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~ Finding, formulating and solving life's frustrations.

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Tag Archives: satire

President Mush? Just Flush.

16 Monday Jun 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, driverless cars, satire

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

blog, comedy, Democracy, fiction, life, politics, satire, story, truth, USA, writing

Sure.

Forty percent. That’s a wonderful number. Most people have a sense of what that means. It’s a large percentage but it’s not quite a majority. If you are a Major League Baseball slugger and you get a hit 40% of the time, that’s a lot! That puts you in rare company. 

So, when President Mush Melon says forty percent of Medicare calls are fraudulent, that’s a lot! You quite understandably think: What’s wrong with an organization that deals so badly with fraud that 40% of the calls are fraudulent?

And, you might also quite understandably think: What’s wrong with so many of my fellow Americans? Forty percent of them try to cheat the medicare system!

But you know what? It was a lie. It wasn’t a hitter like Ted Williams or Ty Cobb or Aaron Judge. Not at all. It was instead someone who wouldn’t even make the farm team because they were batting worse than .001

Photo by Mandie Inman on Pexels.com

Maybe there’s something special about baseball. Well, there is of course. There’s something special about everything. But it isn’t that there’s a big difference between 40% and less than 1%. That kind of difference is important almost all the time. 

Let’s say you work for a company and you are reasonably satisfied with your job. Then, one day, you get a call from a recruiter who says:

 “Say! Instead of working for the ABC company, we’d like you to come work at the XYZ company. Furthermore, we are offering you a 40% pay raise! What do you say?”

Photo by Photo By: Kaboompics.com on Pexels.com


Presumably, you’d do some research, but you’d likely end up accepting the offer. Now imagine that you quit your old job, move across town, say goodbye to your old friends, start your take your new job and then you discover that you actually got less than a 1% raise. Would you just say, “Oh, well any raise is good.”?  Maybe, but I doubt it. Most of us would be very angry to leave our job and our work colleagues under false pretenses. 

Let’s take another example. Your “friend” will pay you ten million dollars to play Russian Roulette once. He shows you twenty ‘six-shooters’. He tells you (and you verify) that only one of the twenty six-shooters has any ammo in it. That one has one bullet in the cylinder. You’ll be blind folded and then choose one gun, spin the cartridge, put the muzzle to your head and pull the trigger once. If you live, you get ten million dollars. You might think of all the things you could be you and your family for ten million dollars. 

You choose to play. But then, your “friend” loads every gun with two or three bullets. Are you still going to play? Would you be upset that he misrepresented your odds that blatantly? 

Please understand that these are not “innocent mistakes” or “slight exaggerations.” That is the difference between 39% and 40%, not between 40% and less than one per cent. To make that kind of mistake, you need to have evil intent or suffer from gross incompetence.

Not an actual photo from hell but an AI-generated image.



But this President Mush Melon isn’t just someone setting out to destroy the American government and the confidence of people (though some snowflake liberals would say that’s quite bad enough). No, he’s also in charge of cars that are supposed to drive themselves. Would you want someone who has evil intent to be building cars that drive themselves? Oh, maybe he’s just grossly incompetent. Well—same question: Would you want someone grossly incompetent to be building cars that drive themselves? Oh, by the way, this same someone can download new software so that your car behaves differently!

No worries! The Cybertruck only has a top speed of 130 miles per hour and only weighs between 6600 and 10,000 pounds, so what could possibly go wrong? It’s not as though it could run over you in your driveway. Over and over and over and over.

AI-generated to the following prompt (keep in mind, AI technology is supposed to be driving your self-driving car). “A Tesla Cybertruck that is a dumpster fire”



But wait! There’s more! President Mush Melon also happens to own a company that controls communications satellites used for—-among other things—-war fighting and voting. No problems there, right? It’s all okay so long as there’s no evil intent or gross incompetence.

But wait! There’s more! The Mush Melon also happens to control a company that shoots missiles out over your head. And, the best part is—they never unexpectedly explode! Sure, they suffer from catastrophic unscheduled disassembly. But we’ve all had days like that.

Well, okay, sure there’s some danger having someone in charge of missiles when we know that person lies or suffers from massive incompetence, but hey—at least it’s not a pizza shop, right? You’d know a bad pizza soon after you bought it no matter how many lies the cook told you.

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com



On the other hand, it might be some time before you see the impact of your self-driving truck under someone else’s control, or the results of cutting off crucial communications, or the havoc caused by missiles exploding—excuse me—-rapidly disassembling— at unscheduled times.

Though on the other hand, you might feel this is all worth it because, after all, this person makes billions and billions of dollars a year and therefore provides a huge influx of cash to the U.S. Treasure to the tune of nearly…

Wait…

Nothing? Nothing? Are you kidding? The supposedly richest man in the world pays zero income tax. 

But he gives huge contributions of money to a Presidential candidate who then drops all the cases about Mush Melon’s frauds?

The Melon and the Felon: A marriage made in heaven. What’s a good name for the couple? I’m thinking just MF for short. We could call the Felon by 47 but what’s a special number of the Melon? Oh, there’s the form he is supposed to submit to Congress — FS-86.  So, I suppose they could go by 8647 or 4786. 

https://oversightdemocrats.house.gov/news/press-releases/committee-democrats-demand-elon-musks-sf-86-and-other-background-investigation

Other possibilities: 

Con, Don, Elon

Boy of Dough & Tech Bro

Ketty Mean and Allderall

The Mobster and the Monster

The Toddler and Toddler Junior

What are your suggestions? 

Their song? Hmm. Here’s my suggestion, embarrassingly obvious as it is: 

Lie, Lie, Lie.

After all, it is a marriage made in heaven. 

Or, at least some unearthly place.

What could possibly go wrong?

——————————

D4

dick-TATERS

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Crows and Me

Siren Song

Essays on America: The Game

The Stopping Rule

What about the Butter Dish?

