Republican Dreams Crushed By Big Boob Mistake

My initial response was to sue her for defamation of character, but then I realized that I had no character -- Charles Barkley (dob 2/20/1963) an American retired professional basketball player and current analyst on the television program Inside the NBA.

Hearing a knock at his door Joe Truth shoved his beagle Dudley off his lap and got up to see who it was. Opening his front door Joe saw a young man in a suit standing there impatiently. "Can I help you?" Joe asked the stranger. "Yes", the man replied. "Are you Joe Truth?".

"Yes, that is me" Joe confirmed. "I am a process server from a law firm representing the actress Salma Hayek. The reason I am here is to deliver this to you"... the man withdrew some papers from his breast pocket and handed them to the confused Truth. "What are these?" Joe asked, accepting the documents.

"It's a cease and desist order that demands you immediately halt production of your Big Boob Headphones due to your unauthorized use of Salma Hayek's... shall we say, assets... on which you modeled your product. Lucky for you we found out about this before they actually went to market, otherwise you'd be facing a multi-million dollar lawsuit. Mrs. Hayek's lawyers are insisting you destroy the unauthorized product".

"What are you talking about, man?" Joe protested. "My headphones were modeled on the big boobs of some generic size 36C hooters, not the rack of this Hayek chick. An individual I've never heard of, for the record".

"Mrs. Hayek's lawyers do not believe this claim. First of all, you know her measurements off the top of your head, and secondly, you have Mrs. Hayek's picture displayed on the webpage where you announced your product. If you fail to comply and actually attempt to sell your headphones... you will be sued".

Joe Truth frowned as the man walked away. Suddenly his cell phone started vibrating. Removing it from his pocket Joe flipped it open and held it to his ear. "Hello, Joe Truth, CEO of Big Boob Headphones Inc here".

"It's your sole investor, William Hartenbaum" the voice on the phone said. William sounded angry. Joe wondered if William's anger had something to do with this lawsuit. "You jackass, Truth!" William shouted. "I just found out that you went ahead with the design for our headphones that we agreed you wouldn't use. The design modeled on the breasts of Salma Hayek".

"What makes you say that?" Joe asked innocently. "What makes me say that is a cease and desist order I was just served with. That, plus I just got off the phone with the manager of the manufacturing plant in Vietnam where our headphones were manufactured by slave labor. He faxed me a copy of the design specs you submitted".

"So what?" Joe asked. "So what? So they're the ones you had the designer draw up based on a picture and the measurements of Salma Hayek. The papers say we have to destroy the headphones or face further legal action".

"I swear I sent over the other design!" Joe protested. "No way, Joe. Hayek's lawyers have an inside source. They know the truth of the matter. And Hayek's picture is on the freaking box, for crying out loud! And speaking of the finished product, a cargo container of the headphones is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow. That's 50 thousand units that I, as your only investor, will have to take a complete loss on. Not only that but I'm going to have to pay to have them destroyed".

"That's a shame. I was eager for the profits to start rolling in so I could become a rich Republican who complains about paying his taxes" Joe lamented. "It is a shame, shithead" William replied. "Now I'm going to sue you, seeing as you're the one who fu*ked this up. By the way, I read what you wrote about me on your blog and didn't appreciate it".

"Oh, no!" Joe cried, tears welling up in his eyes. "I'm finished!". Tears were running down Joe's face now; the fact was that he could not afford to reimburse William for 50 thousand headphones. He would probably lose everything. Could he declare bankruptcy? He'd have to call his lawyer immediately.

Hanging up on William, Joe went back inside and flopped down in his easy chair, first shooing Dudley out of it. He took a swig of his beer and reached for his sandwich. Gone. That darn Dudley must have eaten it. Damn! Mrs. Truth wasn't going to be happy about this. She had warned him that his Big Boobs headphones idea was a bad one. Why oh why didn't he listen? He had just finished publishing a post on his blog in which he called a number of people shitheads, but clearly the real shithead was Joe Truth.

Video 1: Music video of the "Weird Al" Yankovic song "I'll Sue Ya", an original composition by Yankovic (not a parody) from the 2006 album Straight Outta Lynwood. This is the 4th cut on Al's 12th studio album (3:52).


Video 2: Salma Hayek talks about her breasts on the David Letterman show, 6/25/2006 (1:42).



 swtd-198. polfi-22.  Previous. Next.

The First Rule Of Murder Club

Welcome to Fight Club. The first rule of Fight Club is: you do not talk about Fight Club -- Tyler Durden (Brad Pitt). A quote from the 1996 film Fight Club.

"You must swear on your life that none of the secrets of the Murder Club will be revealed", a stern looking William Hartenbaum informed his friend Dennis Marks. "Screw that", Vincent Vanderschmit (AKA Voltron) objected. "If you breathe a word of this to anyone I'll personally cut off your ding-a-ling. You'll be like that Theon Greyjoy character on Game of Thrones".

"Don't worry guys" Dennis assured his friends. "I want to get my hands dirty. And if you let me there is no way I can squeal, as I'd be implicating myself". William wasn't sure he agreed with what Voltron said about cutting off privates, but he let it go, seeing as Voltron was their de facto leader.

Dennis was referring to the three friends' murder club. Normally the three members only went after worthless bums that wouldn't be missed, but their new target gave Dennis cause to think back to another unsolved disappearance. "Johnny MooMoo went missing almost two years ago now and nobody knows what became of him", Dennis remembered when William told him they were planning on going after Cliff Thesage.

"Voltron killed Johnny MooMoo and Russ and I helped dispose of the body", William confirmed. "We'll do the same to Cliff", a smirking Voltron said. "But that won't get rid of the shelter", Russ Teafeur disagreed, referring to the fact that Cliff Thesage was only a member of the committee that took over the day-to-day operations of Johnny MooMoo's homeless shelter after he vanished without a trace.

"No, but if we take out enough vagrants I think they'll get the message and stay away" William said, explaining his plan. "Offing Cliff isn't necessary to the plan at all. It's just something Voltron and I decided to do for fun. By the way, it's going to be me that kills him Dennis. You can do as many bums as you want, but Cliff is mine".

"Fine by me", Dennis agreed. "So long as I get to kill some worthless hobo with my bare hands, I'll be more than satisfied". "Well then, welcome to the club", Voltron said, slapping the new member heartily on the back. The four friends then went their separate ways, agreeing to meet up later that evening. "I'll bring the ski masks", William said as everyone departed. "The rest of you bring your usual weapons".

Later that evening the club members met up at their usual location, a secluded clearing in the woods on the property of Slade Leeds. Slade and William were both members of The Higher Ordered Person's Society, although Slade had no clue when it came to all the murdering William was engaged in.

"Our recent encounter with that Dervish degenerate gave me an idea", William said pulling an item out of a shopping bag and holding it up for everyone to see. "A taser" Voltron said, chuckling. "I heard about your encounter with that Liberal think tank scum", Voltron remarked, still laughing. "We had the last laugh", Dennis countered, clearly upset. "He may have tased Tony good, but now he's in the slammer". "Right", William agreed. "But Tony's partner Smurf Jones told me he was suspended after slamming Dervish's head into the ground during the arrest. Apparently, due to a prior concussion Dervish is now in a coma".

"G*d damn it!" an agitated Dennis complained. "I heard about that, and certainly hope it doesn't mean Dervish is going to get off". "Me neither", William agreed. "I heard the think tank Dervish works for is filing a lawsuit against Tannis Protection", William said, referring to the private security firm Tony Hawkins and Smurf Jones worked for (a private security firm given the contract To serve and Protect after the Emergency Financial Manager laid off all the city's police officers).

"It would be travesty if Dervish got rich on top of getting off", Dennis proclaimed. "On the other hand he may be a vegetable for the rest of his life, although I'd prefer he was sent away for a long time and a considerable amount of taking it up the ass", a worried William reasoned. "But enough of this discussion, now we must get on to why we are gathered here this evening".

"That is to initiate Dennis into the Murder Club", Voltron said, interrupting William. "I thought we were going to off that Cliff punk", Dennis confusedly chimed in. "Yes, we'll get to that, but first we need to pop your cherry. Voltron, Russ and I need to be sure you won't wuss out, so we'll ease you into it with a lower value kill", William advised his cohort. "I don't know if I appreciate the lack of confidence, but I'm still game" Dennis replied.

