day Gawlmighty was dressed like Hitler in the Strategy Room.
Ick had sent him to see Chaplin's "The Great Dictator."
Gawlmighty came back to the White House goosestepping, stiff arm saluting,
with a black Magic Marker mustache. Prudent made him take off the costume
except when he was in the Strategy Room. But there, he played his hero to the hilt.
He goosestepped around the long wide table in the center of the room.
He'd ask each general a question. And if he didn't like the answer, true
or not, he'd give the general a little red boot up the butt. Gawlmighty found
that if he kicked hard enough, the general usually had a good idea before
Gawlmighty made it back around the table.
Gawlmighty had just goosestepped up into a fat general's ass when the
general next to him began spewing out wise advice. Then Gawlmighty
kicked his secretary's hiney to make sure she wrote it down.
He still dressed like a cowboy. But the goosestep, the salute,
and the marker mustache made it pretty obvious that his hero wasn't
Roy Rogers.
He stomped back to Ick: "Who
are we fightin' this week?"
"Don't tell anybody," Ick answered out of the side of his mouth. His
whiskers twitched. "This time we're going to invade Oklahoma. We
just want to do it to keep the other forty-seven states on their toes."
Clicked heels, stiff salutes, and a hardy, "Heil Gawlmighty!" had
to be gotten out of the way first before Gawlmighty could assure his
brother that he'd have absolutely everything he needed. "I want
you to hit them with everything you've got right at midnight. Okies
don't wage war after dark. The longer you stay up the more you
have to think."
"Sharp move," sneered Ick.
Gawlmighty goosestepped to his brother's side and put an arm around
his shoulder. "Seems like you've got everything under control, Ick. If you
need me I'll be in the Oval Office playing Grand Theft Auto."
"Yahvol, mine commandant!" Ick shouted and threw a Nazi salute.
Later as he was shooting drug dealers and police officers in the
Oval Office, Gawlmighty sighed and said, "Gee, I'm the luckiest
wicked dictator ever!"
Ick had sent him to see Chaplin's "The Great Dictator."
Gawlmighty came back to the White House goosestepping, stiff arm saluting,
with a black Magic Marker mustache. Prudent made him take off the costume
except when he was in the Strategy Room. But there, he played his hero to the hilt.
He goosestepped around the long wide table in the center of the room.
He'd ask each general a question. And if he didn't like the answer, true
or not, he'd give the general a little red boot up the butt. Gawlmighty found
that if he kicked hard enough, the general usually had a good idea before
Gawlmighty made it back around the table.
Gawlmighty had just goosestepped up into a fat general's ass when the
general next to him began spewing out wise advice. Then Gawlmighty
kicked his secretary's hiney to make sure she wrote it down.
He still dressed like a cowboy. But the goosestep, the salute,
and the marker mustache made it pretty obvious that his hero wasn't
Roy Rogers.
He stomped back to Ick: "Who
are we fightin' this week?"
"Don't tell anybody," Ick answered out of the side of his mouth. His
whiskers twitched. "This time we're going to invade Oklahoma. We
just want to do it to keep the other forty-seven states on their toes."
Clicked heels, stiff salutes, and a hardy, "Heil Gawlmighty!" had
to be gotten out of the way first before Gawlmighty could assure his
brother that he'd have absolutely everything he needed. "I want
you to hit them with everything you've got right at midnight. Okies
don't wage war after dark. The longer you stay up the more you
have to think."
"Sharp move," sneered Ick.
Gawlmighty goosestepped to his brother's side and put an arm around
his shoulder. "Seems like you've got everything under control, Ick. If you
need me I'll be in the Oval Office playing Grand Theft Auto."
"Yahvol, mine commandant!" Ick shouted and threw a Nazi salute.
Later as he was shooting drug dealers and police officers in the
Oval Office, Gawlmighty sighed and said, "Gee, I'm the luckiest
wicked dictator ever!"
Fiendish Fibs
In a televised speech from the Oval Office, President
Gawlmighty told the United States that he would be there for the
nation any time it needed him. He didn't say he would help. Just
that he would be there. He got his first chance to prove it late in
his first year on the job.
One day in late August, Gawlmighty was sitting with his boots up
on the Oval Office desk smoking a joint and blowing smokebubbles
through a little plastic stick with circles on both ends. The bubbles,
grey spheres filled with smoke, would drift across the Oval Office
and give up little ghosts of smoke when they popped on the carpet.
Gawlmighty was easily entertained.
As he was doing so, Ick came grumbling through the door.
Ick wasn't tall enough to see over the desk so he came around
the side of it and was attacked by a flock of smokebubbles.
Gagging and spitting, Ick said enough choice words to convince
Gawlmighty that he could blow smokebubbles later. "Whazzup, Ick?"
"Me and Prudent and Rumbo have been talking. If we're ever going to make
any real money off this deal, we're gonna have to take over the world."
"Take over the world, huh."
"Yeah, take over the world. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the
United States has been the biggest dog in the yard. And there's no
sense in us just sitting here and playing like everybody's grandfather
in a rocking chair. It's time to bite."
"We don't have grandmas or grandpas."
"Yeah, I know. But stay with me here, you burnout!"
"Okay. Me focus."
"Great. Well, we've decided to take over the world and make it a safe place
to do business in."
"Okay. And you need me why?"
"Well, we don't really need you. I just wanted to make sure you were
in the loop. We've already set in motion what's going to be. It happens
next Tuesday."
"What happens next Tuesday?"
"We're going to blow up Disneyland."
Gawlmighty looked at his brother. "When it's empty?"
"No," said Ick. "That wouldn't do us any good. It's got to be full of people
so that when we blow it up so America will be outraged like they were over
Pearl Harbor and let us start as many wars as we want and suspend their
rights and everything."
"You sure this is gonna work?"
"We're counting on the people of the United States being dumb enough to
fall for it no matter how set-up it looks."
"Oh, okay. It'll work."
In the White House bunker, Ick wore an army helmet he'd bought
at an Army surplus store. And he held a cigar butt on one side of his mouth
while he talked out of the other. "You see, in about two hours you'll be reading
a book about a duck to a bunch of school children. You can't get a better alibi
than that."
"I don't like to read and I don't like kids. They're funny lookin'!"
"That's okay. You don't really have to read the book and you'll only be with the
kids until we blow up Disneyland. Then you can have a press conference from
the school. Having all the kids around you will make you look innocent."
"Whatever!"
"Then, after your press conference with your little alibis, we'll signal all the
demolition teams to set off the explosions in the Magic Kingdom."
"Whoa! Are there gonna be people on those rides?"
"Only poor people."
"Oh, whew! You had me worried there for a minute."
Ick laid out a map of the island of California on the tabletop. "Then,
after the wreckage stops smoking, we'll have salvage ships ready
to haul off all the evidence and dump it in the ocean. And we'll make
the blueprints of Disneyland double top secret classified
for a hundred years just so nobody can prove we lied."
"You think they'll all be stupid enough not to see that there couldn't
be any reason for making the blueprints classified except that we've
got something to hide?"
"No, we'll spread the talking point that anyone who questions the official
story of the catastrophe is a nut case."
Gawlmighty stuck a tiny gold spoon up his nose and sniffed. "You really
think everybody's gonna buy that?"
"Sure," said Ick. "It's like Hitler said, 'The bigger the lie, the more people
will believe it."
"Oh, yeah," Gawlmighty sniffed. "Who's Hitler?"
Gawlmighty told the United States that he would be there for the
nation any time it needed him. He didn't say he would help. Just
that he would be there. He got his first chance to prove it late in
his first year on the job.
One day in late August, Gawlmighty was sitting with his boots up
on the Oval Office desk smoking a joint and blowing smokebubbles
through a little plastic stick with circles on both ends. The bubbles,
grey spheres filled with smoke, would drift across the Oval Office
and give up little ghosts of smoke when they popped on the carpet.
Gawlmighty was easily entertained.
As he was doing so, Ick came grumbling through the door.
Ick wasn't tall enough to see over the desk so he came around
the side of it and was attacked by a flock of smokebubbles.
Gagging and spitting, Ick said enough choice words to convince
Gawlmighty that he could blow smokebubbles later. "Whazzup, Ick?"
"Me and Prudent and Rumbo have been talking. If we're ever going to make
any real money off this deal, we're gonna have to take over the world."
"Take over the world, huh."
"Yeah, take over the world. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the
United States has been the biggest dog in the yard. And there's no
sense in us just sitting here and playing like everybody's grandfather
in a rocking chair. It's time to bite."
"We don't have grandmas or grandpas."
"Yeah, I know. But stay with me here, you burnout!"
"Okay. Me focus."
"Great. Well, we've decided to take over the world and make it a safe place
to do business in."
"Okay. And you need me why?"
"Well, we don't really need you. I just wanted to make sure you were
in the loop. We've already set in motion what's going to be. It happens
next Tuesday."
"What happens next Tuesday?"
"We're going to blow up Disneyland."
Gawlmighty looked at his brother. "When it's empty?"
"No," said Ick. "That wouldn't do us any good. It's got to be full of people
so that when we blow it up so America will be outraged like they were over
Pearl Harbor and let us start as many wars as we want and suspend their
rights and everything."
"You sure this is gonna work?"
"We're counting on the people of the United States being dumb enough to
fall for it no matter how set-up it looks."
"Oh, okay. It'll work."
In the White House bunker, Ick wore an army helmet he'd bought
at an Army surplus store. And he held a cigar butt on one side of his mouth
while he talked out of the other. "You see, in about two hours you'll be reading
a book about a duck to a bunch of school children. You can't get a better alibi
than that."
"I don't like to read and I don't like kids. They're funny lookin'!"
"That's okay. You don't really have to read the book and you'll only be with the
kids until we blow up Disneyland. Then you can have a press conference from
the school. Having all the kids around you will make you look innocent."
"Whatever!"
"Then, after your press conference with your little alibis, we'll signal all the
demolition teams to set off the explosions in the Magic Kingdom."
"Whoa! Are there gonna be people on those rides?"
"Only poor people."
"Oh, whew! You had me worried there for a minute."
Ick laid out a map of the island of California on the tabletop. "Then,
after the wreckage stops smoking, we'll have salvage ships ready
to haul off all the evidence and dump it in the ocean. And we'll make
the blueprints of Disneyland double top secret classified
for a hundred years just so nobody can prove we lied."