Wednesday

At Least he’s Our Monster

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

Putin’s Favorite DOG-E

E-Fishiness Comes to Mass General

Take a Glance; Join the Dance

Life is a Dance

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

The Forest

Dance of Billions

Peace

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

E-Fishiness Comes to Mass General Hospital

04 Friday Apr 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

Democracy, DOGE, life, politics, satire, truth, USA

Consistently ranked as one of the top ten Hospitals in America, this week, Massachusetts General Hospital was lucky enough to be visited by a crack team of hacker-jackers to improve the efficiency of the hospital. And, boy did they!! Pull up a chair and throw a log on the campfire, boys and girls. You’ll be amazed at how much money they saved!

And by “saved” I mean “saved from going into stupid, unglamorous things like bedpans and surgical masks and instead being funneled into the pockets of billionaires.” It’s not all that surprising. After all, it’s well known that poor people tend to waste their money on trivialities like food, clothing, shelter, and child care while billionaire geniuses tend to spend their money on important things like buying yachts, vacation homes, Judges on the US Extreme Court, and golden toilet seats.

We don’t typically think of surgeons as “poor people” but compared with the greediest people on the planet they sure are! The average salary of surgeons is only about 300 thousand dollars a year while world’s greediest man made over $200 billion! If we round down the surgeon salaries because they often pay taxes, we discover that he makes a million times more than a surgeon! So, it’s not really a great surprise that he can also make a hospital a million times more efficient! 

First, President Mush discovered that every single patient seen at Mass General Hospital in its first one hundred years of existence (1811 to 1911) died! Yes, you heard that right: Died! Despite its reputation and ranking, not a single patient seen in that entire century is still alive!

(AI generated image to the prompt: “A graveyard with scores of tombstones. Each tombstone shows birth dates and death dates in the 1800’s.” Notice any issues?).



So, the first brilliant insight of The World’s Greediest Man is simply that Mass General Hospital is actually no better at preserving life than no hospital at all! Everyone who lived during those same years (1811 to 1911) and did not go to Mass General is also dead. There’s no difference! All that money wasted on medical care made no difference at all in the end. 

A good workman doesn’t blame their tools. But that doesn’t mean that tools don’t differ in their efficiency. Surgeons, probably because they have a phallic fixation, prefer long thin tools like scalpels, catheters, and scissors. These are not tools for fast work though. For instance, a typical quadruple bypass surgery takes three to six hours! Are you kidding me!? No wonder hospitalization is so expensive. 

President Mush and his cracker-jack hackers discovered that there is no part of the human anatomy that cannot be cut much faster with an ordinary chain saw. Sure, the feminized, woke, namby-pamby doctor boys will say that a chain saw isn’t delicate enough for heart surgery. How ridiculous is that? If it’s good enough to hack limbs off a tree, it’s good enough to hack cholesterol out of an artery or whatever the hell it is these pretty boys do during heart surgery. 

(AI generated image to the prompt: “A hospital operating room with bright lights. A patient is on the table. The patient is being operated on by a surgeon wielding a chain saw.”)

Not only are there direct savings from having more efficient surgical tools. There are side benefits. When surgery takes three to six hours, time is wasted prepping the patient, giving them pain-killers, monitoring their vital signs, giving them blood—on and on and on. You don’t need such an elaborate set-up when you use a chain saw. 

There are other advantages and cost-savings as well. There’s no room between here and the end of this article to list them all in detail, but you can take The World’s Greediest Man at his word. It doesn’t matter if he lies every day on the platform he bought to spout lies. He might lie about test results or political matters but certainly not when it comes to money. 

One simple example arises from vastly simplified training programs. Limit doctoring to rich, white, Nazi, males since they are obviously superior. In fact, they are so superior that they demand every aspect of society be even more unfairly tilted so they are guaranteed a win in everything. That proves they’re superior. While training a doctor today takes more than a decade, you can show a rich, white, Nazi male how to run a chain saw in minutes! 

For this and other reasons, formulas, fudging, faking, numbers, data, hand-waving, obfuscation, and moving things over three to ten decimal points, President Mush and his hacker-jacks will be able to cut over $5 trillion dollars from Medicare and Medicaid thus enabling an additional $500 trillion dollars to flow into the pockets of The World’s Greediest Man. These savings will also erase the national debt and cause water to flow uphill. Do the math! 

This money, by the way, will not be spent on some stupid vanity project such as saving starving children or keeping the earth’s ecosystems from collapsing. Instead, it will be spent on something important and visionary—establishing a Cult Colony on Mars for President Mush and a carefully chosen cohort of consorts to populate the red planet.

Let’s face it. Earth is overrun with all sorts of life forms that are not The World’s Greediest Man. Why would anyone want that? Yech! Spiders! Bees! Trees! Birds! Bacteria, for God’s sake. Mold. Mushrooms. Flowers. Polar bears. Dragonflies. None of them is a problem on Mars. It’s got sand and rocks. And, once The Greediest Man on Earth is there, it will have everything it needs. 

(AI generated image to the prompt: “Two rectangular panels. On the left is an image of a lush and beautiful garden with flowers, birds, and butterflies. On the right is an image of the Martian desert with no plants of any kind. Nothing green appears in the right hand image.” This was my fourth attempt to remove any plants from the image of Mars!)

————-

The Irony Age

Silent Screams of Dead Men’s Dreams

Destroying Natural Intelligence

Interview with Putrid’s DOG-E

Putin’s Favorite DOG-E

Increased Government E-Fishiness 

The Unread Red

Destroying Our Government Effectiveness

Running with the Bulls in a China Shop

A Day at the HR Department

The Ides of February

Ohms Come in Many Flavors

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

Dance of Billions

Increased E-Fishiness in Government

26 Wednesday Feb 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, essay

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

AI, Artificial Intelligence, Business, Democracy, DOGE, health, leadership, life, politics, satire, USA

Increased government efficiency! Sign me up! That sounds great! 