"OK then, it's agreed" a pleased William concluded. After that the four piled into William's pickup truck and they headed back to town. Pulling into a parking garage of a high-rise structure owned by Voltron they switched vehicles, departing minutes later in a nondescript white van with mirrored windows. Two blocks from the homeless shelter William eased over to the curb. "I'm going to park here and we'll wait while Volt picks our target", William instructed Dennis and Russ. "I'll call you using my disposable cell phone when I'm ready" Voltron said, exiting the vehicle and quickly walking away.

About 20 minutes later the call came. William answered his disposable cell. "Time to take out the trash", he heard Voltron say in his ear. "I'm headed back toward the van. OK, now I've turned right and am going east on Pacific", Voltron said, informing William that he was following a target. William started up the van and drove toward the shelter, turning east on Pacific as Voltron instructed.

"There he is", Russ whispered, spotting their hoodie-wearing friend. "I see him" William confirmed, slowing down the vehicle. Voltron looked back, saw the van and started walking faster, catching up to a disheveled looking woman, probably in her 30s. As William pulled up alongside the homeless woman Voltron quickly covered her mouth with a handkerchief.

The woman struggled for awhile before her eyelids fluttered and closed. Russ slid open the van's side door as Voltron scooped up the woman's limp body and stepped inside. Russ quickly slid the door shut and they sped off. "Chloroformed her", Russ said, answering the question Dennis was about to ask.

swtd-169. polfi-19.  Previous. Next.

A Society For Higher Ordered Persons AKA Stuck Up Know-it-All A-Holes

None calleth for justice, nor any pleadeth for truth: they trust in vanity, and speak lies; they conceive mischief, and bring forth iniquity -- Quote from the Christian Bible, Isaiah 59:4.

"I have a blog called Contra O'Reilly. The name is in reference to my desire to see partisan stooges like Bill O'Reilly (on the Right) and Rachel Maddow (on the Left) lose their audiences and be forced off the air. But, more importantly, and exactly why I direct your attention to it... this blog is where I espouse the ideals of political moderation that make up the bedrock of the The Higher Ordered Person's Society. HOPS is a place for politically mature persons such as ourselves", William Hartenbaum concluded.

There was light applause, and everyone in attendance smiled and nodded their heads, appreciating the compliment the speaker had paid them. "The reason I invited you to The Quarry tonight is because my friend and associate Mark Uston tells me that you are all superior people, and thus just the kind of individuals the Society is looking for".

"I agree with Mr. Hartenbaum", declared a distinguished looking gentleman who resembled Matt Lauer. "Even though I consider myself a Liberal, I very much admire William's blog. Although that is probably because I'm not one of the radical fringe types that are often more than a little nuts".

"I thank you for the compliment, Joe Truth. Even though we are primarily an organization that appeals to center of the road Blue Dog Democrats and socially liberal Republicans, we welcome persons of all political persuasions, so long as their views aren't too extreme. It's the extremes that are equally to blame for the inability of our legislators in Washington to compromise. These are the simpletons who see everything in black and white terms. For them politics is like 1970s wrestling. Their side represents the good guys and the other side is comprised of bad guys".

The ruckus from the table next to them suddenly became to much for William Hartenbaum to bear. He stopped talking when one of the group stood, sliding his chair back and slamming into the back of William's chair. He spun around, seething with rage. "Do you mind keeping it down", he angrily growled at the man who had just stood. "I'm sorry" said the man. Then the man slide his chair in and walked away toward the restrooms. Mark began to speak, but William tuned out his voice. Instead he listened to the group at the table next to theirs.

"I propose a fund-raiser in order to keep the homeless shelter that Johnny MooMoo started operational" a familiar voice suggested. It was that jerk Cliff Thesage. A local do-gooder who, for reasons not clear to William, was an associate of his friend Slade Leeds, the proprietor of restaurant and bar they were currently dining in.

"This fund-raiser could be a black and white tie affair, at $500 a plate", Cliff continued. "To be held in this very establishment. With the primary financier missing and presumed dead, the shelter has been experiencing serious cash flow problems". "That sounds like an excellent suggestion Cliff", an unknown woman at the table remarked.

"I'm glad to hear that" Cliff agreed. "I'm personal friends with the owner of the The Quarry, so there won't be any trouble setting it up. I charge each of you with contacting your friends. We need to get the word out. The shelter must be kept open in tribute to our good friend Johnny MooMoo, who, as you know, was just declared legally dead, even though his body was never located".

William saw red when Cliff voiced his determination to keep the homeless shelter open. William owned property in the area, and didn't like the idea of this magnet for undesirables being located in his neighborhood. William was fairly certain MooMoo's body would never be found, but the news that the shelter was not closing was disturbing.

Everyone had expected it to close with MooMoo's disappearance, but funding from an unknown donor kept it open. Now, with MooMoo being declared dead, the implementation of his final wishes would assure that the shelter would be kept open indefinitely, as William recently learned - via an article in the local paper concerning the reading of MooMoo's will. Seems that the bleeding heart Liberal had set aside a substantial amount of his wealth for that purpose.

"Hey, Cliff, what makes you think you and your do-gooder friends are welcome here?" William shouted. "What the hell are you blathering about Hartenbaum", Cliff shot back. "I called Slade personally and made a reservation", he added, then went back to talking with the patrons at his table. "What a rude fu*ker, turning his back on me", William said under his breath. But he decided not to pursue it any further. Cliff would get what was coming to him.

Mark had finished his pitch and now it was time to collect the membership dues. The half dozen people seated at the table took out their checkbooks and began filling in amounts starting at 500 dollars for a basic membership, up to 2 thousand dollars for the super platinum package. "Let's see how many of these dickheads pony up for super platinum", William whispered in Mark's ear.

Mark smiled, familiar with the grift. William buttered up the pigeons, and Mark completed the sales pitch. Now it was time to collect the spoils. Not that either of them needed the money. Most of it would be blown on parties that only the more Conservative members were invited to. Parties that included strippers, fine whiskey and blow.

"Hey, I heard that Liberal blogger you detest was arrested today", Mark informed his friend. "Indeed he was", William said, grinning widely. "I have it on good authority that he'll be sent away for several years of butt raping", William chuckled. But Mark cautioned that premature celebration might not be warranted. "I heard that Dervish's lawyer filed for a change of venue, arguing he couldn't get a fair trial in this jurisdiction", Mark said. And he was in a position to know, given that his brother was the DA.

"Well, we'll have to use our HOPS connections to ensure that does not happen", William replied sternly. "Dervish can not be allowed to get off lightly after what he did to Tony". "Tony is that cop friend of yours?", Mark asked. "Yes", William replied, growing annoyed. "You look annoyed", Mark said, observing the expression on William's face.

"Yeah, take a look at this", William complained, holding up one of the checks Mark had handed him earlier. "It's Joe Truth's check. I was sure he'd go for the super platinum membership, but this is only made out for 500 bucks. I expected a little gratitude after agreeing to invest in his company. It's pay to play and Joe needs to grease the wheels a little" William concluded handing the check back to Mark. "I want you to convince Joe that a super platinum membership is in his best interest".

Image: William Hartenbaum and Mark Uston attend the HOPS membership dinner at The Quarry.

 swtd-141. polfi-18.  Previous. Next.

The One Percent Beasts of Burden Who Carry Around the Dead Weight

...there are 47 percent... who are dependent upon government, who believe that they are victims, who believe the government has a responsibility to care for them, who believe that they are entitled to health care, to food, to housing... That that's an entitlement. And the government should give it to them -- Mitt Romney (dob 3/12/1947) oblivious entitled plutocrat and losing 2012 Republican presidential candidate.

"Hey, buddy, what's going on?", Dennis Marks inquired, addressing his compatriot William Hartenbaum. "Where did the boss man go?", he added, referring to Slade Leeds, the owner of The Quarry, the posh eating establishment William was sitting in the bar area of. "He went in back to deal with a delivery", William responded. "By the way, Slade told me the reason our prank the other night failed is because you fu*ked up and Joe Truth got the drugged plate of food".