"You think they'll all be stupid enough not to see that there couldn't
be any reason for making the blueprints classified except that we've
got something to hide?"
"No, we'll spread the talking point that anyone who questions the official
story of the catastrophe is a nut case."
Gawlmighty stuck a tiny gold spoon up his nose and sniffed. "You really
think everybody's gonna buy that?"
"Sure," said Ick. "It's like Hitler said, 'The bigger the lie, the more people
will believe it."
"Oh, yeah," Gawlmighty sniffed. "Who's Hitler?"
Billionaire Bingo
Gawlmighty settled into the White House and thought that he was going
to like being P.O.T.U.S (To his face they all told him that the acronym
stood for "President Of The United States." But amongst themselves
they joked that it stood for "Product Of The Ugly Stick"). The way Prudent
had set things up for him, it was the easiest job in the world.
They all took their orders from Prudent. But each lent his or her own
charm to the post. Ick was always sneaking around behind the
scenes reinterpreting intelligence and chewing through ropes. And
Fangosita, while juggling lies in all the languages of the world,
still found time to buy thousands of shoes. (She had foot envy.) And
Rumbo, in his Roman centurion's helmet was always pestering his
brothers to give him a war to run. They told him to be patient a little longer.
While the previous president had been a real sucker for sex, he hadn't
been that bad a president.
There was a surplus of 666 octillion dollars as Elvis left office in disgrace.
The American government was the richest it had ever been. Now every bad
road in America could be fixed and every child given health care or—
"Run it by me again and hand me the bong," Gawlmighty said.
Prudent gave an exasperated sigh (that also released three lung's full
of pot smoke) and said, "Now listen this time. You're going to start a
game of billionaire's bingo. Everybody in the United States who's got
one or more billions of dollars gets a slider board with numbers on it.
Oh, it will be such fun! You'll stand there on national television and call
out the numbers and we'll give away things like the surplus, the national
forests, and "Get Out of Congress Free" passes. Won't it be fun?"
"Can I get high?"
"Yes."
"Bring on da jubilee!"
to like being P.O.T.U.S (To his face they all told him that the acronym
stood for "President Of The United States." But amongst themselves
they joked that it stood for "Product Of The Ugly Stick"). The way Prudent
had set things up for him, it was the easiest job in the world.
Gawlmighty swiftly appointed:
Ick as vice-president,
Fangosita as secretary of state,
and Rumbo as secretary of defense.
Ick as vice-president,
Fangosita as secretary of state,
and Rumbo as secretary of defense.
They all took their orders from Prudent. But each lent his or her own
charm to the post. Ick was always sneaking around behind the
scenes reinterpreting intelligence and chewing through ropes. And
Fangosita, while juggling lies in all the languages of the world,
still found time to buy thousands of shoes. (She had foot envy.) And
Rumbo, in his Roman centurion's helmet was always pestering his
brothers to give him a war to run. They told him to be patient a little longer.
While the previous president had been a real sucker for sex, he hadn't
been that bad a president.
There was a surplus of 666 octillion dollars as Elvis left office in disgrace.
The American government was the richest it had ever been. Now every bad
road in America could be fixed and every child given health care or—
"Run it by me again and hand me the bong," Gawlmighty said.
Prudent gave an exasperated sigh (that also released three lung's full
of pot smoke) and said, "Now listen this time. You're going to start a
game of billionaire's bingo. Everybody in the United States who's got
one or more billions of dollars gets a slider board with numbers on it.
Oh, it will be such fun! You'll stand there on national television and call
out the numbers and we'll give away things like the surplus, the national
forests, and "Get Out of Congress Free" passes. Won't it be fun?"
"Can I get high?"
"Yes."
"Bring on da jubilee!"
Money Squawks
Counting on human greed and stupidity had paid off yet again. Half of
America was already counting its tax refund and the other half felt sure
that stealing a country was nowhere near as bad as getting a blowjob
in the White House.
The other half was watching "Survivor."
Gawlmighty didn't like the sound of the inauguration at first. He said that it
sounded like something that a crazy dentist would do to ya. But when
assured it was just the formal ceremony that would make him the
President (and that he would get no more drugs if he refused), Gawlmighty agreed
to cooperate.
When the morning of the inauguration arrived, Gawlmighty said something
that Prudent thought was surprisingly sweet. Gawlmighty said that he
wanted his brothers and sister to ride in the limousine with him. Prudent
asked if it was because he wanted to share the moment with his family.
Gawlmighty said, "Inhuman shields."
Prudent was surprised by the public reactions in Washington when they
arrived for the ceremony. You would have thought they'd done something
wrong. Poor people were lined up and down the route they'd take to the
Capitol, carrying signs that said things like:
"Hail to the Thief!"
"Give Us Back Our Country!" and
"So What!"
But since Gawlmighty never read anything if he didn't have to, and his
siblings didn't offer to read them to him, Gawlmighty had no idea.
There was a longstanding tradition that the President-elect would walk
the last block to the Capitol to be sworn in. When Rover the driver
mentioned it , Gawlmighty said for him to fornicate himself and step
on the gas.
Thus they zoomed by the army of armed veterans, the little old ladies with
knitting needles, the college students with Molotov bongs, the young
African-Americans with their solid gold boomerangs, and the school
children with their freshly sharpened pencils.
At the Capitol Building, twentyseven bodyguards escorted Gawlmighty
up the steps where Chief Justice Harpo Marx swore him in as the
Fortythird President of the United States. Gawlmighty beamed out at
all the people wanting to kill him who were held back by his paid thugs
(and the Secret Service). He recited the oath from memory:
"I do probably swear that I will faithfully prostitute the Office of the
President of the United States, and will, whenever I wanna, change,
reject, and upend the Constitution of the United States."
And, just as he finished, an overripe tomato hit the Secret Service goon
standing right behind Gawlmighty and the goon, with really impressive
markmanship, shot the little old lady who threw it. Thus was the noble
Presidency of Galmighty the Misunderestimated begun.
America was already counting its tax refund and the other half felt sure
that stealing a country was nowhere near as bad as getting a blowjob
in the White House.
The other half was watching "Survivor."
Gawlmighty didn't like the sound of the inauguration at first. He said that it
sounded like something that a crazy dentist would do to ya. But when
assured it was just the formal ceremony that would make him the
President (and that he would get no more drugs if he refused), Gawlmighty agreed
to cooperate.
When the morning of the inauguration arrived, Gawlmighty said something
that Prudent thought was surprisingly sweet. Gawlmighty said that he
wanted his brothers and sister to ride in the limousine with him. Prudent
asked if it was because he wanted to share the moment with his family.
Gawlmighty said, "Inhuman shields."
Prudent was surprised by the public reactions in Washington when they
arrived for the ceremony. You would have thought they'd done something
wrong. Poor people were lined up and down the route they'd take to the
Capitol, carrying signs that said things like:
"Hail to the Thief!"
"Give Us Back Our Country!" and
"So What!"
But since Gawlmighty never read anything if he didn't have to, and his
siblings didn't offer to read them to him, Gawlmighty had no idea.
There was a longstanding tradition that the President-elect would walk
the last block to the Capitol to be sworn in. When Rover the driver
mentioned it , Gawlmighty said for him to fornicate himself and step
on the gas.
Thus they zoomed by the army of armed veterans, the little old ladies with
knitting needles, the college students with Molotov bongs, the young
African-Americans with their solid gold boomerangs, and the school
children with their freshly sharpened pencils.
At the Capitol Building, twentyseven bodyguards escorted Gawlmighty
up the steps where Chief Justice Harpo Marx swore him in as the
Fortythird President of the United States. Gawlmighty beamed out at
all the people wanting to kill him who were held back by his paid thugs
(and the Secret Service). He recited the oath from memory:
"I do probably swear that I will faithfully prostitute the Office of the
President of the United States, and will, whenever I wanna, change,
reject, and upend the Constitution of the United States."
And, just as he finished, an overripe tomato hit the Secret Service goon
standing right behind Gawlmighty and the goon, with really impressive
markmanship, shot the little old lady who threw it. Thus was the noble
Presidency of Galmighty the Misunderestimated begun.
Court Jesters
The nine Supreme Court justices that Prudent bought were hardly worth
what he spent for them. The six that were living were called Harpo, Chico,
Groucho, Moe, Larry, and Curly Joe. The other three had been dead in their
chairs for so long that no one remembered what their names were. The
court was quite a busy place the day democracy was stolen.
Prudent's one thousand lawyers crowded on the left side of the courtroom,
pretty much filling the left side of the building. And Awkward Bore's legal
team—two notary publics and a justice-of-the-peace—quivered on the right
side of the courtroom.
Bore's chief legal representative—the handsome notary—said, "I'd like to
approach the bench, your Honors."
"You can approach the bench but don't come over here," Groucho said. "I dont
like your looks. Do you have any others?"
Chico said, "Inna golfa dey say 'approacha de ball.' He gonna smack us?"
"He'd better not try," said Moe. "I'd murderize him!"
Harpo said nothing.
Bore's lawyer said, "No, I mean I'd like to come closer and talk to you."
"You're not the first gentlemen caller that's tried that trick on me," Groucho
said, fanning himself like a Southern Belle and rolling his eyes.
Chico said, "He say he justa wanna talk. Whooda heck is he?"
Curly said, "I think I saw him once. At the zoo! Soitenly! Nyuck-nyuck-nyuck! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!"
Moe hit Curly with a toilet and Larry with the plumber's friend.
"Order in the court," Groucho yelled.
"Pepperoni," gestured Harpo.
Shameless Baker, the lead lawyer for Gawlmighty, rose in his chair
and the room hushed. He put his fist to lips and cleared his throat,
causing Groucho to exclaim, "Somebody get that dear man a glass
of water! Is there no kindness left in this wretched world?"
Shameless Baker smiled a smile that had enough oil to free us from
dependency on the Middle East and said, "Your honors, these ridiculous
re-counts in the state of Florida are not only ridiculous and absurd but are,
in fact, injurious to my client's, Gawlmighty's, boyhood dream of being
the President of these Great United States in a timely fashion forthwith
herewith and pro se."
"Oh, please! Pray tell! What would you have us do?" gushed Groucho.