It sounds especially great if your billionaire-owned media companies keep reminding you that you are paying too much in taxes! Not only that! The national debt keeps going up, up, up and your kids and grandkids will have to pay even more in taxes. And, hey—if billionaires don’t end up paying any taxes, that actually a good thing because that way they can create lots of new jobs! And, besides, if they weren’t doing something worth billions and billions of dollars, why would they be so rich? Of course they deserve it! And, if CEO’s weren’t paid outrageous salaries, they wouldn’t even be CEO’s and some second rate person would just run the company into the ground. 

It all sounds so plausible. Yet, every bit of it is a lie. But it isn’t just a bunch of lies that’s been told here and there by a few people. It’s been propagated over and over and over and over again for decades on various media and on social media. It’s been propagated on podcasts, and books, and pamphlets. 

“That old lady doesn’t deserve to steal your one cookie! Watch out for her!”

Here are some things to consider.

The very greediest people in the world are not necessarily the most competent. Most jobs are actually created by small businesses, not by giant corporations. Giant corporations often outsource jobs to other countries where the labor is cheaper and where they don’t have to follow any pesky child labor laws or safety in the workplace regulations. Increasingly, giant corporations look to automate more and more jobs and to use AI to replace people. 

Highly paid CEO’s have often run giant companies into the ground. Remember that on your next trip to Montgomery Ward’s or Radio Shack. Who else? Lehman Brothers, Bank of New England, Texaco, Chrysler, Enron, PG&E, GM, WorldCom and a host of others. But wait! GM still makes cars. I can get gas at a Texaco station. How could it be that they went bankrupt. You bailed out GM. Texaco went bankrupt, but the brand name was still worth something. Chevron owns the brand. 

Also note that in countries where the CEO’s are only paid ten times the average wage of their employees instead of a thousand times as much, the CEO’s do just as good a job. 

Are government agencies sometimes inefficient? You bet your life! And you know what else is sometimes inefficient? Everything! Small businesses are inefficient. Large businesses are inefficient. Medium sized businesses are inefficient. Your car engine is inefficient. Your body is inefficient. Your furnace is inefficient. Your stove is inefficient. 

You know what is 100% efficient? Things in your dreams. Things in your imagination. I’m not only efficient in my dreams—my God!—I can frigging fly! When I play basketball in my dreams, I can not only jump higher than I ever have in real life, I can hover near the rim! It’s amazing how well I can play various sports when I dream about them. 

(AI generated image of an oldster jumping high in a dream.)

But that’s not reality. 

In reality, yes, you can improve the efficiency of systems. But to do so effectively, you have to understand the systems you are trying to make more efficient. Here are just a few of the things you need to understand. 

You need to understand what the purpose of the system is. How is its performance measured? Who are the stakeholders? What are the different roles that people play? What formal processes and procedures do various people have to follow? What are the unwritten norms that people follow? These are often more important than the formal processes. 

You may recall the scene from  the movie A Few Good Men when the attorney points out that “Code Red” is nowhere in the manual. He implies that if “Code Red” is not in the manual, it does not exist. Tom Cruise points out the absurdity of this by asking the witness to point out in the manual where it lays out where the mess hall is. Of course, it doesn’t say that because people learn from others where it is.

In almost every complex organization, people find critical short-cuts and work-arounds to improve the efficiency and effectiveness of the organization. In fact, one of the things people sometimes do to protest idiocy on the part of management is to “Work by the Rule” which means they will not do the things they have discovered make things easier but instead follow the written rules to the letter which typically slows things down considerably. 

During the 1990’s, management fell in love with something called “Business Process Re-engineering.” This is how it often worked (or, to put it more honestly, how it often failed to work). Management consultants would come in and talk to a few third or fourth level managers to find out how the work was performed now. The consultants would then construct a map of how things worked (often called the “is map”) and then, they would figure out a more efficient way to do things and map that out; the “to be map.” Then, it was the job of management to make people use the new “more efficient” process rather than the old process. 

(AI generated image of the Trumputin Misadministration.)

That seems like a good idea—right? Well, yes, in a dream, it’s a good idea. But in reality, the third or fourth level manager hardly ever knows how things are actually done. Their mental model is a vast oversimplification. To understand what is going on in reality, you must observe the people actually doing the work and talk to them as well. 

Below is a link to a satirical piece I wrote some time ago that imagines “Business Process Re-engineering” coming to Major League Baseball to make it more efficient. It is meant to make it obvious how silly it is. 

But what DOGE is doing is much worse that Business Process Re-engineering. Even putting aside the obvious conflicts of interest and the illegality of what they are doing, they are going about “improving” things without even understanding the high level over-simplification of what is happening! 

Imagine you slipped on the ice and broke your arm. Sadly, it’s not a simple fracture. It’s a compound fracture. This means your bone is sticking out through your skin. You are in a great deal of pain. But no worries! While you are going to the emergency room, a group of teen-age hackers go on-line and examine all your private medical records. They discover that you were vaccinated for smallpox, measles, mumps, and whooping cough. Not only that—they look through a sample of other records and find that more than 90% of the Americans who break their arms have been vaccinated for these diseases! Voila! The vaccinations must be the real cause of your broken arm! 

(An AI-generated image for the following prompt: “A man has a compound fracture of the upper arm. The arm bone (the humerus)  is jutting out of his shirt and his arm. He is bleeding.”)

These folks don’t know diddly squat about medicine, but they sure know how to hack into systems in order to get data! What they are not so good at, however, is making valid inferences about the data they find. You cannot conclude anything from the fact that 90% of Americans who break their arms have been vaccinated without also finding out about other things. For instance, you also need to know what percentage of Americans who have not been vaccinated have also broken their arms. Suppose it’s 95%. That might mean that vaccinations serve some protective function about bones. Or not. We need to look at other things too. But, let’s suppose that they do look at that and it turns out that only 80% of Americans who have not been vaccinated break their arms. See! See! Surely, that proves that vaccinations cause arm breakage. 