"Now hold on", Dennis protested. "I clearly indicated to the waiter which plate of food was to go to whom". "Well, Dervish got the wrong plate, which is why he wasn't out of it and why he was able to taze Tony", William explained. "Damn!" Dennis exclaimed, obviously upset. "No matter", William said, grinning. "Things seem to have worked out better than we were planning. Tony is pressing charges against Dervish for assault. After the envious collectivist is arrested he's going to end up serving a lengthy prison term".

"Hahahahah", Dennis chuckled. "Ironic that the state will end up caring for him. It would be more fitting if he was sent to a forced labor camp though, given how much he admires the regimes of Leftist dictators". "Indeed it would", William agreed. "Even so, he'll lose his freedom and his job".

"The guy works?" an incredulous Dennis queried. "Yea", William responded. "At some liberal think tank, I believe". "Figures", Dennis spat disgustedly.

"Anyway, on another subject I have some good news. I just received word that my rich uncle is going to die soon. This is the rich uncle who is leaving me everything in his will! I'm going to be joining you in the one percent very soon", Dennis revealed, smiling broadly. "The as*hole has terminal brain cancer or something. It looks like all my hard work sucking up to the doofus is on the verge of paying off".

"Bad news, you'll soon be paying the same tax rate as me", William replied. "Yea, well, it's a smallish price to pay", Dennis countered. "I'd be willing to pay a little more for a strong national defense, but what really tees me off is how the one percent are like beasts of burden forced to carry around the dead weight".

"You got that right", William agreed. "Which is why must continually oppose the liberal fascists like Dervish who want us to pay more and more to support society's losers". "That guy disgusts me", Dennis agreed. "Instead of sending him to prison he should be deported to North Vietnam, Cuba or some other Bernie Sanders paradise. That way he could experience a socialist utopia that already exists, instead of attempting to transform the United States into one, like his hero Barack Obama wants to".

"Yes, the president who lies about the wealthy not paying their fair share", William agreed, frowning. "It's a shame you haven't received your inheritance already", William lamented. "Mark and I are going to be holding a dinner tomorrow night during which we will be welcoming a half dozen or so new members to Higher Ordered Persons Society".

Dennis looked dejected. "Couldn't you spot me the membership fee?", he begged. "Sorry, but that kind of special treatment isn't permitted. What if your uncle hangs in there for longer than you are expecting and you don't end up joining the one percent for some time? Even though we are friends the Society does have standards", William reminded his like-minded cohort.

"Well, that is disappointing", Dennis sighed. "I do understand however. What I do not understand is why you've invited Joe Truth to join. He is nowhere near as moderate as either of us". "How did you know Joe was invited?", William queried his friend. "I ran into him outside as he was leaving. I just got here for the evening shift", Dennis explained. "Don't worry about it", William assured his pal. "We never invite the lesser members to any strategy meetings, those are only for those in the inner circle. And I wouldn't be telling you this unless you were inner circle material".

"OK, I got it. You're playing him for a sucker again", Dennis correctly concluded, cracking a smile. "Absolutely", William confirmed. "I'm also close to closing a deal with Joe to take a large portion of the profits from a business venture he's planning. That is why he was here, we were discussing business". Dennis looked dejected again. "It must be sweet to be part of the investor class".

"Yes it is", William acknowledged. "We get to screw everyone from the lowly worker to those who actually come up with the ideas. And of course the consumer. It takes some of the sting out of our serving as beasts of burden in supporting the sluggards and parasites who live off the state".

"And, before you object", William added, reading his buddy's mind, "the screwing is in the mind of the Liberals only. As you and I both know there is no screwing when a deal is negotiated fairly". "You're right, I WAS about to object", Dennis confirmed. "Deals negotiated fairly being referred to as screwing is the kind of divisive rhetoric envious fools like Dervish use".

"I am going to screw Joe Truth, However", William revealed. "I inserted language in our contract that gives me control of the patent on his Big Boob Headphones, which I'm sure I can get him to sign without consulting a lawyer". With that pronouncement both William and Dennis laughed heartily.

 swtd-139. polfi-17.  Previous. Next.

Violently Nuts Liberal Wanted by Fuzz for Assault

Keep violence in the mind where it belongs -- Brian Aldiss (dob 8/18/1925) an English writer and anthologies editor, best known for science fiction novels and short stories.

"I never took you for a jingoistic racist", William Hartenbaum said, addressing his friend Joe Truth. Both were sitting on stools in the bar area of The Quarry, a posh restaurant on the outskirts of town. William took a sip of his white wine, and then one more, emptying the glass. "I'll have another", William instructed the bartender.

"I don't follow", a clearly confused Joe responded. "You just told me you were strongly leaning toward manufacturing your Big Boob Headphones in the United States using union labor", William reminded his friend.

"Yes", Joe acknowledged. "These would be high-end headphones manufactured with pride in the US. It would be a selling point. The extra labor costs would be offset by lower shipping expenses, as they wouldn't have to be imported from a foreign country. And, most importantly, don't forget the Big Boobs angle. This is how I'm going to get the male consumer to pay a premium. The profit margin will be high enough to easily absorb the extra cost of union labor".

"That is the reasoning I was referring to as jingoistic", William explained. "Opposition to sending our chimpanzee jobs overseas is based in a racist bigotry against foreign people. Demonizing them because they are capable of working more efficiently than Americans. Why overpay lazy American workers when profits can be maximized by using less expensive foreign labor?".

"But isn't it racist to suggest foreign workers should get our -- as you called them -- chimpanzee jobs?", Truth countered. "Not at all", William deflected, dodging his obviously bigoted description of assembly work with a derogatory term and a non-answer. "In any case, I won't invest in your headphones if you insist on using union or US labor. I can't abide stealing profit from investors by overpaying labor me buck", William warned.

"You may be right", Joe agreed. "If I want to be a proper greedy capitalist pig outsourcing production is the route I may have to go", Joe reasoned. "Let's, for the sake of argument, suppose I go with foreign labor. How much would you be willing to invest?", he asked. William smiled, satisfied that Joe was coming around to his way of thinking. "How about 5 million to start, for which I'd only ask you to split the profits 50-50 with me", William suggested.

After thinking it over for a while, Joe said, "there are a few other potential investors I want to speak with first, but your offer leads the pack so far. Now, on another topic, I'm sorry that my attempt to broker a peace between you and Dervish failed. He was here at The Quarry last night, but left as soon as he learned that I wanted you and him to sit down and work out your differences".

"Actually I ran into him in the parking lot", William revealed. "Now get this, my friend Tony Hawkins was with me, and when I asked Dervish to come back inside and talk, he assaulted Tony with a stun gun! And Tony did nothing to provoke such a brutal attack. I called an ambulance and rode with Tony to the hospital where he got checked out. Luckily he's OK, but your Liberal buddy Dervish is in a LOT of trouble. Tony works for the police, and assaulting an officer of the law is a serious crime. Tony's partner Smurf Jones told me that Dervish is going to be arrested and charged".

"Wow. I guess Dervish is even more nuts than I knew. I thought he was harmless; I had no idea he was VIOLENTLY nuts", an astonished Joe replied. "For Christ!" William exclaimed. "Dervish is a violent paranoid. But, although he may very well be insane, he's going to jail, not to a mental hospital".

Just then the door to the back room behind the bar opened and Slade Leeds, The Quarry's owner, walked in. "Are you two discussing someone named Dervish?" he asked resting the palms of his hands on the bar. "I got a call from an attorney this morning informing me that I was being sued. Something about one of my chefs doing inappropriate things to Dervish's dinner and Dervish being assaulted in the parking lot by that same chef along with some of his friends, including YOU, William".

"This is what I meant when I called Dervish paranoid", responded William. "I was only trying to talk to the guy, and he violently attacked my friend Tony. No need to worry about being sued, Slade. Dervish is going to be arrested later today, as he is the one who did the attacking. And, not only that, but the person he assaulted is a police officer!". "That is reassuring", Slade responded. "By the way, the lawyer said the chef was Dennis Marks. Isn't he a friend of yours William?".