"He wants us ta make the thing in the hat Pres'dent and that's what
we're getting paid the big bucks for! Nyuck-nyuck-nuck!"
Moe said, "I say we vote on it. Somebody lift up the right hands on the
dead guys and we'll make it anonymous. There! By a vote of 9-to-0, we
declares Gawlmighty the undisputed winner and the new President
of the United States!"
Groucho said, "Thank you all for coming and please drive safely going home."
So money squawked and Gawlmighty became the leader of the free world. It had
been a long fight, and in the end they'd had to cheat. But what's a little thing
like that beside the fact that that they were now in charge? Prudent pulled
his voice box from too much maniacal laughter. Gawlmighty just said, "Damn
right!" and left to alphabetize the phone book.
what he spent for them. The six that were living were called Harpo, Chico,
Groucho, Moe, Larry, and Curly Joe. The other three had been dead in their
chairs for so long that no one remembered what their names were. The
court was quite a busy place the day democracy was stolen.
Prudent's one thousand lawyers crowded on the left side of the courtroom,
pretty much filling the left side of the building. And Awkward Bore's legal
team—two notary publics and a justice-of-the-peace—quivered on the right
side of the courtroom.
Bore's chief legal representative—the handsome notary—said, "I'd like to
approach the bench, your Honors."
"You can approach the bench but don't come over here," Groucho said. "I dont
like your looks. Do you have any others?"
Chico said, "Inna golfa dey say 'approacha de ball.' He gonna smack us?"
"He'd better not try," said Moe. "I'd murderize him!"
Harpo said nothing.
Bore's lawyer said, "No, I mean I'd like to come closer and talk to you."
"You're not the first gentlemen caller that's tried that trick on me," Groucho
said, fanning himself like a Southern Belle and rolling his eyes.
Chico said, "He say he justa wanna talk. Whooda heck is he?"
Curly said, "I think I saw him once. At the zoo! Soitenly! Nyuck-nyuck-nyuck! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo!"
Moe hit Curly with a toilet and Larry with the plumber's friend.
"Order in the court," Groucho yelled.
"Pepperoni," gestured Harpo.
Shameless Baker, the lead lawyer for Gawlmighty, rose in his chair
and the room hushed. He put his fist to lips and cleared his throat,
causing Groucho to exclaim, "Somebody get that dear man a glass
of water! Is there no kindness left in this wretched world?"
Shameless Baker smiled a smile that had enough oil to free us from
dependency on the Middle East and said, "Your honors, these ridiculous
re-counts in the state of Florida are not only ridiculous and absurd but are,
in fact, injurious to my client's, Gawlmighty's, boyhood dream of being
the President of these Great United States in a timely fashion forthwith
herewith and pro se."
"Oh, please! Pray tell! What would you have us do?" gushed Groucho.
"He wants us ta make the thing in the hat Pres'dent and that's what
we're getting paid the big bucks for! Nyuck-nyuck-nuck!"
Moe said, "I say we vote on it. Somebody lift up the right hands on the
dead guys and we'll make it anonymous. There! By a vote of 9-to-0, we
declares Gawlmighty the undisputed winner and the new President
of the United States!"
Groucho said, "Thank you all for coming and please drive safely going home."
So money squawked and Gawlmighty became the leader of the free world. It had
been a long fight, and in the end they'd had to cheat. But what's a little thing
like that beside the fact that that they were now in charge? Prudent pulled
his voice box from too much maniacal laughter. Gawlmighty just said, "Damn
right!" and left to alphabetize the phone book.
Campaign Reliever
Prudent first used behaviorism to shape Gawlmighty into the
perfect presidential candidate. The results showed the shortcomings
of that branch of psychology. But it worked if the supply of weed was kept
small and the resupply was contingent on obedience. Gawlmighty was,
by now, such a stoner that he'd juggle wolverines if it meant he could
get high afterwards.
But, while the pot worked while Gawlmighty was in training, a disastrous
incident just after Prudent bought him the Governorship of Texas showed
that something a little stronger would be needed. Did Prudent have any
hesitation about taking the next step in debasing his foster creature? Sure.
He had to make sure he could get a reliable coke connection first.
Training a dog with a sirloin steak is a lot harder than training Gawlmighty
with cocaine was. Prudent didn't even have to withhold it from Gawlmighty. He had
only to threaten to withhold it and the little monster would do whatever he said.
Prudent thanked God (who only listened to the very rich) that cocaine worked
so well with Gawlmighty. His lust for marijuana had made him trainable. But
it also made him stupider (which he didn't need).
The cocaine, on the other hand, gave him energy and made him bright
and alert. It also made him a little crazier than usual. And when it did, his
ability to use words was the first suffer. Those close to him knew that he
usually lost control of his tongue about twenty minutes before he lost
control of his bladder. But since Gawlmighty wouldn't be giving many
press conferences, Prudent wasn't too worried about either side-effect.
Gawlmighty was one of seven Republican candidates for President that
millennial year. As soon as they threw their hats in the ring, however, Prudent
would throw their names to some old friends of his at the C.I.A. who were
more than glad to dig up the worst dirt that could be used to blackmail them
into withdrawing. If that didn't work, he could always threaten their kids.
Not surprisingly, when it came time for the primaries, Gawlmighty was the only
Republican candidate left. He received the nomination by default and set out
on the campaign trail.
Fate again proved itself no friend of humanity in that Gawlmighty's Democratic
opponent was the aptly named Awkward Bore.
Awkward Bore had been the vice-president of Arkansas Elvis. When Elvis
got caught ruining fine cigars, Awkward Bore felt that he had to work twice as hard to be
charming as a presidential candidate. The only problem was that if Awkward
had had five times the charm he normally had, he still would have bored dogs.
What made matters worse was that Awkward was very intelligent. The great
majority of Americans are stupid and rightfully desire someone who can speak
their language. Awkward's intelligence was a drawback. And as Gawlmighty
got more and more coke on the campaign,he became more and more able
to impress the utterly dumb. He scrambled words like eggs.
"Mr Gawlmighty," said a reporter in Cincinnatti, "What do you intend to do
about the pollution in our rivers?"
Gawlmighty smirked. "Rivers come from rain in the mountains runnin'
downhill. Last time I checked, God was in charge of rain. Next question."
"What are you going to do about global warming if you become president?"
"Leave it alone. Then there'll be more and more of Canada every year."
"What are you going to do about the gang problem in our inner cities?"
"I'm glad you asked that. Children join gangs because they don't have anything
else constructive to do. I'll make them all federal marshals in charge of gettin'
rid of the gang problem in our inner cities. Next problemo."
"What do you intend to do about the Middle East?"
Gawlmighty's coked eyes bugged. "Ooh, the middle east. That would be
like Indiana. I think we ought to make Indiana and California switch places
and then come up with a cure for Diet Coke!"
Ick stepped to the microphone and said, "There'll be no more questions
today. Thanks and vote Gawlmighty-Ick on November Second!"
All in all, though, the coke was a good campaign reliever. Prudent not only
made sure that Gawlmighty had a steady supply. He also made sure that
Gawlmighty had doctors in constant attendance to make sure he had the
vitamins he needed and the tranquilizers when he started talking more
nonsense than usual.
On the road to Election Day, Awkward Bore spoke about the dreams of
our forefathers and Gawlmighty said just what the Republicans and the
Hypochristians wanted to hear; either that or he just started talking cokey
and then the stupid people applauded him over their unheated TV dinners.
Bore couldn't win and Gawlmighty couldn't lose.
Despite all the dirty tricks and purchased votes, as Election Day approached,
against all predictions, Awkward Bore looked like he might just win the close
race. It just shows that when you think you have the American people figured
out, they'll unexpectedly do something right. And then, of course, the real Powers
That Be will have to take drastic measures to see that wrong is victorious.
Prudent had already gone through the first sextillion that Robertson had loaned
him. Now he was glad that he'd been frugal.
In a desperate last-minute move, Prudent bought an army of one thousand of the
sleeziest lawyers that money could buy and had them flown to Florida to prove
that a vote for Bore was really a mistaken vote for Gawlmighty. Past Christmas
and into the new year, the struggle dragged on. Then Prudent had a dastardly
idea that assured them success:
He bought the Supreme Court.
perfect presidential candidate. The results showed the shortcomings
of that branch of psychology. But it worked if the supply of weed was kept
small and the resupply was contingent on obedience. Gawlmighty was,
by now, such a stoner that he'd juggle wolverines if it meant he could
get high afterwards.
But, while the pot worked while Gawlmighty was in training, a disastrous
incident just after Prudent bought him the Governorship of Texas showed
that something a little stronger would be needed. Did Prudent have any
hesitation about taking the next step in debasing his foster creature? Sure.
He had to make sure he could get a reliable coke connection first.
Training a dog with a sirloin steak is a lot harder than training Gawlmighty
with cocaine was. Prudent didn't even have to withhold it from Gawlmighty. He had
only to threaten to withhold it and the little monster would do whatever he said.
Prudent thanked God (who only listened to the very rich) that cocaine worked
so well with Gawlmighty. His lust for marijuana had made him trainable. But
it also made him stupider (which he didn't need).
The cocaine, on the other hand, gave him energy and made him bright
and alert. It also made him a little crazier than usual. And when it did, his
ability to use words was the first suffer. Those close to him knew that he
usually lost control of his tongue about twenty minutes before he lost
control of his bladder. But since Gawlmighty wouldn't be giving many
press conferences, Prudent wasn't too worried about either side-effect.
Gawlmighty was one of seven Republican candidates for President that
millennial year. As soon as they threw their hats in the ring, however, Prudent
would throw their names to some old friends of his at the C.I.A. who were
more than glad to dig up the worst dirt that could be used to blackmail them
into withdrawing. If that didn't work, he could always threaten their kids.
Not surprisingly, when it came time for the primaries, Gawlmighty was the only
Republican candidate left. He received the nomination by default and set out
on the campaign trail.
Fate again proved itself no friend of humanity in that Gawlmighty's Democratic
opponent was the aptly named Awkward Bore.
Awkward Bore had been the vice-president of Arkansas Elvis. When Elvis
got caught ruining fine cigars, Awkward Bore felt that he had to work twice as hard to be
charming as a presidential candidate. The only problem was that if Awkward
had had five times the charm he normally had, he still would have bored dogs.