Not so fast. You still need to look at other factors. Suppose that people who do not get vaccinated tend to die at a much younger age. That could easily account for the difference. All sorts of factors have some influence on the incidence of fractures. Just to name a few, it depends on the type of fracture; it depends on age; it depends on the prevalence of certain activities (people who ski, or paraglide might tend to break more bones than people playing chess); it depends on diet; it depends on weight bearing exercise. If you lift weights and go to the gym, you help protect yourself from fractures. Of course, separating out all these factors takes time and takes expertise. You can’t expect someone, not matter how brilliant a hacker they are, to find an answer. 

But hey! We left you in the emergency room! Sadly, we left you there all by yourself. There are no human experts at the hospital, as it turns out, because the hospital was closed due to lack of funding. You happen to be unlucky enough to have been born in a rural area of the country. There’s only one nearby hospital and much of its funding has been cut. It has to operate with a skeleton crew. But, as it turns out, skeletons, ironically, don’t actually know that much about medicine. They are, after all, skeletons. And while a hacker might come to the conclusion that skeletons are much more efficient than flesh and blood humans (lighter, no caloric requirements), it turns out that they cannot move or think without other parts of the body. To make up for that, DOGE put in some automation and AI systems. But they didn’t have time to debug the system before moving on to the next project. 

(AI generated image).

The last thing you experienced before passing out and dying from sepsis was this little snippet of dialogue with the AI system.

“Hello! I am the brilliant AI system called MUSH: Multi-User System for Health. I am here to help you with your medical problem! What seems to be your problem?”

“I broke my arm. Can’t you see? My bone is sticking out through my shirt sleeve.”

“Excellent! We’ll have that fixed in no time. Please put your insurance card in the slot provided.”

“I can’t. It’s in my wallet and I can’t reach it with my left hand. And I can’t move my right arm at all.” 

“Excellent! We’ll have that fixed in no time. Please put your insurance card in the slot provided.”

“I need a human operator.” 

“Excellent! We’ll have that fixed in no time. Please put your insurance card in the slot provided.”

“No, you don’t get it. I have an insurance card but I can’t reach it.”

“You have failed three times to insert your insurance card. Next patient please. I hope you will fill out a short questionnaire about your experience with MUSH: Multi-User System for Health.”

—————

Destroying Our Government’s Effectiveness

Absolute is not just a Vodka

Running with the Bulls in a China Shop

The Truth Train

Essays on America: The Game

You Bet Your Life

Business Process Re-engineering comes to Baseball

A Day at the HR Department 

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Dance of Billions

FaceGook

10 Friday Jan 2025

Posted by petersironwood in America, satire

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

fiction, life, politics, satire, social media, truth, USA

NEWSFLASH: BREAKING NEWS! 

(AI generated image)

The Mayor of FaceGook, Dark Suckaberg, has announced that the City of FaceGook will no longer be wasting money on such trivialities as sewage treatment plants or proving clean drinking water to the netizens of FaceGook. In his press briefing today, Suckaberg said, “After all, who is to say whether urine and feces are bad or good for people? I heard somewhere that urine has antiseptic properties and that sometimes, autoimmune diseases of the intestines can be treated with feces. And, hasn’t excrement been used as fertilizer for centuries? The last thing we need is for so-called “experts” or “moderators” to decide what’s good or bad for people. Why waste tax dollars on such authoritarian excesses?”

(Image generated with AI)

Asked whether these changes would result in lower taxes, Suckaberg replied, “Of course! We’ll save tons of money so we will lower taxes on the rich, which, as everyone knows, makes everyone more successful. The money that has up to now been wasted on clean drinking water will instead be channeled toward more productive water sports. My tech bros and I will be launching an exciting program to design and build an undersea luxury submarine designed to cross under the South Pole.” 

A reporter from Huffing&Puffing Post asked a follow up query. “How will you take a sub under the South Pole? The North Pole was water covered with ice. There was water underneath. But the South Pole…”

Suckaberg waved his hands to dispel the bad vibes. “On August 3rd, 1958, an atomic sub first completed an underwater transit of the North Pole. Our goal is to do the same for the South Pole on August 3rd, 2028 to mark the 150th anniversary of the event.”




(AI generated image)






Another reporter, this time from the Washington Postage Rubber Stamp seemed fixated on the same irrelevant issue. “It’s solid rock down below the South Pole. You can’t just take a sub through it.” 

Suckaberg arranged his facial muscles in a well-trained imitation of a smile. “Debbie downer! That’s why no-one pays attention any more to the main scream press. So negative! Why would someone make a North Pole of water and a South Pole of land. That makes no sense whatsoever. They are literally polar opposites. So, obviously, they are the same. Geez. But even if that were true, we could simply add one of EM’s Big Bad Drill Baby Drills to the front and drill our own damned hole if the designers were too stupid to put one there—which I seriously doubt, by the way. Anyway, let’s not get off track. This is only one way we’ll improve the lives of every netizen of FaceGook. We’ll also be saving money by privatizing police and fire services for FaceGook. Instead of the notoriously inefficient public police and fire departments, we’ll let each netizen provide their own individualized police and fire services. Much more profitable. After all, if one of your mansions is being robbed, wouldn’t you pay a pretty penny to stop the burglar cold? Or, if it were being burned to the ground, wouldn’t you pay an even prettier penny to prevent that?”

(Imagine above mis-generated by AI)

Suckaberg could see there were still frowns upon the faces of some of the reporters. One seemed to be checking a calculator. And, many were impolitely waving their hands and shouting questions. He thought, What the hell do these people think a press briefing is anyway?” But, being the good sport he was, Suckaberg said, “I’ll answer one more question.” He glanced at his wrist pretending there was an Apple Watch there. “I don’t want to be late for a rocket launch. Now, how about you there?”

He pointed to a random dude in the crowd who happened to be from the New York Chimes In. The man asked the stupidest question yet; viz., “Do you think the netizens of FaceGook will appreciate these changes? Do they have any say?” 