"Yeah, I know the guy", William said. "And, yes, he was outside taking a smoke break. We were speaking when I noticed Dervish and approached him, but Dennis went back inside before the altercation", William dishonestly recounted. "So, I take it that this Dervish fellow fabricated the entire incident", Slade reasoned. "Just about", William affirmed. "There was an encounter, but Dervish is lying about everything else".

"Awesome", Slade sighed, obviously relieved. "Not that I was worried. I knew my good friend William would never be involved in such a thing. Think you can stick about for awhile? My lawyer should be here soon and I want him to hear what really happened direct from the source". William nodded his head, answering, "sure thing".

"You have to be careful when serving the public. You never know what kind of crazy will walk through your doors", Slade declared. "I'm going to have some cameras installed in both the front and rear parking lots ASAP. That way nothing like this will ever happen again. Anyway, I thought it was your word against his, but seeing as it's your word AND the word of a law enforcement officer against his, I can't see this lawsuit going anywhere". "Absolutely", William replied. "That clown Dervish is going to be sorry he messed with us".

"What did Dervish say the chef did to his meal?" a previously silent Joe Truth asked. "He says it was drugged, but that the waiter mixed up the plates and you got the one that contained a sedative", Slade replied. "I did fall asleep after my meal", a befuddled Joe remarked.

"A-ha", William pronounced, feigning shock. "Clearly that means this was a set-up from the get go. Dervish must have slipped the sedative into your drink while you weren't looking", William pretended to deduce. "Sadly, I think you may be right", a gullible Joe Truth lamented.

 swtd-132. polfi-16.  Previous. Next.

The Deceiving Truth, A Sham Ambassador

Truth lives on in the midst of deception -- Friedrich von Schiller (11/10/1759 to 5/9/1805) German poet, philosopher, historian, and playwright.

"Hehehehe", Joe Truth chuckled quietly as his Liberal buddy Dervish ran away. "Damn", Joe swore. "I should have lied when Dervish asked if this was an arranged meeting with William Hartenbaum". Joe sighed as he watched Dervish exit the restaurant, rudely departing before William arrived. Joe checked his watch, noting that it was actually a few minutes past the time he had instructed William to make his surprise entrance.

"William will be disappointed that our little joke has been spoiled", Joe lamented, suddenly feeling quite sleepy. "Must be due to all the alcohol I've consumed", Joe reasoned, pushing his plate aside, placing his folded arms there, then resting his head on his arms. "I think I'll rest my eyes for a while", he decided.

Sound asleep, Joe dreamed his practical joke went off without a hitch. Instead of running away, Dervish stayed and met with William Hartenbaum. "I admit that I was wrong regarding the issue over which I banned you from my blog", William said, possibly lying. "In any case, we shouldn't allow our online disagreements to preclude us from being friends, if not at least friendly in real life", William passionately argued.

"You said I was the most intellectually dishonest person you've ever had to deal with", an angry Dervish protested. "If that statement is what you're saying you were wrong about, and you agree to publish a public retraction and apology on your blog -- then I might be willing to let bygones be bygones".

"OK, now we're getting somewhere", an ecstatic Joe Truth remarked. "I knew that, as Ambassador of Blogistan, I could negotiate a détente between you two. Now I only need to convince Dervish that William is actually a closet liberal". "That isn't going to happen", Dervish stated firmly, "as it would involve me denying reality, and that isn't in the cards tonight, gentlemen". Joe Truth looked confused. "This I simply do not understand. How can you possibly say William isn't a Lefty regarding most issues?"

"That is what *I* simply do not understand", Dervish countered. "You read his blog. I've seen your comments. In his two most recent posts he argued against global climate change and in favor of nuclear energy. I admit there are some on the Left that think nuclear power is an answer when it comes to reducing carbon emissions, but, for the most part, these are NOT Liberal positions. Most Liberals acknowledge there is a scientific consensus on global warming. And most Liberals, especially given the ongoing Fukushima disaster, acknowledge that nuclear power is insanely dangerous and not worth the risk -- even if its carbon emissions were zero, which they are NOT, contrary to what William claims".

"He really said that?", an astonished Joe Truth exclaimed. William Hartenbaum nodded his head. "I did indeed. And I quoted the scientists and facts to back up my positions. I am a strong skeptic when it comes to global climate change. I also believe that nuclear power is quite safe". Joe stared at his friend in disbelief.

"This, I did not expect. If that is the case I have no choice but to say that, William, you're a nasty, deluded denier of facts and data that don't jibe with your flawed conservative views. Quite frankly I think you hate real America while deluding yourself with propaganda from the right wing outlets you are addicted to".

"Seriously? That is an extreme about face" William replied, his feelings obviously hurt. "Yes", Joe Truth confirmed. "Even given your views on marriage equality and allowing the bush tax cuts to expire, I think climate change denial definitely disqualifies you from being a Liberal".

"That is something I never claimed to be", William declared, standing. "I think this negotiation has concluded", William said, a ting of anger in his voice. "I am neither nasty nor deluded. I am a reasonable minded moderate. And quite proud to not belong to either of the extremist camps on the Left or the Right. GOOD DAY"... with that William stormed off.

"I guess I was wrong about him", Truth said after a moment of silence. "Do you think you can forgive me", Truth asked his former friend. "Absolutely buddy", Dervish answered. "Just don't allow yourself to be fooled by Hartenbaum again". "That is something I will absolutely not do", Joe affirmed. "I don't know how I could have been so stupid. But my eyes are open now. I will never doubt your judgment again Dervish".

With that pronouncement all was forgiven, and Joe Truth and Dervish were friends once more. But what Dervish did not know was that Joe only called William names to trick Dervish into liking him again. Joe smiled -- his deception had worked exactly as he had envisioned it! He imagined Dervish's shock when he went back to insisting William was a closet Liberal in the future. He wasn't sure why, but it sure was fun screwing with Dervish.

When the expensive bottle of wine was nearly gone Joe ordered some fancy flaming desserts. After consuming the chocolate treats Joe bid his friend adieu, giving him a big hug. "I'm so happy we could bury the hatchet", Joe said, almost weeping... although he was really crying tears of joy, imagining how much fun he would have knifing his supposed friend in the back.

Joe Truth woke abruptly. Looking around the nearly deserted restaurant, it gradually came back to him... Dervish had left before his scheme had reached its conclusion. If only his dream was how things had really gone down! Just then he saw the hostess walking toward him. "I see you're awake Mr. Truth. We are about to close. Should I call you a cab?"

"No", Joe replied. "I'll be on my way. Oh, and please put a 15 percent tip for my waiter on my tab", Joe added, his stomach unexpectedly feeling a little queasy. "I think I'll visit the restroom first", Joe informed the hostess, suddenly desperate. Upon reaching the men's room Truth burst into a stall and upchucked his entire meal into the toilet bowl. "Geez", a disgusted Truth grumbled. "I wonder what the heck caused that?".

 swtd-130. polfi-15.  Previous. Next.

The Consequences of Bad Ambassadoring

Everybody, sooner or later, sits down to a banquet of consequences -- Robert Louis Stevenson (11/13/1850 to 12/3/1894) a Scottish novelist, poet, essayist, and travel writer. His most famous works are Treasure Island, Kidnapped, and Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.

As I dashed though the front door of The Quarry, I fumbled for my keys, wanting to unlock my car and get on the road as quickly as possible. I had just left a dinner meeting with a colleague who was convinced he could broker a peace between me and a bitter enemy, a guy Joe Truth (the colleague) insisted was a closet liberal.

Joe told me he wanted to apologize for calling me frigging nuts, but it was just a ruse to get me to meet with William Hartenbaum, a d-bag I wanted to avoid at all costs. Which is why I ran out of there as soon as Truth revealed his deception but before Hartenbaum showed his ugly mug.

Making it to the parking lot, I saw my vehicle and extended my arm, pointing the controller at it to unlock the doors. I had almost made it to my car, which was quite a distance due to the Quarry being packed, when someone popped up from behind my Ford Focus. What the hell is going on, I thought? Suddenly a muscular arm wrapped around my neck, and before I knew it I was in a secure chokehold.