What made matters worse was that Awkward was very intelligent. The great
majority of Americans are stupid and rightfully desire someone who can speak
their language. Awkward's intelligence was a drawback. And as Gawlmighty
got more and more coke on the campaign,he became more and more able
to impress the utterly dumb. He scrambled words like eggs.
"Mr Gawlmighty," said a reporter in Cincinnatti, "What do you intend to do
about the pollution in our rivers?"
Gawlmighty smirked. "Rivers come from rain in the mountains runnin'
downhill. Last time I checked, God was in charge of rain. Next question."
"What are you going to do about global warming if you become president?"
"Leave it alone. Then there'll be more and more of Canada every year."
"What are you going to do about the gang problem in our inner cities?"
"I'm glad you asked that. Children join gangs because they don't have anything
else constructive to do. I'll make them all federal marshals in charge of gettin'
rid of the gang problem in our inner cities. Next problemo."
"What do you intend to do about the Middle East?"
Gawlmighty's coked eyes bugged. "Ooh, the middle east. That would be
like Indiana. I think we ought to make Indiana and California switch places
and then come up with a cure for Diet Coke!"
Ick stepped to the microphone and said, "There'll be no more questions
today. Thanks and vote Gawlmighty-Ick on November Second!"
All in all, though, the coke was a good campaign reliever. Prudent not only
made sure that Gawlmighty had a steady supply. He also made sure that
Gawlmighty had doctors in constant attendance to make sure he had the
vitamins he needed and the tranquilizers when he started talking more
nonsense than usual.
On the road to Election Day, Awkward Bore spoke about the dreams of
our forefathers and Gawlmighty said just what the Republicans and the
Hypochristians wanted to hear; either that or he just started talking cokey
and then the stupid people applauded him over their unheated TV dinners.
Bore couldn't win and Gawlmighty couldn't lose.
Despite all the dirty tricks and purchased votes, as Election Day approached,
against all predictions, Awkward Bore looked like he might just win the close
race. It just shows that when you think you have the American people figured
out, they'll unexpectedly do something right. And then, of course, the real Powers
That Be will have to take drastic measures to see that wrong is victorious.
Prudent had already gone through the first sextillion that Robertson had loaned
him. Now he was glad that he'd been frugal.
In a desperate last-minute move, Prudent bought an army of one thousand of the
sleeziest lawyers that money could buy and had them flown to Florida to prove
that a vote for Bore was really a mistaken vote for Gawlmighty. Past Christmas
and into the new year, the struggle dragged on. Then Prudent had a dastardly
idea that assured them success:
He bought the Supreme Court.
Cowboy Bootcamp
When Prudent got back to the ranch, Gawlmighty was fit to be tied. He
had finished off Prudent's stash and was mad at the world because he
couldn't find any more. Gawlmighty thought that creation was designed
to make him happy. If it were late in doing so, Gawlmighty was ready to
start tearing reality down.
When Rover drove Prudent up the driveway to the ranchhouse, Gawlmighty, the
wannabe cowboy tried six times to lasso the limousine. Unfortunately
Gawlmighty was only a playlike cowboy and he missed
the limo all seven times. When the limo pulled up in front of the house,
Gawlmighty was there bitching out of both sides of his mouth.
"What kind of a father are you!?" He stomped his boots for emphasis.
"You go off for days and leave your little ones here with no one to take
care of them! You should be ashamed of yourself! I wouldn't have any-
thang to do with you if I was me!"
Prudent stifled a grin. "You were well taken care of. There was plenty
of food and everything."
"WELL TAKEN CARE OF!" Gawlmighty stamped both boots hard
enough to raise two little clouds of dust. "I'll have you know that that
little stash you hid behind them big books ran out a day and a half
ago. You shouldn'ta forced me to start smokin' the stuff if you wasn't
gonna make sure there was enough around while you was gone!"
Prudent looked at Gawlmighty with wide eyes. "There was over
three pounds of the best marijuana in the world behind those books!"
"Yeah, well it's gone now. And if you've got any more, I, for one, don't
know where it is. I've torn the whole house apart three times since
yesterday. I even rode Rumbo's back while he flew around the place.
But I couldn't see anythang with my hands over my eyes! And now
you come waltzin' in here like nothin's wrong!"
Prudent chuckled at the thought of Gawlmighty riding Rumbo's back.
Then he said, "Now settle down. I've got more."
"Where!?" Gawlmighty grabbed the knees of Prudent's slacks with
both hands. "I have ways of making you talk!"
Prudent said, "No, hold on. I've got some very important news to tell
you and then I'll go get some more stuff."
"No, now! Get it now!" Gawlmighty let go of one of Prudent's knees,
put the back of one hand against his forehead under his hat and said,
"Is there no end to the grief that a gentleman must endure from a
scoundrel?" Then he added, in his normal voice, "Oh, okay! What is
so all-fired important that you just have to tell me?"
Prudent let the rare silence drag on for a few moments. Then he said,
"Gawlmighty, you're going to be the next President of the United States!"
Gawlmighty looked stunned for a few seconds and then punched Prudent
in the left kneecap with all of his meagre might. "That's where it was! You
took it with you, you selfish son-of-a drive-in-movie! You'd have to be higher
than groceries to say somethin' like that. It's in the limo, isn't it?! Tell me
or I'll tear the limousine into a lot of little Toyotas! Where is it!?"
"No," Prudent said, giggling as if he were high. "I'm not high. You really are
going to be the next President of the United States! It takes two things to be
elected President in this country and they're both money. And I just borrowed
ten sextillion dollars from Brat Robertson and all we have to do is pretend
to do whatever he says."
Gawlmighty didn't say anything. He just walked across the yard and stood
for a while whispering back and forth with Ick. When he was through he
came back and put his hands on his hips.
"What do you get out of it, Prudent?"
Prudent beamed fatherly pride and said, "I get revenge on the poor
for voting me out of office and I'll get to give all my favorite companies the
choice contracts when we go to war and I'll get to help the poor rich people
by doing away with their taxes.
"Yeah, schmeah! But what do I get?"
"Anything you want."
Gawlmighty crossed his arms over his sunken chest. "Not good enough."
"Huh?"
"It's got to be EVERYTHING I want or it's no deal."
had finished off Prudent's stash and was mad at the world because he
couldn't find any more. Gawlmighty thought that creation was designed
to make him happy. If it were late in doing so, Gawlmighty was ready to
start tearing reality down.
When Rover drove Prudent up the driveway to the ranchhouse, Gawlmighty, the
wannabe cowboy tried six times to lasso the limousine. Unfortunately
Gawlmighty was only a playlike cowboy and he missed
the limo all seven times. When the limo pulled up in front of the house,
Gawlmighty was there bitching out of both sides of his mouth.
"What kind of a father are you!?" He stomped his boots for emphasis.
"You go off for days and leave your little ones here with no one to take
care of them! You should be ashamed of yourself! I wouldn't have any-
thang to do with you if I was me!"
Prudent stifled a grin. "You were well taken care of. There was plenty
of food and everything."
"WELL TAKEN CARE OF!" Gawlmighty stamped both boots hard
enough to raise two little clouds of dust. "I'll have you know that that
little stash you hid behind them big books ran out a day and a half
ago. You shouldn'ta forced me to start smokin' the stuff if you wasn't
gonna make sure there was enough around while you was gone!"
Prudent looked at Gawlmighty with wide eyes. "There was over
three pounds of the best marijuana in the world behind those books!"
"Yeah, well it's gone now. And if you've got any more, I, for one, don't
know where it is. I've torn the whole house apart three times since
yesterday. I even rode Rumbo's back while he flew around the place.
But I couldn't see anythang with my hands over my eyes! And now
you come waltzin' in here like nothin's wrong!"
Prudent chuckled at the thought of Gawlmighty riding Rumbo's back.
Then he said, "Now settle down. I've got more."
"Where!?" Gawlmighty grabbed the knees of Prudent's slacks with
both hands. "I have ways of making you talk!"
Prudent said, "No, hold on. I've got some very important news to tell
you and then I'll go get some more stuff."
"No, now! Get it now!" Gawlmighty let go of one of Prudent's knees,
put the back of one hand against his forehead under his hat and said,
"Is there no end to the grief that a gentleman must endure from a
scoundrel?" Then he added, in his normal voice, "Oh, okay! What is
so all-fired important that you just have to tell me?"
Prudent let the rare silence drag on for a few moments. Then he said,
"Gawlmighty, you're going to be the next President of the United States!"
Gawlmighty looked stunned for a few seconds and then punched Prudent
in the left kneecap with all of his meagre might. "That's where it was! You
took it with you, you selfish son-of-a drive-in-movie! You'd have to be higher
than groceries to say somethin' like that. It's in the limo, isn't it?! Tell me
or I'll tear the limousine into a lot of little Toyotas! Where is it!?"
"No," Prudent said, giggling as if he were high. "I'm not high. You really are
going to be the next President of the United States! It takes two things to be
elected President in this country and they're both money. And I just borrowed
ten sextillion dollars from Brat Robertson and all we have to do is pretend
to do whatever he says."
Gawlmighty didn't say anything. He just walked across the yard and stood
for a while whispering back and forth with Ick. When he was through he
came back and put his hands on his hips.
"What do you get out of it, Prudent?"
Prudent beamed fatherly pride and said, "I get revenge on the poor
for voting me out of office and I'll get to give all my favorite companies the
choice contracts when we go to war and I'll get to help the poor rich people
by doing away with their taxes.
"Yeah, schmeah! But what do I get?"
"Anything you want."
Gawlmighty crossed his arms over his sunken chest. "Not good enough."
"Huh?"
"It's got to be EVERYTHING I want or it's no deal."
Sheep's Clothing
Upon arriving at Virginia Beach, Virginia, Prudent deplaned wearing a
fedora he had purchased and worn only so that he could show deference by
holding it in his hands while in the holy presence of the Hypochristian
of Hypochristians, televangelist Brat Robertson (who was secretly the
richest man in the world.)
Brat Robertson had become filthy rich by shaming little old ladies into
sending him money that he said "Gawd" needed to spread the plan of
salvation to the heathen world. The little old ladies liked his comfortable
persona and believed his opinions of Gawd's will and send him a huge
fortune in personal tithes and love offerings.