Suckaberg guffawed so hard he nearly wet himself. “I own the whole damned thing. I get to do whatever the hell I want. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about the netizens of FaceGook. I think about what’s best for them. I am giving them freedom to test their own drinking water and the freedom to put whatever they want in the reservoir. They don’t have to put toxic wastes or human waste in the reservoir if they don’t want to. But, as the saying goes, ‘What’s a gander that gooses two in the bush?’ That’s it for now.” With that, Suckaberg, turned on his heel and slid behind a grey curtain leaving some of the audience to wonder how these changes would impact the value of the real estate in FaceGook. 

One woman mumbled to the reporter next to her, “He may own it, but how much would it really be worth without any netizens contributing their time and effort?” 

—————-

Author Page 

Roar, Ocean, Roar

Imagine All the People

The First Ring of Empathy

A Pattern Language for Cooperation

Tools of Thought

Turing’s Nightmares — Short stories about the future of AI

Fit in Bits — Suggestions for putting more fun, variety, and exercise into daily activities

The Winning Weekend Warrior — The mental game for all sports

FREEDOM!!

Freedom of Speech is not a license to kill

You Know (right from wrong)

Don’t Say Gray!

20 Thursday Apr 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, poetry, politics

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, diversity, fascism, poem, poetry, politics, satire, USA

“Don’t say ‘gray’, oh me oh my.

Ban the rainbow, prisms too!

And by extension, ban all glass

You can never be too careful!

Better ban those solar nerds

And better yet the sun’s own light!

Let’s make this earth the living hell 

That God intended it to be!

“It’s not enough; I should have known!

Even though I’ve kept it out of sight.

Folks talk still of hope and light.

The very words should be a knell

That immigrants are coming here!

Hide your Bible! They draw near!

Women are a problem too, I knew

I needed them in shackles too.

“And yet the heaven I foresaw 

Is nowhere near the fun I thought.

I hear God telling me that only those

Who give me gold and loyalty

Deserve their place beneath my feet.

The rest can burn in hell right here.

You have to wonder if they see

How foolish they have been for me.” 

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

It’s not your fault; send me money

Poker Chip

Essays on America: The Game

How the Nightingale Learned to Sing

Hot Dog

The Truth Train

My Cousin Bobby

The Stopping Rule

The Update Problem

Essays on America: Wednesday

Labelism

D4: Dictator’s Degenerative Delusional Disease

Ironic

28 Saturday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, satire, story

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Democracy, fiction, irony, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

So, our instructor assigned us to write a story with a strong emphasis on irony. Mine is about a hypothetical future American tragedy of a coup financed and designed by the Kremlin. By way of summary, this is how it related to irony and I appended this to the story for the instructor’s edification. 

“And, the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy was this: even though he spent his entire life conning others, it was beyond his ken to consider that Vlademort Putrid was likewise conning him. He had been lying and bragging so long about his competence in all things that he actually came to believe he was smarter and a better strategist than Putrid. Putrid likely could have done it alone. But, of course, he did not do it alone. Putrid had the collaboration of highly trained, highly dedicated KBG/GRU professionals to help. 

“In principle, perhaps he could have enlisted American experts, but he didn’t feel the need. Furthermore, he faced a real dilemma. He couldn’t openly ask any but the corrupt for help against American interests. And those who were corrupt were generally far less competent and always less well connected to a healthy network of professionals than their more numerous and genuinely patriotic counterparts. 

“I said that was the most ironic part of the whole American tragedy, but there are near contenders. Another highly ironic part of his entire con game was that the played the game as though the only thing in the universe that mattered was his own pleasure. Of course, no matter what moves he made or is yet to make, he is not actually immortal in and of himself. By lying to himself and everyone else, he essentially cut himself off from being part of The Great Tree of Life (or at least from being a non-cancerous part). Rather than living on through his actions that benefited the whole, he delimited his life, curtailed it, circumscribed it to his own physical mortality. 

“The intertwined corollary of the above is that even while he lived, he missed out on the best feeling in life: being in caring and loving honest relationships. In order to absolutely and positively ensure that he grabbed as much as possible for himself, he limited his “prizes” to mere material crap and the pleasure of cruelty. “

So, this is how they responded: 

“When it comes to being ironic, this is definitely A plus material. 

However, sad to say, there are also some serious problems with your narrative. First, of all Americans are too well educated to fall for the lies of a known con man. And, why not simply make the character more believable? It’s not plausible that so many people would fall for the con. Apart from that, the cowardice you portray on the part of so many within his own party is also unbelievable. 

Still, the mechanics of the writing was also clean, so I’m giving you a B+. Next time, focus on believability rather than forgoing that to punch the irony.”

Was that a fair grade, I ask you? 


Poker Chip

Donnie’s Final Gift

Plans for US; some GRUesome

Three Blind Mice

Stoned Soup

The Ailing King of Agitate

Dick-Taters

The Titanic

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Trumpism is a New Religion

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: The Stopping Rule

Essays on America: The Update Problem

Wednesday

Labelism

My Cousin Bobby

Where Does Your Loyalty Lie?

Dance of Billions

Kevin Unclogs the Toilet

03 Tuesday Jan 2023

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

fiction, House, parody, politics, satire, story, truth, USA

A Story of Pure Fiction

The manager of the hotel (or, “Stable Mighty Emperor Genius Maganificent Adiposity*” as he prefers to be called) called Kevin on his private, “Master Only Line.”

“Kevin? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

“Well, I … “

“Get down here. Now! I have a pipe I need you to unclog!”

“Are you serious? I’m in the fight of my political life here! And, anyway, I don’t know plumbing.” 

“Get down here. Or, you’ll never get my endorsement again. Come clean my pipes and I’ll make sure you get the position you deserve.” 

“I don’t know how to clean pipes!” 

“Get down here. I’ll show you everything you need to know.” 

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on Pexels.com

————-

A few hours later, at taxpayer’s expense, Kevin arrived and was ushered into SMEGMA’s anteroom to wait. After a few hours without any communication, a scantily clad model ushered Kevin into SMEGMA’s office which stank of rotting, overcooked Brussel sprouts, slug slime, and limburger cheese gone bad. 