"Recognize my voice, a**hole?" the man standing behind my car shouted. It was Dennis Marks, a dirtbag I had filed a restraining order against due to him calling my home hundreds of times a day to swear at me and threaten my life - because he harbored a grudge after I left some disagreeable comments on his blog (comments he lied about on the blog of his buddy William, insisting I was the one who swore).

"Hold still or I'll snap your neck", the person who had me in the chokehold barked. I recognized his voice as belonging to Tony Hawkins, an individual I'd had a previous bad encounter with.

I heard a car door open nearby and a few seconds later William Hartenbaum and I were face to face. "Glad you decided to meet with Joe Truth", Hartenbaum sneered. "Yes, I convinced that dumbass to trick you into showing up so we could ambush you". After addressing me, William turned to Dennis Marks and asked, "Why is he struggling so much, didn't you inject his steak with the syringe I gave you? He should be unconscious by now".

"Yes, I injected it, AFTER giving it a good rubdown with my dick", Dennis replied. "I hope you enjoyed my special sauce", Marks laughed, his comment directed at me. "And I was careful so none of the other chefs or boss Leeds saw", Marks added, his comment now directed at Hartenbaum. "By the way, I still don't understand why your buddy Slade isn't a party to our little practical joke".

"I explained that to you already", William shot back. "No way I was involving The Quarry's owner in our hijinks. He'd have nixed assaulting a customer, even if that customer is a worthless little bastard like Dervish. Besides, Slade isn't nearly as moderate as we are. I suspect he may be kicked out of the Higher-Ordered Person's Society any day".

Despite Marks' and Hartenbaum's conversation about drugging me, I didn't feel drowsy at all. However, deciding some subterfuge might work in my favor given the circumstances, I went limp and pretended to fall asleep. "I think the sedatives just kicked in", Tony Hawkins observed. "OK. let's get him into his trunk", William directed. "Where are his keys?"

It was then that Hawkins released me from the choke hold, although he still had one arm wrapped around my waist. Sensing my opportunity had arrived, I removed the taser from the inside breast pocket of my suit jacket, jammed the contact points down on Hawkins' arm, and pressed the button. Hawkins immediately fell to the ground, his body twitching as 4.5 million volts coursed though his body. I retrieved my keys from where I had dropped them whilst attempting to free myself from Hawkins' grasp, pushed the button to relock my car, then turned and sprinted back to the restaurant.

"Get him!" a surprised Hartenbaum yelled. I'd like to have stuck around and tased the rest of my assaulters but decided not to take any chances. It had been months since the post-traumatic vertigo I suffered from as a result of a pistol-whipping administered by Tony Hawkins had disappeared, but I did not want to risk another beatdown. Two-on-one were not favorable odds. Plus I didn't know if Hartenbaum or Marks had any weapons on them.

Back inside the Quarry, I returned to the table where I had just dined with Joe Truth. Sitting down I noticed Joe was resting his head on top of his folded arms, fast asleep. Did our waiter mix up the plates and give Joe the steak intended for me? I shook him violently, but still he slumbered. Fantastic, I thought, the urge to barf that had come over me as soon as Marks described what he had done to my steak passed. Seeing as it was Truth who was unconscious, it must mean he (and not I) ate the meat Marks had given such special attention to. I guess there are consequences for bad ambassadoring.

Using my cell phone I called my assistant Janeane Garner and asked if she could pick me up. I didn't want to return to the parking lot if my adversaries were there waiting for me. Also, I didn't bother calling the police, as our city didn't have any -- not since the Emergency Financial Manager replaced them with a private security firm (a firm Tony Hawkins worked for).

After hearing of my predicament, Janeane agreed to come get me right away. She drove up to the back entrance and opened her car door. Seeing Janeane, I exited with a crowd of people leaving and returning to their cars in the rear parking lot. Sliding in the backseat I found another passenger there. It was Rusty Farber, the head of security at the Progressive Ideology Foundation.

"Don't worry, Mr. Dervish. I'm here to protect you", Rusty assured me. "Let's drive around to the front and check on your car". Janeane, who was driving, followed Rusty's directions and circled the establishment. I was relieved to see my car undamaged. I had worried Hartenbaum and Marks may have vandalized it. They probably did not due to their buddy Slade Leeds owning The Quarry (and not wanting his establishment to be named in an insurance claim).

Rusty drew his stun gun and covered me as I returned to my vehicle, then escorted me home. We didn't see Hartenbaum or Marks again that night, but I knew this wasn't the end of our feud. They were, most likely, plotting revenge. I'm sure Joe Truth, who I had left asleep at a table inside the Quarry, was fine.

I did not intend on letting him know what had happened, or that Hartenbaum thought he was a dumbass though. I very much doubted he would believe me, given the fact he still thought Hartenbaum was a Lefty, even with a mountain of evidence to the contrary.

 swtd-127. polfi-14.  Previous. Next.

Said I Was Frigging Nuts, But Meant in The Good Way

Behold, their valiant ones shall cry without: the ambassadors of peace shall weep bitterly -- Quote from the Christian Bible, Isaiah 33:7.

I was sitting at my desk at the Progressive Ideology Foundation, the Liberal think tank where I am employed as a senior fellow. My work done, I was currently writing a post for my blog. Just then the intercom on my desk beeped and the voice of my assistant Janeane Garner asked, "I have a Joe Truth on the line. Do you want to take his call?"

Joe Truth? I hadn't heard from him for a while. Not since our falling out. "OK", I responded. "Put him through". I picked up my phone when the light lit up indicating there was someone on the line. "Hello" I said. "Hey, is that you Dervish?" Joe Truth asked. "Yes", I answered. "How can I help you Joe?"

"Dervish, you might be surprised to be hearing from me, since we stopped speaking after I insulted you by calling you a frigging nut". "Yeah, that was more than a year ago now", I acknowledged.

"Well, the reason I'm contacting you is because I want to apologize. I'm dreadfully sorry about saying you're nuts. Please let me take you out to dinner to make it up to you. I'll be eternally grateful if you'll grant me this opportunity to rekindle our friendship".

How odd, I thought. Joe Truth and I had never actually been friends. Not close ones, in any case. Perhaps we could be referred to as associates, since he was also a Lefty blogger. His blog had actually been quite successful, but all that went south when he closed it down - and then reopened it. Several times. He said the people he worked with didn't approve of the Liberal beliefs he expressed online. Apparently he was now some kind of high-powered businessman who worked at a very Conservative firm.

"OK", I agreed. "I'll meet you". I had some sympathy for the guy, although not a lot, since he had never explained why he had slandered me. Even worse, he had spoken about me behind my back with an a-hole from the Higher-Ordered Person's Society -- a organization comprised of phony moderates that think they're better than everyone else. But, even if the apology wasn't adequate, I was up for a free meal.

"Where and when do you want to meet?" I queried. "How about tomorrow night at 8? I've made reservations at the Quarry". "No way" I replied. "The Quarry is where the Higher-Ordered Person's Society meets". "Don't worry buddy. I was briefly associated with that group, but no longer. I know you don't like them. Besides, they aren't meeting there tomorrow", Joe protested. "And the Quarry is one of the finest restaurants in town. Surf and Turf. My treat", Joe added.

"I guess", I relented. "But I'll take my apology first, and you can grovel some more when we meet". "I'm really sorry", Joe pleaded. "Please meet me". So, against my better judgment I agreed to meet Joe. A free meal and some groveling from an individual who wronged me does not happen very often.

The next evening I drove my Ford Focus to the meeting with Joe Truth, arriving a few minutes early. Leaving my vehicle in the parking lot, I entered the Quarry and approached the hostess. "Can you tell me if Joe Truth is here?" I asked the woman behind the counter.

"Let me check" the woman responded, scanning her records. "Yes, I have a table for the Truth party. You must be Mr. Dervish?" I nodded and she led me to a table. "Mr. Truth is at the bar", the hostess said, explaining why Joe was absent. "I'll let him know you're here" she said, and left.