Brat had then taken that money and, as he had promised to do, bought
diamond mines in insane African countries, sold weapons to the world
at war, and purchased politicians by the gross. He was, by common
assent, the greatest hypocrite in history and was richer than Croesus
from bootlegging Jesus.
But he was, nevertheless, the richest man in the world. That's why
when Prudent was beaten to the ground and reduced to his last
one hundred million, he went to Brat Robertson with his hat in his hand.
Unfortunately, Robertson's secretary watched the news and knew that
Prudent had lost the presidential election to Arkansas Elvis. She said, "I'm sorry!"
and "God bless you!" a total of twentythree times before he could get
by her and dash into Brat's office:
Where he found the old man, naked as a hairless cat, lining up a putt
across his thickly carpeted office floor with his back to Prudent..
The sight of Brat's old ass moving from left to right, and back again,
came close to hypnotizing Prudent who showered with his clothes on..
He had heard that Brat Robberson was "a little eccentric." But he hadn't
been prepared for this.
Prudent believed certain things should be and certain other things, just
as surely, shouldn't be. Presidential speeches should preempt all other
primetime broadcasting and no television program should ever speak
about sex or liberal politics. Young ladies should keep their bellybuttons
as hidden as their other interesting parts and old ladies shouldn't dye their
hair clown colors (it was okay for men to do so, though). Men like him
should be elected President-for-Life and men who called themselves
"Elvis" should be executed and then tried by a jury of their peers.
And the world's richest man shouldn't play golf in the nude.
It just didn't look right.
It just didn't look AT ALL right.
Prudent said, "Ahem."
The old butt wiggled.
Prudent said, "Ahem," a little louder.
The old butt just wiggled again.
Prudent almost shouted, "Ahem!"
The ancient ass wiggled nevertheless.
Prudent, not knowing what else to do, used speech, "Mr Robertson, I have
an appointment with you."
Brat looked around (his collosal fossil swinging like a dead rope along with
him). For a while he looked at Prudent as if he weren't sure whether Prudent
was real. Then he shrugged and went back to lining up his putt.
Exasperated, Prudent shouted, "MR ROBERTSON!!"
To Prudent's relief and dismay, Brat turned around and faced him with
full frontal crudity. He smiled his famous televangelist's smile and said:
"Oh, the Junksure boy! Of course! I wasn't sure you were real."
"Um, yes, Mr Roberston," Prudent said , wringing his new hat in his hands.
"I'm real enough, I guess. I had a four-thirty appointment with you."
Brat scratched and said, "Is it four-thirty?"
"Yes, sir. Almost five."
"What day is it?"
"Wednesday."
"Month?"
"January, sir."
"Oh, no! What year?"
"1993."
The golf club went flying through a window behind the desk, sending shards
of glass everywhere. Brat looked like someone should yell "Clear!"
"Are you all right, Mr Robertson?"
"Oh, no! Oh, MY no! I've forgotten our Lord's birthday again! He'll never
forgive me! Do you think he'd forgive me if I sent him a late card and
present? It's just that I've had so many things on my mind lately!"
"I think it would be all right," Prudent said. "After all he was pretty famous
for being the forgiving type."
"Yes, I suppose so," Brat said and scratched his apparatus. "Why are you
here, boy?"
Prudent began to recite his prepared speech: "Mr Robertson, I know you're
a busy man. But I have a terribly serious problem and you're about the only
person in the world who can help me with it."
Brat scratched again and said, "Well, of course, my boy! Jesus said, "Give
to those who ask of you and from those who would borrow of you, turn not
away."
Encouraged, Prudent continued: "Well, great! I only need to borrow ten
sextillion dollars so I can buy back the Presidency of the United States."
Brat said, "No fuckin' way," and turned his back and looked for his putter.
Prudent dropped the twisted hat. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't
been very confident that Robertson would say yes. But he hadn't expected
to be so quickly dismissed. He didn't know what to say. But he said, "Mr
Robertson! I was the President of the United States and I got beat for
reelection by a hick who calls himself 'Arkansas Elvis' and I've just
got to get my revenge and get the country back on the right track and
get rid of taxes on the rich!"
The butt didn't wiggle. Slowly Brat turned and looked at Prudent with a
hard look in his eyes. Through gritting false teeth, Brat said:
"Did you say Elvis?"
"That's what he calls himself."
"I don't like Elvis.
"Well, he's really—"
The old naked man shook as he said, "Elvis stole the only woman
I ever loved in Nineteen and Fiftysix!"
It's not a pleasant sight when an eighty-year-old man gets angry. The
fires of youth that might prettify the anger have long faded away until
the old fella looks more like a skinned Chihuahua having a fit.
It's sad but true.
And when the geezer is stark naked, it's doubly so.
"Yes! The accursed pervert! That horrible hip wiggler! Miss Rhonda
Mattick, the love of my life, told me that she got more real sexual
satisfaction from Elvis than she ever did from me!"
"Why, that's awful, "Prudent commisserated. "How in the world did she
meet him?"
"She didn't. She was talking about his records."
"Ouch."
"Dang right, ouch!" Brat scratched for an embarassingly long time
and then said, "I'll tell ya what, Punksure—"
"That's 'Junksure," sir. 'Prudent Junksure.'"
"Whatever, Punksure! You say you want this money so you can be
President of the United States again?"
"Yessir!"
"Well, I don't think that's gonna happen."
Prudent's heart escaped again to his socks. "no?"
"No, Punksure. A little angel on my shoulder told me something just
now that I have to take under serious consideration."
"what's that?"
"The little angel said you're too fuckin' old, Punksure! American
heathens are tired of old presidents. That's why they voted for
that E-E-Elvis character. They had Fagin for eight years and then
your old ass. They're lookin' for somebody young and spry and
full of vim. Do you have any sons?"
Prudent's hands acted like they were wringing the twisted hat that
lay at his feet. He started to say, "No," and then an idea hit him like
frying pan.
The American sheeple, it had been proven, would vote for a parrot if
it were taught to say the right things. He could put Gawlmighty up as
the candidate and then stand behind him, pulling all the strings. All
Prudent really wanted was the power. It didn't matter whether the
sheeple thought he was running things or not. Brilliant!
"Uh, yessir, Mr Robertson. I've got a fine young son that I've been
grooming to become a Republican president since the day he was
born. He comes from really good stock. He's got personal charm
that I don't know how to begin to describe. And what's more important
he'll do anything and everything you tell him to."
The old televangelist's charming smile did nothing to improve his overall
appearance. But it encouraged Prudent. Brat said, "You mean he'll let
me turn this nation into a god-fearing, bible-believing, neighbor-loving
country again?"
"He sure will!"
"You mean he'll do away with taxes on the rich and help me get my Christian
Disneyland built in Israel?"
"Absolutely!"
Brat scratched again and then extended the scratching hand so that Prudent
and he could shake on the deal. "You've got yourself a deal, young man! I'll
give you the pocket change—ten sextillion, was it?—and you make that son
of yours the next President of the United States. All I ask is that he does
whatever I say."
Prudent Junksure sighed and shook.
fedora he had purchased and worn only so that he could show deference by
holding it in his hands while in the holy presence of the Hypochristian
of Hypochristians, televangelist Brat Robertson (who was secretly the
richest man in the world.)
Brat Robertson had become filthy rich by shaming little old ladies into
sending him money that he said "Gawd" needed to spread the plan of
salvation to the heathen world. The little old ladies liked his comfortable
persona and believed his opinions of Gawd's will and send him a huge
fortune in personal tithes and love offerings.
Brat had then taken that money and, as he had promised to do, bought
diamond mines in insane African countries, sold weapons to the world
at war, and purchased politicians by the gross. He was, by common
assent, the greatest hypocrite in history and was richer than Croesus
from bootlegging Jesus.
But he was, nevertheless, the richest man in the world. That's why
when Prudent was beaten to the ground and reduced to his last
one hundred million, he went to Brat Robertson with his hat in his hand.
Unfortunately, Robertson's secretary watched the news and knew that
Prudent had lost the presidential election to Arkansas Elvis. She said, "I'm sorry!"
and "God bless you!" a total of twentythree times before he could get
by her and dash into Brat's office:
Where he found the old man, naked as a hairless cat, lining up a putt
across his thickly carpeted office floor with his back to Prudent..
The sight of Brat's old ass moving from left to right, and back again,
came close to hypnotizing Prudent who showered with his clothes on..
He had heard that Brat Robberson was "a little eccentric." But he hadn't
been prepared for this.
Prudent believed certain things should be and certain other things, just
as surely, shouldn't be. Presidential speeches should preempt all other
primetime broadcasting and no television program should ever speak
about sex or liberal politics. Young ladies should keep their bellybuttons
as hidden as their other interesting parts and old ladies shouldn't dye their
hair clown colors (it was okay for men to do so, though). Men like him
should be elected President-for-Life and men who called themselves
"Elvis" should be executed and then tried by a jury of their peers.
And the world's richest man shouldn't play golf in the nude.
It just didn't look right.
It just didn't look AT ALL right.
Prudent said, "Ahem."
The old butt wiggled.
Prudent said, "Ahem," a little louder.
The old butt just wiggled again.
Prudent almost shouted, "Ahem!"
The ancient ass wiggled nevertheless.
Prudent, not knowing what else to do, used speech, "Mr Robertson, I have
an appointment with you."
Brat looked around (his collosal fossil swinging like a dead rope along with
him). For a while he looked at Prudent as if he weren't sure whether Prudent
was real. Then he shrugged and went back to lining up his putt.
Exasperated, Prudent shouted, "MR ROBERTSON!!"
To Prudent's relief and dismay, Brat turned around and faced him with
full frontal crudity. He smiled his famous televangelist's smile and said:
"Oh, the Junksure boy! Of course! I wasn't sure you were real."
"Um, yes, Mr Roberston," Prudent said , wringing his new hat in his hands.
"I'm real enough, I guess. I had a four-thirty appointment with you."
Brat scratched and said, "Is it four-thirty?"
"Yes, sir. Almost five."
"What day is it?"
"Wednesday."
"Month?"
"January, sir."
"Oh, no! What year?"
"1993."