Kevin began extending his hand, but the odor nearly knocked him down. He jerked his hand back reflexively. He reeled from the Putrid smell and steadied himself by putting his hand on a nearby table. Unfortunately, it rested ever so briefly on a plate of cold catsup-covered French fries. The hand that was supposed to steady him instead slid violently off the table causing him to twist as he fell through the air and smacked hard into the rug. The thought flashed through his mind: “Thank God he’s got really large piles.” (Unlike his iPhone, Kevin’s brain had no autocorrect.)

One of the hard metal legs of an ergonomic chair nearly hit his skull. Kevin cried out in fear, pain, and outrage. The fall and twist and pain combined to disorient Kevin. The laugh disoriented him even more. “Whose (Unlike his iPhone, Kevin’s brain had no autocorrect.)

 laughing? Why? I nearly broke my arm — and my head. And what is that smell?” 

“That was great, Kevy. Do it again!”

“Do what again? Are you serious? I damn near killed myself!”

“So what? It gave me pleasure. Well, never mind. The moment is at lapsed.” (This brain was missing more than a spell-check app!). 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

“Look, Master, I have a fight to get back to. Can you just tell me where the pipes are you need cleaned. And, what is that smell?!”

“Just like everyone else who’se everyone held office held, I may have had people flush classified documents down the toilet. It’s the most beautiful golden toilet in the world, by the way, the universe, the galaxy, even the whole solar system!” 

“Fine. Where are your tools?” 

“Tools? Don’t you know? All you fools are my tools! You’re cleaning my pipes with your body. Some send me their rent money. Oh, it does make me laugh. Now, get in there and clean. And, I’ll just might make sure your Talker of the House.”

“It’s actually called…never mind. You want me to dive into the toilet in order to clean it? I mean, couldn’t I drown?” 

“It doesn’t matter dear, so long as I am satisfied.” 

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Pexels.com

——————

Needless to say, (or is it needless?) Kevin never got what he was promised, no matter how clean he got the toilets.  

Essays on America: The Game

Essays on America: Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips

Siren Song 

Their Dead Shark Eyes

After all

Plans for US; some, GRUsome

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Con-Con Man’s Special Friend

TV-Based Dog Training: Yes or No?

12 Saturday Nov 2022

Posted by petersironwood in fiction, satire, story

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

dogs, fiction, parody, pets, satire, story

I wonder whether anyone has experience they’d like to share in using Lassie movies as training devices for their own pooch. I am still learning to distinguish which of Sadie’s many barks means variously:

1. I have to go potty.

2. I *really* have to go potty!

3. I *really* have to go BIG potty!

4. I don’t really have to go potty and I really am bored and so maybe you’ll take me out to go potty so that I can: 

Photo by Martin Schneider on Pexels.com

3a. Find a poison mushroom to inhale before I even notice it’s there


3b. Bark at anything out of place such as a fallen leaf

3c. Pretend to be docile and then try to dislocate my shoulder when she sees a mosquito float by. Or a leaf. Or a hallucination. 

On the other hand, Lassie is capable of communicating with cunning, compassion, and coherence with the adults in her life. I grant you that theoretically, it might be that the adults on the show are much cleverer than I am. It’s a reasonable hypothesis, but no…if I had abandoned mine shafts and unused wells all over my farm, I’d make damn sure any kids knew they were not to go there! And, I wouldn’t cover over an unused well hole with a couple of loose two by fours either. For that and other tedious reasons, I don’t think the genius in the Lassie family lies with the humans. It is Lassie who has the title role and she is the one with outstanding skills. 

Photo by Anna Guerrero on Pexels.com

Witness episode N+1:

Lassie gallops into the kitchen and skids to a stop right beside Gramps and barks:

“ARF! ARF!” 

“What’s that Lassie? What is it, girl?” 

“ROOF! ROOF!” 

“What? Something’s wrong with the roof?”

“BOW! WOW!” 

“I will not! Anyway, I already fed you.” 

Lassie, noticeably frustrated, circles twice and grabs a can-opener in her muzzle, sprints to the liquor cabinet and begins banging the can-opener into the lock. 

“What? You’re trying to jimmy the lock open? You want a drink?”

Lassie grabs one ear with her paw and barks.

“Oh! Sounds like ‘jimmy’! Oh! Let’s see…’Kimmy’, ‘dimmy’, ‘Limmy’, I don’t know girl. There aren’t many words that rhyme with ‘jimmy.’”

Lassie barks: “ARF! ARF!”

“Lassie, are you sick or something girl?” 

Immediately, Lassie springs into the air and does a somersault onto her back and waves all four paws in the air. 

Gramps muses aloud. “The opposite of sick. Healthy? Something is healthy? No? Hale? Fine Fettle? Hardy?”

For each guess, Lassie barks a sharp short “No!” 

Gramps frowns and says, “Well, I don’t know what you’re trying to say, Lassie. I’ve got to get back to carving my pipe here.” 

Photo by Agatha Zambronelli on Pexels.com

Lassie stands on her hind two legs and begins using ASL with her two front paws. However, she quickly notes the looks of bewilderment on the visage of Gramps and she rightly concludes that he still doesn’t know ASL, despite her admonitions. So, she begins again with the barking: “ARF! ARF!” 

Gramps says, “You’re not making any sense, Lassie. Timmy wouldn’t fall down a well. Why would he?”

“ARF! ARF! ARF!” 

Gramps frowns and tilts his head so fast he pulls his sternocleidomastoid. “What? He fell down the well just last week? No, he didn’t. That was two weeks ago. Last week, Timmy fell down an old mineshaft. Oh! Wait! Are you trying to tell me that Timmy fell down a well again!? Oh, no! Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Needless to say, Gramps calls the sheriff and after he arrives Gramps explains. The sheriff draws his gun and charges out toward one of the 17 abandoned wells at Gramps’s place. But Lassie begins barking — again!

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com



“ARF! ARF! WOOF! BOW!” 

The sheriff glares at Gramps and uses his best shoulder shrugging head tilt as though to say, “Well? You going to shut up the mutt or am I?” 