A few minutes later Truth joined me. "I pre-ordered our Surf and Turf", Joe said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "The hostess told me our waiter should be bringing it over momentarily". "Great", I said. "I've been looking forward to this. The meal AND the groveling". "Sure", replied Joe. "But let's eat first. I also ordered an expensive bottle of wine".

"Wow! That was a great meal", an obviously sated Joe Truth sighed after polishing off his dinner. "Now for the bad news", Joe continued. "I'm not going to grovel. In fact, I'm going to retract my earlier apology. Now, before you storm off, let me explain. It's the least you could do, considering the money I just spent feeding you".

I glared at Joe as he continued speaking. "No apology because I still think you're totally nuts, although I mean that in a good way. The real reason I wanted to meet was to broker a peace between you and William Hartenbaum". "F*ck that", I growled angrily. "I don't want to have anything to do with that d-bag". (Hartenbaum is the previously mentioned a-hole from the Higher-Ordered Person's Society).

"Now, wait a minute", Joe protested. "As you probably know, I recently appointed myself Ambassador of Blogistan. I need to broker this peace to bolster my bona fides. Also, William isn't a d-bag, nor is he a phony moderate. I believe he is actually a closet Liberal".

"You're the one who is nuts", I exclaimed. "This doofus you're oddly enamored of is in no way a Liberal. He's a conservative Democrat at best. Does a closet liberal rail against the minimum wage, complain about progressives saying the rich should pay their fair share, and write literally DOZENS of blog posts about how bad green energy is and how climate change isn't happening?"

"Right, a closet liberal", Joe Truth said with a straight face. "Bet you didn't know he's also in favor of marriage equality and allowing the bush tax cuts to expire?". "No, I knew about those two things", I replied, giving up trying to reason with Truth. "Thanks for the grub", I concluded, "but I've got to be going. By the way, Hartenbaum isn't here, is he?".

"As a matter of fact..." Truth began to admit, but I quickly jumped from my seat and ran toward the exit. "See you on the internet but don't call me again", I added in parting. If Hartenbaum was here I wanted to not be here as soon as possible. Hopefully I could make it out the door without encountering him.

 swtd-126. polfi-13.  Previous. Next.

Toasting Cantor Shorts With Norquist Bubbly

The time is fast approaching when to call a man a patriot will be the deepest insult you can offer him. Patriotism now means advocating plunder in the interest of the privileged classes of the particular State system into which we have happened to be born -- Leo Tolstoy (9/9/1828 to 11/20/1910) a Russian writer known primarily for his novels "War and Peace" and "Anna Karenina".

"Relax, it's just a tax write off", Slade Leeds assured his friend William Hartenbaum. "By the way, I heard you've been hanging out with those two assholes Russ Teafeur and Vincent Vanderschmit lately".

"You heard wrong Slade, I haven't seen either of them for months", William lied.

Slade continued, "it's a premium charity, not a lemon as you have suggested. Anyway, I was thinking of donating some money to Johnny MooMoo's homeless shelter, but when I called him this morning I was told he hadn't been seen since yesterday".

"That's strange", William lied again.

"Indeed", agreed Slade. "In any case, these friends of yours insulted me when I asked if they'd like to donate to my charity. Russ called me a bleeding heart Liberal ass-wipe, and Vincent told me to do something nasty to myself. And he called me a do-gooder. But, as I explained, the charity is just a tax write off. Those shitheads know we both belong to the same Moderate organization, so I don't know where they get off calling me a Liberal".

"I love Russ, you know that. He wasn't serious. He's just a provocateur. Slade, you just can't let him get under your skin".

"Look William, I'm sick of you making excuses for Teafeur's bad behavior. You know, before I knew he was such a dick I actually invited him over to my place for a cocktail party".

"This story again!" William laughed, cutting his friend off. "You've told it a million times. Yes, he took a dump right next to the hors d'oeuvre and the glass swan. Like I said, he's a provocateur. He knew some of your Liberal donors were in attendance. Specifically that miscreant Cliff Thesage".

"That is total nonsense, my friend", Slade retorted. "You don't have to be able to read between the tea leaves to figure out Russ Teafeur is a major league a-hole".

Just then a slight Asian woman entered the room from a doorway behind the bar. "Here is the bottle of Champagne you requested my dear", she intoned. Slade's wife Sassy Leeds was originally from Beijing, and although her native language was Mandarin, she spoke English with only a slight accent.

"Thank you Sassy", said Slade, popping the cork and pouring himself and William a glass of bubbly. "This is a $700 bottle of the finest Champagne from the South of France. Sassy just received a case from a client as a thank you". Sassy was an interior designer who decorates the homes of the wealthy and powerful in the DC area.

"The client was Samah Norquist. This Champagne is compliments of Grover himself", Sassy explained, laughing. She knew how much Moderates like her husband and his friend disliked the man.

"His money, and his Champaign are as good as anyone's, even if he is a right-wing radical", Slade said, draining his glass and quickly pouring himself another.

"In any case, I've instructed my broker to invest in the same fund as Eric Cantor, the one that's betting against United States debt. If the US defaults or is downgraded we both stand to make a pile of money!"

William mulled that over for a while, downed his Champagne and then responded, "Some may say Cantor has a conflict of interest, or that because of his investment in such a fund he'd deliberately sabotage the negotiations. While I do not agree with his actions during the debt ceiling negotiations, I think his bet against US debt indicates he is a prudent investor. I'm sure conspiracy theorists on the Left are having a field day with this revelation. Myself, I'm going to take your advice and also invest in the fund".

Sassy reminded her husband she needed to get to work and exited the room. "Goodbye", she said, giving her husband a firm handshake. It was an inside joke William had never inquired about, even though he had seen the goodbye handshake numerous times before. Perhaps it had something to do with Slade's irrational fear of protocol?

Slade then explained the situation as he saw it, "Of course neither of us wants the credit rating of the United States to be downgraded, but anyone investing in treasuries would stand to make more on their investment with an increase in interest rates".

"I'm in complete agreement" William concurred. "As is often the case, what is not beneficial to the middle class and poor is often beneficial to the wealthy. I'd thank the gods if any existed that I was born one of the productive members of society".

"Excuse me dear friend, but you inherited your money. I earned mine. If either of us is one of the so-called productive members of society that would be me".

This was a disagreement they had before. It caused William to wonder if his friend was Society material. "Sometimes I wonder if the Higher Ordered Person's Society is a good fit for you", William wondered out loud. "Next you'll be telling me capitalism is a rigged system that works to the benefit of the wealthy and to the detriment of the poor".

"That is a truthful observation", Slade answered his friend. "But, don't get me wrong, I'm a true believer in capitalism. It may not be perfect, but it's a hell of a lot better than the European Socialism pushed by the radical Leftists".

William nodded his head in agreement, mollified that his friend and he shared similar worldviews. There was no place in the Society for radical Leftists or radical Right-wingers. HOPS members traveled the morally superior middle path. They agreed with the Left on some social issues, but more strongly with the Right when it came to fiscal matters.

"Us capitalists shall be magnanimous in our treatment of the less fortunate. So long as they put forth an effort. Let them toil in our factories and service industries and we will see they receive the bare minimum needed to survive, even if that entails some government welfare".

Slade, who was in total agreement with his friend, added, "The greedy Left with their tin-cups always seek to steal our wealth, threatening the use of force if necessary".

"I've said it before and I'll say it again", William concurred, "A frigging bum off the streets can do that. Extend their tin cups, that is". He took another sip of his champaign.

"Which reminds me of what you said earlier... I can't believe you're considering donating money to Johnny MooMoo's homeless shelter. You do realize all the vagrants he's attracting are depressing the property values in the area? Why, just yesterday Voltron -- uh, Vincent Vanderschmit told me he might lose some tenants in an office building he owns nearby".

"That is sad", Slade mocked his friend. "I know how much you loathe bums, but I think some of them, at least, are redeemable. They just need a leg up".

"Perhaps some are redeemable", William reluctantly agreed, "but the majority are not. They'll just take whatever money you give them and spend it on rotgut. I strongly contend that any money spent trying to save a worthless bum is money wasted. The dregs of society don't deserve, and have not earned, our compassion".

"And your buddies Vincent and Russ agree with you on that, I presume?" William's friend queried him.