The golf club went flying through a window behind the desk, sending shards
of glass everywhere. Brat looked like someone should yell "Clear!"
"Are you all right, Mr Robertson?"
"Oh, no! Oh, MY no! I've forgotten our Lord's birthday again! He'll never
forgive me! Do you think he'd forgive me if I sent him a late card and
present? It's just that I've had so many things on my mind lately!"
"I think it would be all right," Prudent said. "After all he was pretty famous
for being the forgiving type."
"Yes, I suppose so," Brat said and scratched his apparatus. "Why are you
here, boy?"
Prudent began to recite his prepared speech: "Mr Robertson, I know you're
a busy man. But I have a terribly serious problem and you're about the only
person in the world who can help me with it."
Brat scratched again and said, "Well, of course, my boy! Jesus said, "Give
to those who ask of you and from those who would borrow of you, turn not
away."
Encouraged, Prudent continued: "Well, great! I only need to borrow ten
sextillion dollars so I can buy back the Presidency of the United States."
Brat said, "No fuckin' way," and turned his back and looked for his putter.
Prudent dropped the twisted hat. He didn't know what to say. He hadn't
been very confident that Robertson would say yes. But he hadn't expected
to be so quickly dismissed. He didn't know what to say. But he said, "Mr
Robertson! I was the President of the United States and I got beat for
reelection by a hick who calls himself 'Arkansas Elvis' and I've just
got to get my revenge and get the country back on the right track and
get rid of taxes on the rich!"
The butt didn't wiggle. Slowly Brat turned and looked at Prudent with a
hard look in his eyes. Through gritting false teeth, Brat said:
"Did you say Elvis?"
"That's what he calls himself."
"I don't like Elvis.
"Well, he's really—"
The old naked man shook as he said, "Elvis stole the only woman
I ever loved in Nineteen and Fiftysix!"
It's not a pleasant sight when an eighty-year-old man gets angry. The
fires of youth that might prettify the anger have long faded away until
the old fella looks more like a skinned Chihuahua having a fit.
It's sad but true.
And when the geezer is stark naked, it's doubly so.
"Yes! The accursed pervert! That horrible hip wiggler! Miss Rhonda
Mattick, the love of my life, told me that she got more real sexual
satisfaction from Elvis than she ever did from me!"
"Why, that's awful, "Prudent commisserated. "How in the world did she
meet him?"
"She didn't. She was talking about his records."
"Ouch."
"Dang right, ouch!" Brat scratched for an embarassingly long time
and then said, "I'll tell ya what, Punksure—"
"That's 'Junksure," sir. 'Prudent Junksure.'"
"Whatever, Punksure! You say you want this money so you can be
President of the United States again?"
"Yessir!"
"Well, I don't think that's gonna happen."
Prudent's heart escaped again to his socks. "no?"
"No, Punksure. A little angel on my shoulder told me something just
now that I have to take under serious consideration."
"what's that?"
"The little angel said you're too fuckin' old, Punksure! American
heathens are tired of old presidents. That's why they voted for
that E-E-Elvis character. They had Fagin for eight years and then
your old ass. They're lookin' for somebody young and spry and
full of vim. Do you have any sons?"
Prudent's hands acted like they were wringing the twisted hat that
lay at his feet. He started to say, "No," and then an idea hit him like
frying pan.
The American sheeple, it had been proven, would vote for a parrot if
it were taught to say the right things. He could put Gawlmighty up as
the candidate and then stand behind him, pulling all the strings. All
Prudent really wanted was the power. It didn't matter whether the
sheeple thought he was running things or not. Brilliant!
"Uh, yessir, Mr Robertson. I've got a fine young son that I've been
grooming to become a Republican president since the day he was
born. He comes from really good stock. He's got personal charm
that I don't know how to begin to describe. And what's more important
he'll do anything and everything you tell him to."
The old televangelist's charming smile did nothing to improve his overall
appearance. But it encouraged Prudent. Brat said, "You mean he'll let
me turn this nation into a god-fearing, bible-believing, neighbor-loving
country again?"
"He sure will!"
"You mean he'll do away with taxes on the rich and help me get my Christian
Disneyland built in Israel?"
"Absolutely!"
Brat scratched again and then extended the scratching hand so that Prudent
and he could shake on the deal. "You've got yourself a deal, young man! I'll
give you the pocket change—ten sextillion, was it?—and you make that son
of yours the next President of the United States. All I ask is that he does
whatever I say."
Prudent Junksure sighed and shook.
Arkansas Elvis
Prudent could afford to hire a teacher for his pets. Oh, he could have
afforded fifty or a hundred teachers. But he couldn't afford for his little
secret to get out. It wouldn't do for word to get that the soon-to-be ex-
president of the United States was babysitting monsters. And they would
have sent any sane teacher away from the ranch screaming.
But his heart wasn't in it lately.
He was understandably perturbed.
He had had only one term as President to enrich the war profiteers and
pauperize the people! There was so much more ruthlessness to do! Then,
to make matters worse, he was beaten for reelection by a male stripper
who stripped (and campaigned) under the name "The Arkansas Elvis!"
Prudent's shame was bottomless.
He'd been everybody's darling when he was starting wars to disarm the
guys that Fagin before him had armed. But the poor were fickle. And
because the economy went south and the middle class couldn't pretend
it was upper class anymore, they'd voted for this Elvis. Now Prudent just
had a couple more weeks in the White House.
He'd never hated a man like he hated that Elvis impersonator. The damned
clown patterned himself after a guy who died on the toilet! The problem was
that he believed so much in his own charisma that other people were
convinced by osmosis. It worked especially well for those who never thought twice
if once would work.
Prudent could tell that his pets sensed something was wrong.
Rumbo moped up and gave him a half-eaten cookie.
Ick said, "Tough luck!"
Fangosita slithered up to him and curled around his calf.
Gawlmighty said, "Hey, Dipstick! Why ain't you President no more?"
Prudent called them all together and explained American democracy to
them very carefully. Sitting in his favorite chair, he told them that America
had fought its first war to be free from England which had a king who made
all the laws and had all the power.
And we'd had slaves to do all the hard work and then some do-gooders
came along and spoiled everything and made it so that a poor man's vote
counted for just as much as a rich man's vote. And when poor people vote
they vote stupidly for people like Elvis and Kennedy.
Later, in an effort to soothe his sorrows, Prudent was hiding in the bathroom
in his room, getting high on the sort of pot that only presidents could get
from South American countries wanting foreign aid. He lit up the first of five
joints he'd rolled for himself and inhaled deeply.
Just then a little red cowboy boot kicked the bathroom door in. There stood
Gawlmighty grinning wickedly.
"Aha!" Gawlmighty said from the doorway. "Here you are! I caughtcha!
Caught ya redhanded...doin'...what is it you're doin'? You don't smoke!"
Prudent, already deeply stoned, giggled like a schoolgirl. "These are special
cigarettes." He put his fingers to his lips to shush no one. "It's a secret! If you
smoke these cigarettes, you're not supposed to let anybody know!"
"Why not?"
Though he couldn't remember it, Prudent knew there was a reason why
you weren't supposed to let anyone know you smoked pot. So while his
lazy mind was trying to recall what it was, he blurted out the first thing
he thought of: "It's because if the poor people learn about it feeling so
good, they're gonna say that the government should give it to them for
free and then poor people won't work if they get high."
Gawlmighty's curiosity arose. He stepped forward a step into the bathroom
and looked at the smouldering half-joint in Prudent's hand. He looked at the
joint, then back at Prudent, then back at the joint. Finally he said, "Why do
you look so silly?"
Prudent tried to hide his silliness which, of course, only made him sillier.
"That's because it makes you feel really really good. It makes you forget
all about your conscience. That's why rich folk toke."
"Bet it won't work on me," Gawlmighty said.
"I bet it would, " Prudent said. "This is really good shit."
"WHAT!!??"
"Oh, I'm sorry. No offense intended. I just meant that it's very high-
quality marijuana."
"I'll be the judge of that," said Gawlmighty, taking the roach from Prudent's
fingers and inhaling deeply as he'd seen Prudent do. When that one was
gone, Gawlmighty and Prudent shared another and another and another.
Later, Gawlmighty came out of the ranch house singing, at the top of his
lungs, "THE STARS AT NIGHT, ARE BIG AND BRIGHT—boom,boom,
boom, boom—DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS!" He smiled at his brothers
and sister and continued: "The waving wheat, it sure smells sweet when
the wind comes right behind the raaaaain—Oooklhoma! YECH! BLECH!
No that's not right! Oh, I said "Oklahoma!" Beat my tongue on a rock by
the river! Ha! Ha-ha-huh? Oh, yeah. WE'RE MOSTLY WHITE AND WE'RE
ALWAYS RIGHT—DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS!!"
Ick, Fangosita, and Rumbo stood to one side sharing theories about what
could be wrong with Gawlmighty. They had just settled on something and
were approaching when Galmighty yelled, "Time to squaredance, yall!"
Then, for reasons only he would ever know, he stuck his elbows out at right
angles to his body and began shuffling his red-cowboybooted feet every-
where they could possibly go in an imaginary two-foot square on the ground
beneath him. This, with the occassional stupid grin and shouted, "Whoa, betty!"
was his idea of elegance. It was hard to watch.
Suddenly Gawlmighty stopped dancing and stood catching his breath. Then he
shouted, "Hey guys! I'll race ya to the kitchen! Let's get some ice cream! I
scream, you scream, we all scream for ice scream!" And with that he took off on
a mad dash for the ranch house.
However, when it came to being high, Gawlmighty was not as experienced
as he was enthusiastic. He ran, full blast, into the kitchen and knocked himself
out trying to run under the kitchen table without ducking. None of the others
were in the kitchen when it happened and they all thought that Gawlmighty had
chosen an odd place and time to take a nap. Nevertheless, they had ice cream.
Meanwhile, still in his bathroom, Prudent was hatching an idea that might get
him back the power of the Presidency. The only problem was that it required
getting a loan from the richest and craziest man in the world—Brat Robertson.
afforded fifty or a hundred teachers. But he couldn't afford for his little
secret to get out. It wouldn't do for word to get that the soon-to-be ex-
president of the United States was babysitting monsters. And they would
have sent any sane teacher away from the ranch screaming.
But his heart wasn't in it lately.