Gramps scratches several places; for instance, behind his ear. Then he says, “Lassie is simply pointing out that while a gun won’t help get Timmy out of the well, a long rope might.” 

“I knew that!” The sheriff speaks in a huff while Lassie merely rolls her eyes and winks at Gramps. Then, off Lassie scampers to the tool shed, picks the lock with a handy nearby roofing nail, nudges the door open, and scampers back with a long loop of strong rope. 

Soon, she leads them to one of the many abandoned wells. By the time Gramps and Sheriff catch up, Lassie has tied a loose bowline one one end of the rope and two half hitches around a sturdy nearby oak stump, tosses the bowline down to Timmy, and barks her orders to him. Gramps and Sheriff pull on the rope, and soon enough, Timmy, cold and wet but alive, politely thanks Sheriff and Gramps for pulling him out and then throws his skinny arms around Lassie. “Oh, Lassie! Thanks, girl, for saving me! You were right! I shouldn’t have tried to walk across the well on those rotten planks after all!”

Lassie merely rolls her eyes. 

———-

I’m not saying that if Sadie watched any one episode that she’d learn every skill all at once, but  over time, it might help. Right?

Assuming, of course, that I can ever get her to notice anything on the TV screen. I’m thinking of smearing bacon grease around the edges.

(Shadow says: “I’ll save Timmy!”)


Other stories — free, no ads

If Only…

Organizing the Crazytown Library

Coelacanth

As Gold as it Gets

Donnie’s Final Gift

Donnie Boy Watches a Veteran’s Day Parade

That Cold Walk Home

It was in his nature

How Did I Get Here?

Jennifer’s Invitation

The Lost Sapphire

The Touch of One Hand Clasping

Naughty Knots

A Horror Story

I Can’t Be Bothered

Tit for Tat

It Couldn’t Happen to a Nicer Guy

Stoned Soup

Three Blind Mice

Gambit Disinclined

Satire Slain; Fans Mourn Death of Genre

24 Saturday Sep 2022

Posted by petersironwood in America

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

absurdity, conspiracy, Democracy, politics, satire, truth, USA

Charles Wallace (L) and Luna (R)

Saturday is for satire. I enjoy writing satire, particularly when it is aimed at helping us see the kinds of absurdities we can talk ourselves into. Political satire I find especially satisfying. 

But now? Satire, at least political satire, is dead. And, I know the people responsible. Not personally, but I know who they are in general, and in some cases, I know quite specifically. I mourn the passing of the genre, as do we all. We had barely recovered from mourning the passing of the Queen when the news hit about the death of political satire. Sad.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t by any stretch, imagine that my difficulties in satirizing the Mango Mussolini, match up to his more serious crimes such as — you know — treason; fraud; trying to isolate us from our allies; trying to become dick-tater; trying to destroy the rule of law; trying to divide America; waging a never-ending crusade against truth; replacing patriotic experts throughout government with inept sycophants; destroying one of the two major political parties; killing off (according to Lancet) at least 200,000 innocent Americans through his lies about COVID and bad modeling of the proper reactions — compared with these — oh, and did I mention compromising our national security during and after his “Pee-Residency” in the “Whites Only House”? None of these compare with making it virtually impossible to write political satire. 

Possible replacement for the elephant: Greedy, indolent, & filthy. Photo by Samira on Pexels.com

But I still mourn the loss.

In the last few weeks alone, the Hairless Hitler has:

*Asserted that because he once worked at the White House, he was allowed to take anything from there when he left and take it to his own home. 

*Asserted that there doesn’t have to be a process for declassifying Top Secret documents but rather he can declassify them simply by thinking about it. 

Photo by BROTE studio on Pexels.com

*Fully embraced the Q-anon conspiracy theories and they now salute him just as the Hairy Hitler had his mindless minions salute except that instead of putting up their whole hand, they put up one finger. No. Not that finger. Not the sensible one. Their index finger. The same finger poised to launch nuclear war by the man who got TFG Putin office in the first place. The same finger used to guide a sharpie pen over a few hundred miles of weather map to show a possible hurricane track to hide the fact that Putin’s Puppet misspoke. {Shudder! Horror!} Remember that? Instead of saying, “Oh, I misspoke” and thereby fix the error, the “Stable Genius” thought it better to mislead thousands of Americans about the path of a hurricane.  

Normally, any of these would be sufficient for involuntary incarceration in a mental hospital. Instead, he uses these actions to raise money to line his pockets by claiming he’ll use the funds to aid his defense.  

That’s what’s actually happening. 

How do I satirize that?  

I have to come up with something even stupider and more ridiculous. Hopefully, the even stupider and more absurd exaggeration will help people realize that the original and actual actions are also stupid and ridiculous. But what? What is stupider and more absurd than the actions of the 45th Toddler-in-Chief? 

I’ll have to settle for something that’s actually less stupid and less absurd, but hopefully something people might relate to.

Most people, at some point in their lives, visit someone else’s house, go to a workplace, or stay in a hotel. I realize that doesn’t cover everyone, but it covers most adults. Now, let’s suppose that you come over to my house for dinner. Let’s even suppose I invited you over. Then, you leave. I’m cleaning up and notice that a bunch of my silverware is missing. Surely, I think, surely my guest didn’t come over and steal silverware. I wouldn’t expect anyone to do that and if they spent the entire evening bragging about how rich they were, it would seem even more incredible. But then, let’s suppose that I heard from a mutual acquaintance that my recent guest has my silverware at home; that he’s bragging about having it. I go over and see that indeed, he’s stolen some of my silverware! I confront him. “You’re a thief!”I say. 

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

I can think of many excuses and I’m sure you can too. Here are a few that come to my mind.

1. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. I have this weird kleptomania thing and I thought I was over it, but I’m not. Sure, you can have your silverware back. I guess it’s time for me to return to therapy. I’ll be glad to reimburse you for any inconvenience I may have caused.”

2. “I really loved your silverware. I wanted to show my wife and see whether she loved it too. I thought I had asked you if I could borrow some to show her. I’m so sorry if I forgot to ask you. My memory is not so good any more.”