"It just so happens they do", William responded. Then he thought better of his answer, adding, "Or at least I presume they do, it's been awhile since I last spoke with either of them, if you recall".

 swtd-88. polfi-9.  Previous. Next.

The Rage of The Plundered Affluents: A Randian Tale

Arresting a single drunk or a single vagrant who has harmed no identifiable person seems unjust, and in a sense it is. But failing to do anything about a score of drunks or a hundred vagrants may destroy an entire community -- James Q. Wilson (b. 5/27/1931) an American academic, political scientist and leading conservative scholar who holds an advisory position with the American Enterprise Institute.

Three friends sat around a campfire in the middle of the woods in the dead of night. The party had been going on for hours. Each of the three friends were quite buzzed from all the alcohol consumed and all the pot smoked. Finally the sky turned crimson as the sun began to rise. The three friends fell silent for several minutes as they contemplated packing up and driving back to the city.

Finally William Hartenbaum spoke. "Excuse me, Voltron", he said, addressing his friend Vincent Vanderschmit by his nickname. "I do not think it fair that you claim 10 points for snuffing out Johnny MooMoo. The group never agreed to additional points for high value kills".

"Listen up William", Voltron said, raising his voice. "I took out Johnny MooMoo with a single knife thrust to the kidney. You never saw anything sweeter. And, seeing as he was wealthy like us, I think ten points are entirely justified".

"He wasn't that wealthy", William objected. "I doubt he had more than a few hundred K in his bank account".

"Chump change, in other words", Russ Teafeur interjected.

"That may be so, but he was no worthless bum, which was my point", Voltron countered. "Anyway, I had no choice but to off the punk after he saw William bash that bum in the head with his baseball bat".

"That was the second one of the night for me", William reminded his friend. "Two points".

"Yes, William, you have two points, Russ has three, and I now have twelve. Johnny MooMoo was definitely worth ten. The cops are going to be investigating the disappearance of that do-gooder for certain. Ten points is entirely justified. Ten points for anyone of significance, five points for an ordinary schmo, and one point for a worthless bum. It might not have been agreed to before, but I'm telling you now that's how it's going to be".

"Volt, I think you've lost it", said Russ. "Snuffing out worthless bums is one thing, but Johnny MooMoo is entirely different. It can't happen again or the cops will start to take notice. You ain't getting no ten points either".

"I agree", William said, interrupting his friend. "By the way I find it incredibly convenient for Volt that Johnny MooMoo just happened to see me smash that bum's skull. He's been griping about Johnny's homeless shelter constantly since it opened two months ago".

"That's right William", Voltron responded. "That do-gooder lowered property values by attracting dozens of worthless vagrants to the area. I own an office building a block away, and the actions of this evil bastard had some of my tenants speaking of moving out. But you didn't like the guy either William".

"You've got that right", William agreed. "Johnny MooMoo was a tax and spend Liberal. Although, Johnny was at least calling for taxes that would apply to him. Most Liberal soak the rich types are ordinary schmoes who wouldn't be affected by the tax hikes they're calling for. I've said it before, but it's the easiest thing in the world to call for tax increases that don't apply to you. A frigging bum off the streets can do that".

"Bums and Liberals with their tin cups, both think we OWE them!" an outraged Russ suddenly yelled. "What Liberals fail to realize is that the last thing the productive people need is to be harassed all the time".

"Russ, I could not agree with you more". William clapped his friend on the back, then stood. "If there is one thing I can absolutely not abide, it's alcoholic panhandlers who spend whatever you give them on rotgut. I can stand them no more than you Volt".

"And the Liberal thieves like Johnny MooMoo who want the government to redistribute our money", Voltron added.

A look of pure rage appeared on William's face. "It's the plundering of the affluents, and it's got to stop" he declared. Picking up a large stick, William stuck it into the fire, stirring up the embers. "Johnny MooMoo is now nothing but ash and charred bone".

Grabbing a shovel from the back of his nearby pickup truck William began digging a hole directly next to the smoldering fire. "Well, let's get to it. Help me bury what's left of Johnny MooMoo so we can go home", William ordered his friends. Voltron and Russ took up shovels and soon they were scraping the contents of the fire into the hole they had dug.

"I spit on your grave", Voltron declared, hawking a loogie onto the freshly packed earth. Then, after throwing their shovels and other gear into the back of the truck, the three friends departed.

"Don't worry about it guys", Voltron assured his companions. "William's buddy Slade Leeds owns this property, and he's personal friends with the mayor. Nobody will ever find MooMoo's grave".

Image: Russ Teafeur looks on as the body of Johnny MooMoo is consumed by the roaring flames. William Hartenbaum and Vincent Vanderschmit (off-screen) pry the rails from a decaying ancient fence to feed the fire.

 swtd-87. polfi-8.  Previous. Next.

A Story That Makes No Sense Whatsoever

In battling evil, excess is good; for he who is moderate in announcing the truth is presenting half-truth. He conceals the other half out of fear of the people's wrath -- Kahlil Gibran (1/6/1883 to 4/10/1931) a Lebanese American artist, poet, and writer chiefly known in the English speaking world for his 1923 book "The Prophet", an early example of inspirational fiction including a series of philosophical essays written in poetic English prose.

"A story that makes no sense what-so-ever? You've got some nerve! I've sent you lamebrains dozens of short-story masterpieces and you've failed to publish a single one! Screw you, I'm done! You won't have William Hartenbaum to laugh at any longer!"

The man finished screaming and slammed down the phone. "Can you believe those nimrods?" he said to no one in particular. "Refuse to recognize my genius!"

William was still feeling quite high, as earlier in the day his buddy Slade had offered him a few tokes on his bong that he couldn't refuse. That was before the basilisk turned his poor friend to stone. One minute he was stoned, and the next he was literally a stone statue.

William tried to put the horror of the events that transpired only a few hours ago out of his mind and get back to work. "Please send my next appointment in", William said, pressing one of the buttons on the device sitting on his desk.

"Yes sir, I'll send Mr. Leeds right in", a disembodied female voice replied (it was actually his secretary Lynda).

"Whoa, that is weird", William giggled. "She's out there, but I can hear her in here!"

Then William nearly jumped out of his chair when he realized what name had come from the box on his desk. Lynda said she was sending in his dead friend Slade Leeds! How could that be possible? But before he could reason it through the door opened and in walked Slade Leeds in the flesh, or possibly a doppelganger. William readied the pistol he kept in a right-hand drawer just in case, aiming it at the look-alike from under his desk. He placed his finger on the trigger and almost fired, deciding at the last millisecond to see if he could deduce what this stranger's game was.

"Hello Slade, if that IS your name", William said, greeting the man he had presumed dead. He removed his finger from the trigger.

"Hello William", the disheveled man who could clearly not even dress himself replied. William surmised he was a sorcerer of some kind. He probably had cast some kind of spell, reversing the stoning that had killed his friend, then stripped him down and donned his clothing. The man's pants were on inside out, and the buttons of his blazer were in the wrong buttonholes!

"I was worried for your safety my friend", the disingenuous impostor said.

William put his finger back on the trigger and prepared to fire.

"You were SO high when you left the Quarry", Slade commented.

The Quarry was the name of the bar Slade owned, William remembered. Now it was coming back to him. His buddy and he had been up all night playing Dungeons & Dragons and getting wasted drinking and taking bong hits!

"I'm going to need that check back I gave you last night", Slade said. "You dented my Ferrari with your pickup when you left this morning. Pay my HOPS dues out of your pocket and we'll call it even", Slade explained, sticking out his hand.

"Wait a second", William protested. "The Higher Ordered Person's Society yearly dues are scheduled to be collected today. The manager from the head office will be here shortly and any member who isn't paid up will be assessed a late fee. I can't get the money to replace your check for at least a few hours".

"You're suggesting I drive around in a dented Ferrari?" Slade scoffed incredulously.

"Of course not Slade, that would be unseemly. I just need to get to the bank and make a withdrawal from my trust fund. I'll have the money for you when I drop by the Quarry later today", William assured his friend.

"Very well", Slade replied, "but I thought you were meeting up with Mark after work today".