He was understandably perturbed.
He had had only one term as President to enrich the war profiteers and
pauperize the people! There was so much more ruthlessness to do! Then,
to make matters worse, he was beaten for reelection by a male stripper
who stripped (and campaigned) under the name "The Arkansas Elvis!"
Prudent's shame was bottomless.
He'd been everybody's darling when he was starting wars to disarm the
guys that Fagin before him had armed. But the poor were fickle. And
because the economy went south and the middle class couldn't pretend
it was upper class anymore, they'd voted for this Elvis. Now Prudent just
had a couple more weeks in the White House.
He'd never hated a man like he hated that Elvis impersonator. The damned
clown patterned himself after a guy who died on the toilet! The problem was
that he believed so much in his own charisma that other people were
convinced by osmosis. It worked especially well for those who never thought twice
if once would work.
Prudent could tell that his pets sensed something was wrong.
Rumbo moped up and gave him a half-eaten cookie.
Ick said, "Tough luck!"
Fangosita slithered up to him and curled around his calf.
Gawlmighty said, "Hey, Dipstick! Why ain't you President no more?"
Prudent called them all together and explained American democracy to
them very carefully. Sitting in his favorite chair, he told them that America
had fought its first war to be free from England which had a king who made
all the laws and had all the power.
And we'd had slaves to do all the hard work and then some do-gooders
came along and spoiled everything and made it so that a poor man's vote
counted for just as much as a rich man's vote. And when poor people vote
they vote stupidly for people like Elvis and Kennedy.
Later, in an effort to soothe his sorrows, Prudent was hiding in the bathroom
in his room, getting high on the sort of pot that only presidents could get
from South American countries wanting foreign aid. He lit up the first of five
joints he'd rolled for himself and inhaled deeply.
Just then a little red cowboy boot kicked the bathroom door in. There stood
Gawlmighty grinning wickedly.
"Aha!" Gawlmighty said from the doorway. "Here you are! I caughtcha!
Caught ya redhanded...doin'...what is it you're doin'? You don't smoke!"
Prudent, already deeply stoned, giggled like a schoolgirl. "These are special
cigarettes." He put his fingers to his lips to shush no one. "It's a secret! If you
smoke these cigarettes, you're not supposed to let anybody know!"
"Why not?"
Though he couldn't remember it, Prudent knew there was a reason why
you weren't supposed to let anyone know you smoked pot. So while his
lazy mind was trying to recall what it was, he blurted out the first thing
he thought of: "It's because if the poor people learn about it feeling so
good, they're gonna say that the government should give it to them for
free and then poor people won't work if they get high."
Gawlmighty's curiosity arose. He stepped forward a step into the bathroom
and looked at the smouldering half-joint in Prudent's hand. He looked at the
joint, then back at Prudent, then back at the joint. Finally he said, "Why do
you look so silly?"
Prudent tried to hide his silliness which, of course, only made him sillier.
"That's because it makes you feel really really good. It makes you forget
all about your conscience. That's why rich folk toke."
"Bet it won't work on me," Gawlmighty said.
"I bet it would, " Prudent said. "This is really good shit."
"WHAT!!??"
"Oh, I'm sorry. No offense intended. I just meant that it's very high-
quality marijuana."
"I'll be the judge of that," said Gawlmighty, taking the roach from Prudent's
fingers and inhaling deeply as he'd seen Prudent do. When that one was
gone, Gawlmighty and Prudent shared another and another and another.
Later, Gawlmighty came out of the ranch house singing, at the top of his
lungs, "THE STARS AT NIGHT, ARE BIG AND BRIGHT—boom,boom,
boom, boom—DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS!" He smiled at his brothers
and sister and continued: "The waving wheat, it sure smells sweet when
the wind comes right behind the raaaaain—Oooklhoma! YECH! BLECH!
No that's not right! Oh, I said "Oklahoma!" Beat my tongue on a rock by
the river! Ha! Ha-ha-huh? Oh, yeah. WE'RE MOSTLY WHITE AND WE'RE
ALWAYS RIGHT—DEEP IN THE HEART OF TEXAS!!"
Ick, Fangosita, and Rumbo stood to one side sharing theories about what
could be wrong with Gawlmighty. They had just settled on something and
were approaching when Galmighty yelled, "Time to squaredance, yall!"
Then, for reasons only he would ever know, he stuck his elbows out at right
angles to his body and began shuffling his red-cowboybooted feet every-
where they could possibly go in an imaginary two-foot square on the ground
beneath him. This, with the occassional stupid grin and shouted, "Whoa, betty!"
was his idea of elegance. It was hard to watch.
Suddenly Gawlmighty stopped dancing and stood catching his breath. Then he
shouted, "Hey guys! I'll race ya to the kitchen! Let's get some ice cream! I
scream, you scream, we all scream for ice scream!" And with that he took off on
a mad dash for the ranch house.
However, when it came to being high, Gawlmighty was not as experienced
as he was enthusiastic. He ran, full blast, into the kitchen and knocked himself
out trying to run under the kitchen table without ducking. None of the others
were in the kitchen when it happened and they all thought that Gawlmighty had
chosen an odd place and time to take a nap. Nevertheless, they had ice cream.
Meanwhile, still in his bathroom, Prudent was hatching an idea that might get
him back the power of the Presidency. The only problem was that it required
getting a loan from the richest and craziest man in the world—Brat Robertson.
Dumb as Gum
"You critters come eat!" Prudent yelled and cracked the bullwhip a second
time to show he meant business. He liked his little monsters. But he dared
not let them get the upper hand...
Prudent was glad his pets liked to play outside. He needed them out of his
hair while he planned his political career.An ancient movie star named Fagin
wanted Prudent to be his running mate in the next presidential election. Prudent
was looking forward to it. Being rich was cool. But politicians could REALLY
fuck people over.
Just then his little darlings bustled into the kitchen—
Gawlmighty came first. Gawlmighty always came first. It wasn't that he
was the natural leader. It was that he was the stupidest and the meanest
and always made his brothers and sister come second, third, and fourth.
Gawlmighty was decidedly unsightly. He was, of course, sprung from
Gila monster dung. And the yellow ten-gallon hat and red cowboy boots
he'd stolen (and wore constantly) did very little to hide his fugliness.
"Keep your dang paws off them cookies, yall!" he shouted as he
strutted into the kitchen ahead of the others. The others hung back and
let him swagger to the cookiejar. "Now yall ask me, 'Gawlmighty, can
I pretty please have a cookie with sugar on it?'"
The other three—Fangosita the Snake, Ick the Rat, and Rumbo the
Vulture—shrugged. (At least I say they did. It's hard to tell when a
snake shrugs.) Fangosita was looking fondly at Gawlmighty; she
had her heart set on him. But she was quite bright in other respects.
Ick was snarling and grumbling out of the side of his mouth as usual.
Of them all, he had the most brains and the least scruples. As attached
as Gawlmighty was to his cowboy garb, Ick was twice as adamant
that he never be seen wearing anything but the three-piece business
suits that Prudent had brought home for him from the mortuary. Ick was
quick to reassure Gawlmighty that Gawlmighty was the boss. But it
usually turned out that Ick got his way.
Rumbo was no less evil than his brothers. But he had a learning disability.
He was amazingly stupid. While the others were scheming what evil they
might do, Rumbo the Vulture only wanted to play. But that's not to paint
him in innocent colors. He could be as mean as either of his brothers. But
neither of them could be as crazy as he was. He was flying with all four
wheels on the ground.
"Onna nudder gookie," Rumbo said around the cookie in his beak.
Gawlmighty, holding the cookiejar, pretended not to hear.
"Onna nudder gookie!" Rumbo reiterated, spitting crumbs.
Gawlmighty commented to Fangosita that they'd had some bad weather
lately. Fangosita agreed that it had been particularly nasty.
"Onna nudder"—Rumbo swallowed hard—"COOKIE!!!"
"Of course you do, Rumboy!" Gawlmighty deftly handed him the cookie
he has just been about to eat. "You looked like you were having trouble
with that other one and I didn't want you to choke."
Rumbo looked confused and said, "Oh, thanks."
"No problemosa, Rumcake! Always lookin' out fer ya!"
Out of the side of his mouth, little round Ick the Rat said to Fangosita,
"I guess it takes stupidity to handle stupidity!"
"You hush," she said. "If Gawlmighty ever finds out how stupid he really
is, he'll be twice as hard to handle."
time to show he meant business. He liked his little monsters. But he dared
not let them get the upper hand...
Prudent was glad his pets liked to play outside. He needed them out of his
hair while he planned his political career.An ancient movie star named Fagin
wanted Prudent to be his running mate in the next presidential election. Prudent
was looking forward to it. Being rich was cool. But politicians could REALLY
fuck people over.
Just then his little darlings bustled into the kitchen—
Gawlmighty came first. Gawlmighty always came first. It wasn't that he
was the natural leader. It was that he was the stupidest and the meanest
and always made his brothers and sister come second, third, and fourth.
Gawlmighty was decidedly unsightly. He was, of course, sprung from
Gila monster dung. And the yellow ten-gallon hat and red cowboy boots
he'd stolen (and wore constantly) did very little to hide his fugliness.
"Keep your dang paws off them cookies, yall!" he shouted as he
strutted into the kitchen ahead of the others. The others hung back and
let him swagger to the cookiejar. "Now yall ask me, 'Gawlmighty, can
I pretty please have a cookie with sugar on it?'"
The other three—Fangosita the Snake, Ick the Rat, and Rumbo the
Vulture—shrugged. (At least I say they did. It's hard to tell when a
snake shrugs.) Fangosita was looking fondly at Gawlmighty; she
had her heart set on him. But she was quite bright in other respects.
Ick was snarling and grumbling out of the side of his mouth as usual.
Of them all, he had the most brains and the least scruples. As attached
as Gawlmighty was to his cowboy garb, Ick was twice as adamant
that he never be seen wearing anything but the three-piece business
suits that Prudent had brought home for him from the mortuary. Ick was
quick to reassure Gawlmighty that Gawlmighty was the boss. But it
usually turned out that Ick got his way.
Rumbo was no less evil than his brothers. But he had a learning disability.
He was amazingly stupid. While the others were scheming what evil they
might do, Rumbo the Vulture only wanted to play. But that's not to paint
him in innocent colors. He could be as mean as either of his brothers. But
neither of them could be as crazy as he was. He was flying with all four
wheels on the ground.
"Onna nudder gookie," Rumbo said around the cookie in his beak.
Gawlmighty, holding the cookiejar, pretended not to hear.
"Onna nudder gookie!" Rumbo reiterated, spitting crumbs.
Gawlmighty commented to Fangosita that they'd had some bad weather
lately. Fangosita agreed that it had been particularly nasty.
"Onna nudder"—Rumbo swallowed hard—"COOKIE!!!"
"Of course you do, Rumboy!" Gawlmighty deftly handed him the cookie
he has just been about to eat. "You looked like you were having trouble
with that other one and I didn't want you to choke."
Rumbo looked confused and said, "Oh, thanks."
"No problemosa, Rumcake! Always lookin' out fer ya!"
Out of the side of his mouth, little round Ick the Rat said to Fangosita,
"I guess it takes stupidity to handle stupidity!"
"You hush," she said. "If Gawlmighty ever finds out how stupid he really
is, he'll be twice as hard to handle."
Turd Blossoms
The world might have been all right if the amazing young dung babies had
been run over when Mr Bubba backed out of the alley. But fate rarely does
what it should. And it was quite a while before Bubba was through.
Just as the miraculous crap critters were squirming to life, a fortunate son
of Nazi sympathizers ducked into the aforementioned alley to smoke a
joint after a debutant party. He lit the fat doobie and held the rich smoke
in his lungs for a full fortyfive seconds.
When he coughed it out into the streetlight, the serious Republican look on
his face had changed into the silly grin of a lovestruck teenager.
But there are a few things we should know about this fellow before we
judge him harshly. He had a hard time growing up His father was a rich
pantywaist who really liked little boys. His mother taught the Tazmanian
Devil how to get mad. He had been pottytrained with a bullwhip. He was
hung like a Barbie doll. Consequently, Mr Prudent Junksure loved pot.
Now we can judge him harshly.
He took another toke and warily looked everywhere but behind him. He
was sure he was alone in the alley. He'd ducked into the alley because
he was sure it was deserted. His mother would beat him with the butler
if she found out he got high. So he was always very careful to make sure
he was completely alone whenever he smoked.
But, as we know, smoking marijuana can make you go duckhunting
with a rake. He wasn't the most observant fellow. Three feet behind him
in the still-smouldering radioactive sludge four very ugly babies were
squirming and smelled like full diapers.
When we need miracles to stop wildfires, hurricanes, or tsunamis, they're
suspiciously scarce. But if needed to create something awful, miracles
are as common as cats. Maybe God just gets bored.
Mr Junksure had just lit his second piece of Colombia when he heard
a faint squawk behind him. A less blitzed man would have whirled
around and confronted his attacker (or shat or went blind). Mr
Junksure simply turned slowly and said, "Whoa, fuck!"
Perhaps he was at a loss for words. He had never been graceful with
syllables. He had always been vocabulary-challenged. As a child, he
called his pet dog, "Kitty." When he wanted a glass of water, he often
said, "Spank me." His own parents were grateful they said when he
finally started school and learned to speak. They couldn't wait for the
day he learned to say "goodbye."
Prudent had never had a dog for long. His three goldfish had been eaten
by his cat (which then ran away). His hamster had not survived the spin
cycle. Thus in his potted mind, it made perfect sense to Prudent that
he should put these four creatures in a box and take them home.
It's the world's bad luck they didn't go the way of the others.
Prudent found a cardboard box in the alley and proudly carried his
squirming little turd blossoms across to the other side of town where
his driver would be waiting. The giggle of Prudent Junksure as he
walked along, beaming down at his excrement pets was something
better left unheard. As the other people on the sidewalk gave him
odd looks and moved to the edge of the sidewalk, no one had any
idea what a calamity for humanity had just begun.
His driver, Rover, didn't ask Prudent what he had in the box when he
opened the door to the limousine. He didn't even try to peak inside.
He was very lucky to have this job after what he'd done for
Hitler and he wanted his son, Snarl, to have every advantage to do
even more. And, besides, he knew that Prudent was a warped little
weasel and Rover didn't want to know what was in the box.
Back at the ranch outside Crawford, Texas (that his family had stolen
from a sweet old couple named Bob and Oleta Sweet), Prudent carried
the box to his room and set it on the bed. His little pookie people made
him laugh. He had fired up another doobie in the back of the limosine
on the way there and neither his buzz nor his fascination with his new
pets had faded.
In fact, there was a goofily serene look on Prudent's face as he gazed
at the wiggling weirdness in the cardboard box. They were shit, the whole
shit and nothing but the shit. And yet they were somehow more than just
shit. It made Prudent feel like there might someday be hope for him.
been run over when Mr Bubba backed out of the alley. But fate rarely does
what it should. And it was quite a while before Bubba was through.
Just as the miraculous crap critters were squirming to life, a fortunate son
of Nazi sympathizers ducked into the aforementioned alley to smoke a
joint after a debutant party. He lit the fat doobie and held the rich smoke
in his lungs for a full fortyfive seconds.
When he coughed it out into the streetlight, the serious Republican look on
his face had changed into the silly grin of a lovestruck teenager.
But there are a few things we should know about this fellow before we
judge him harshly. He had a hard time growing up His father was a rich
pantywaist who really liked little boys. His mother taught the Tazmanian
Devil how to get mad. He had been pottytrained with a bullwhip. He was
hung like a Barbie doll. Consequently, Mr Prudent Junksure loved pot.
Now we can judge him harshly.
He took another toke and warily looked everywhere but behind him. He
was sure he was alone in the alley. He'd ducked into the alley because
he was sure it was deserted. His mother would beat him with the butler
if she found out he got high. So he was always very careful to make sure
he was completely alone whenever he smoked.
But, as we know, smoking marijuana can make you go duckhunting
with a rake. He wasn't the most observant fellow. Three feet behind him
in the still-smouldering radioactive sludge four very ugly babies were
squirming and smelled like full diapers.
When we need miracles to stop wildfires, hurricanes, or tsunamis, they're
suspiciously scarce. But if needed to create something awful, miracles
are as common as cats. Maybe God just gets bored.
Mr Junksure had just lit his second piece of Colombia when he heard
a faint squawk behind him. A less blitzed man would have whirled
around and confronted his attacker (or shat or went blind). Mr
Junksure simply turned slowly and said, "Whoa, fuck!"
Perhaps he was at a loss for words. He had never been graceful with
syllables. He had always been vocabulary-challenged. As a child, he
called his pet dog, "Kitty." When he wanted a glass of water, he often
said, "Spank me." His own parents were grateful they said when he
finally started school and learned to speak. They couldn't wait for the
day he learned to say "goodbye."
Prudent had never had a dog for long. His three goldfish had been eaten
by his cat (which then ran away). His hamster had not survived the spin
cycle. Thus in his potted mind, it made perfect sense to Prudent that
he should put these four creatures in a box and take them home.
It's the world's bad luck they didn't go the way of the others.
Prudent found a cardboard box in the alley and proudly carried his
squirming little turd blossoms across to the other side of town where
his driver would be waiting. The giggle of Prudent Junksure as he
walked along, beaming down at his excrement pets was something
better left unheard. As the other people on the sidewalk gave him
odd looks and moved to the edge of the sidewalk, no one had any
idea what a calamity for humanity had just begun.
His driver, Rover, didn't ask Prudent what he had in the box when he
opened the door to the limousine. He didn't even try to peak inside.
He was very lucky to have this job after what he'd done for
Hitler and he wanted his son, Snarl, to have every advantage to do
even more. And, besides, he knew that Prudent was a warped little
weasel and Rover didn't want to know what was in the box.
Back at the ranch outside Crawford, Texas (that his family had stolen
from a sweet old couple named Bob and Oleta Sweet), Prudent carried
the box to his room and set it on the bed. His little pookie people made
him laugh. He had fired up another doobie in the back of the limosine
on the way there and neither his buzz nor his fascination with his new
pets had faded.
In fact, there was a goofily serene look on Prudent's face as he gazed
at the wiggling weirdness in the cardboard box. They were shit, the whole
shit and nothing but the shit. And yet they were somehow more than just
shit. It made Prudent feel like there might someday be hope for him.
The Origin of Feces
Most bad things that happen in the world can be traced back to human
greed and stupidity. If it's not because somebody was trying to get too much
it's because someone didn't know how to get it. The humble beginnings of the
Gawlmighty gang do not break that longhonored tradition.
In the mid-Eighties of the last century, Aurelius Bubba, a smalltime oil
speculator, lost his modest fortune on a series of dry wells in Texas.
An acquaintance of his gave in after much shameless begging on Bubba's
part, and set Bubba up in the business of radioactive waste disposal.
So determined was Mr. Bubba to regain his wealth that he drove his only
radioactive waste disposal truck himself. He swore he would be rich again.
It was just the world's bad luck that night that he was shagging Miss Annie Joe
Mostly in the cab of said truck in an alleyway near the University of Texas,
A&M in the town of College Station.
Those facts would never change the world a bit.
The fact that his truck was leaking would.
A thin young man with thick glasses turned into the alley
just then in an indignant huff, sputtering and talking
to himself and about to cry.
He was also carrying part of his feces collection.
Since childhood, had collected animal crap. He found it quite
fascinating. He also found it everywhere. But in the cardboard box he
carried were some of his most prized samples, ones he had carefully
chosen deliberately to impress his favorite waitress at the Aggie Cafe. He
had, against his own rules, taken his prized specimens out of their glass
jars and brought them, in the open air, all the way across town, just to
impress Zelda Polly.
Her appreciation had been less than profuse. Thus his fuss.
The turd collector didn't see the bouncing radioactive waste disposal truck.
Nor did he see the cat.
If the turd collector had been a braver man he wouldn't have left his prized dung
lying in the nuclear waste while he ran away like a whimpering puppy
after stepping on the cat's tail. Then again if Mr Bubba hadn't been
parked there doing Miss Mostly, the exotic creature crap would only
have added to the stink of the alleyway.
And if God (or Benjamin Franklin) hadn't chosen that precise moment
to strike the scene with lightning, the awful miracle might never have
happened.
But it did.
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