"You may be right", William said, flipping through his day planner. There it was penciled in for 3pm. He was supposed to meet Mark downtown where they would hand out HOPS fliers.

"Can it wait until tomorrow?" William asked his friend. "My dedication to the Society comes first. We've got to convince as many people as possible to call Democrat Congresspersons and urge them to concede as much as necessary to get the debt ceiling raised".

Slade really admired his friend when he spoke with such metaphysical certainty about the Moderate organization they had both dedicated their lives to.

"Of course buddy. I'll drop the Ferrari off at the shop today, take a cab home, and drive the Hummer until the damage is repaired. I'll send you a bill and you can pay it whenever".

"Sure", William agreed. What the hell did he care? His dearly departed father had left him almost a billion dollars when he died, but his friend Slade was just a lowly millionaire.

"To the Society", Slade declared, extending his arm again.

William stood and extended his arm. They performed the secret handshake and William echoed his friend's sentiments, "to the Society!" he declared.

 swtd-86. polfi-7.  Previous. Next.

The Ballad of a Liberal Led Astray by Moral Depravity and Greed

One should judge a man mainly from his depravities. Virtues can be faked. Depravities are real -- Klaus Kinski (10/18/1926 to 11/23/1991) a German actor who appeared in over 130 films, and is perhaps best-remembered as a leading role actor in Werner Herzog films.

"I'm sad to see you've sunk to such depths. This cannot be good for your mental health", the Liberal's life coach cautioned him. "You used to tell the truth, but now you're engaging in such depravities. The Right may believe that they are more virtuous, but they approve of cutting government programs that benefit the less fortunate. Private charities and individual giving will fill the gap, they say, even though the fact is that's a bunch of hooey".

"I'm sorry, but you can't appeal to the good nature of an individual who's morally depraved", the Liberal responded. "By the way, you're fired. Morally depravity is quite expensive and I can no longer afford your services. The booze, the women and the fine dining now consume all my discretionary income".

"That is unfortunate", the life coach lamented. "Please get in touch with me if you ever decide to resurrect your former persona whose primary concern was spreading the truth".

"I will do that", the Liberal agreed. "I'm so schizophrenic that I may just circle around again to that personality".

"That guy seriously needs help", the life coach thought to himself as the Liberal departed. "He didn't mention any harder drugs, but often times those are the substances morally depraved individuals will partake in. Perhaps I should contact his friends and family and set up an intervention".

Then the life coach remembered he had just been fired. "That Liberal may have been a good customer for awhile, but I don't work for free". He then put the troubles of the Liberal out of his head and promised himself that he'd concentrate on solving the problems of paying customers.

After engaging in morally depraved acts for several weeks the Liberal felt that he had been laid low. "I believe the saying, only the good die young, was most likely total bullsh*t propagated by sinners practicing the morally depraved lifestyle", the Liberal informed his doctor when asked what ailed him.

"I agree with your diagnosis", the doctor responded. "However, you've been late in paying your bills, and my advice isn't free", the doctor continued. "Unfortunately I'm going to have to ask you to leave right now unless you can settle your account in cash".

"That's the solution!" the Liberal declared, jumping off the examining table and rushing out the door.

Later he met with his stockbroker. "I've decided to become a greedy capitalist pig", the Liberal announced.

"That's the spirit!" the stockbroker shouted gleefully.

"I've pooled my remaining funds and now hand everything over to you", the Liberal said, presenting the stockbroker with a suitcase filled with cash. "The winners I've selected are written on a piece of paper inside", he instructed. "Buy those stocks and we will both be rich men".

"Wouldn't you rather rely on my advice? That is what you're paying me for", the bewildered stockbroker queried.

"I would not", the Liberal responded. "As you recall I am now a greedy capitalist pig, and as everyone knows -- the system is rigged in our favor. The stocks I've selected will surely increase in value".

"If you say so, the stockbroker responded. Just remember that I get paid my commission either way".

"Have faith", the Liberal reassured his financial expert. "I used to be an ayatollah, and it just so happens that I can still access those lines of communication. This information comes from on high".

"Plus", he revealed, "all one really has to do is examine what the Congressional Republicans are up to. Who are they voting against ending subsidies for? Which industries are they proposing be further deregulated? From which lobbyists are they receiving the most donations? The corporations that the Republicans favor will be the businesses that I buy stock in. In other words, if you can't beat em, make money with em".

The Liberal exited the room, leaving the stockbroker alone with the suitcase of money.

"That guy's kukoo", the stockbroker thought to himself. "Still, let me check and see if his selections are any good". A smile crept over his face after opening the suitcase and examining the list. "Clearly that Liberal has successfully completed the transformation into a greedy capitalist pig".

Several weeks later the Liberal rolled up to his former place of worship in a brand new sports car.

"I've decided to make a sizable donation to ease my conscience", the Liberal informed his pastor.

"I was under the impression that you had forsaken your faith", the pastor responded.

"After enjoying a life of debauchery for a while I eventually decided to renounce all my vices except one", the Liberal admitted.

"As you probably deduced from the expensive sports car I arrived in, I am doing very well. I am now a greedy capitalist pig".

"I am sorry to hear that", the Liberal's pastor consoled him. "As you know, being a Liberal myself (as was Jesus) I do not teach the prosperity gospel. That's a Conservative fairy tale Republicans use to justify their greed".

"I'm not looking to justify my greed, I'm only interested in mollifying my guilty conscience -- hence the sizable donation".

The pastor thought about it for 1 second. "I will accept your donation, as it will help alleviate the suffering of my many parishioners affected by this conservative-caused recession. I will also pray for your soul. May you once again spread the truth instead of succumbing to delusions of being a judge, an ayatollah, or a lord. May you also cease your acts of moral depravity", the pastor intoned, laying his hands upon the downtrodden Liberal.

"I believe you have lost your way, my son", the holy man remarked. "Otherwise you wouldn't have concluded that the Conservatives cannot be beat. Our creator said, For evildoers shall be cut off: but those that wait upon the LORD, they shall inherit the earth. In our time it is Rich Republican a-holes who are the evildoers that passage refers to", the pastor explained.

"Why, I've never heard you speak like this from the pulpit!" the surprised Liberal exclaimed.

"Of course not", the pastor revealed, "I don't want to lose my tax-exempt status. I feel free to speak my mind in private, however".

"The only act which will wash away your guilt is for you to return to your former truth-telling ways", the pastor informed the Liberal. "I implore you to take some time and pray on it. If, however, in the meantime you decide to make another sizable donation...".

"Thank you for the advice, I will certainly take it under consideration", the Liberal interrupted, pressing a check into the pastor's hand.

"Before you go", the pastor said, taking hold of the Liberal's wrist, "I want to let you know how much I enjoy your blog".

The Liberal looked confused. Then he said, "I don't blog. I've never even been online. You must have me mixed up with some other morally depraved former truth teller who became a greedy capitalist pig".

"I guess so, unlikely as that sounds", the disbelieving pastor replied. "Perhaps my advice could help this other individual who traveled a remarkably similar path".

"I think it could", the Liberal agreed. "Perhaps you should contact this other lost soul and similarly console him".

"I may do just that", the pastor said. But the Liberal had already gone. Looking out a window the pastor saw the Liberal hop into the front seat of his sports car and take off down the road at what must be a speed that quickly exceeded the legal limit. The pastor turned and sat down in front of his computer, opened a browser window and began surfing the internet.

Update 8/8/2015: The Liberal in this story, Joe Truth (aka Joe Hagstrom aka Joe Kelly aka Truth101) has converted to Republicanism. Or, he is currently pretending to be a Republican. Or adopted a Republican persona for purposes of writing humorous commentaries on the website Mad Mike's America.

Update 7/25/2025: decopy AI (detects AI generated text) says their authoritative conclusion is, "we are highly confident this text looks like AI generated. 52% Probability AI generated". However, when I wrote this story AI text generation did not exist and I have not modified the text since I published it. "Probability Analysis" says, "the probability this text has been written by a human, AI or a mix of the two. 28% Human, 41% Mixed, 31% AI". LOL?

 swtd-69. polfi-5.  Previous. Next.