3. “I loved the buffet you set out, but I didn’t have enough hands to carry everything, so I put some silverware in my pocket and must have forgotten it was there because there was another set right by my place.”

But let’s move on from the weak excuses to the silly excuse. 

4. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I felt like I had dirtied up so much silverware at your excellent dinner that I felt the least I could do was bring it home and wash it for you before returning it.” 

5. “I had such a wonderful dinner at your house! I know you’re of more modest means than I am so I thought I would take your “silverware” to a place where they will be able to copy the pattern and replace your iron flatware stuff with pure silver cutlery.” 

Photo by Clown Caramello on Pexels.com

And, there are plenty more, but yet more silly and more absurd than any offered by fantasy would be to say:

“Your silverware? What do you mean your silverware? You invited me over! Once I’m there, everything in your house automatically becomes mine. Your lucky I left you your TV, your fridge, and your spouse! And, anyway, besides the fact that it’s mine, you came over with your silverware in your pockets and planted in my house to make it look like I stole it! It’s a witch hunt! You were probably not actually looking for silverware at all; you were looking for your lost shaker of salt! There’s a woman to blame! And, anyway, why come over? Why not just ask me and I would have given you your silverware. I mean my silverware.” 

Or

Let’s suppose you worked for a time at a car repair shop. You couldn’t get along with your boss so they replaced you after a few years with someone more competent and harder working. You decided you’d start your own car repair shop. But before you left, you stole your boss’s rolodex. You were too stupid to simply make copies; you stole the actual rolodex. Your boss noticed. He asked you for it back. You sent him a few business cards. He noticed that it wasn’t actually a rolodex. The police show up. They ask for the rolodex. You say:

“Hey, I worked there! I’m entitled to the rolodex! Because when you work someplace, you own everything there. Anyway, I didn’t take it. It isn’t here! And, the one that is here isn’t yours! And you planted it! And, you weren’t really looking for the rolodex at all! You were looking for the answer to who killed cock robin! Or where they buried Jimmy Hoffa. Or, who really assassinated JFK!” 

It’s true that people often overestimate how much the world revolves around them.  

Find Trump. Photo by Jeff Nissen on Pexels.com

A little. 

But to imagine that your thoughts alone impact the real world — that is quintessential insanity. Adults, even cruel demented ones, must be held responsible for their actions. There also can’t be any doubt that bad parenting is at least partly responsible for an adult growing up so out of touch with reality that they believe in mythical psychokinetic powers. Plenty of responsibility also accrues to the so-called fans of the T-Rump who believe any absurdity he spouts. Further, if the Republican Party had held T-Rump to even the lowest possible standard of accountability and reality, TFG might not be certifiable today. But no-one did that. Instead, a new standard of cowardliness has emerged on the planet.  

Braver than 90% of GOP in Congress.

People all over the world, every day, risk their lives to escape dictatorships. In Russia, people risk their lives and long prison terms to protest Putin’s War of Stupid Aggression. In Iran, women risk their lives and long prison terms to protest the killing of an innocent woman by the so-called “Morality Police.” In the Ukraine, people are enduring extreme hardships & danger to avoid falling under the dictatorship of a man gone insane with greed. I read today, he replaced another general. It’s always someone else’s fault in a dictatorship, no matter how stupid the leaders are.

Meanwhile, in America, the enablers of the Mango Mussolini are presented with mountain ranges of evidence about the scope of TFG’s lies, cruelty, criminality, and his utter failure as a businessman who grew rich providing value and the response — ?


“Oh, well, that’s just Trump”

Or,

“It’s all fake news!” 

Or, 

“Trump never lies! He told us so!” 

Or, 

“He must be successful at business because he told us so!” 

Or, 

“It’s a conspiracy of the FBI, CIA, DOJ, Wall Street Journal, NYTimes, NBC, CNN, DOD, Army, Navy, Marines, FORBES, Vanity Fair, FORTUNE, Liberals, POC, Asian Americans, Hispanics, Native Americans, Women, Homosexuals, Jews, Muslims, Chinese, Intellectuals, School Teachers, Science, Math, Readers, Writers, Wine Drinkers, CBS, ABC, Popes, New Yorkers, Californians, City-Dwellers, and Artists who are all out to get Trump & make him look bad!”

In the same way that people who “give an addict a break” by supplying cheap drugs “just to tide them over” are partly responsible for the eventual lethal overdose, so too, fans of Putin’s Puppet are partly responsible for the level of absurdity he now evidences. 

Nonetheless, adults must be held accountable for their behavior. That includes dictators and would-be dictators. It includes their enablers. It includes “election deniers” and those who promise to overturn elections if their owner-in-chief tells them to. 

Meanwhile, since my days of political satire are over for the foreseeable future, I’ll go take a picture of that which remains beautiful.

Absolute is not just a vodka

Poker Chips 

The Ailing King of Agitate

The Orange Man

Donnie Boy attends a Veteran’s Day Parade

Plans for US; some GRUesome

The Truth Train

The Con Man’s Special Friend

The Oxymorons of the Mango Mussolini

Donnie’s Last Gift

Siren Song

Dance of Billions

Donnie’s Last Gift

23 Saturday Jul 2022

Posted by petersironwood in apocalypse

≈ 20 Comments

Tags

life, politics, satire, sociopath, story, truth

Fred shook his head as he clicked off his cellphone and laid it down carefully on the bedside table charger. His reading light was still on. He glanced over and saw that Geri was awake. He wished for a moment that the phone call had never happened; that it had just been a bad dream. He could see from Geri’s expression that she knew he was upset.

“Well?” She began. “Was that who I think it was?” Her exasperated tone, Fred knew, wasn’t a reproach to him. He shrugged. “He wouldn’t take no for an answer. Of course. He’s coming over in the morning on his way to close a big important deal, so he says. Wants to share the fruits of his genius by showering the boys with gifts.” 

Geri sighed. She was, by now, quite familiar with Uncle Donnie’s “gifts” to the boys. The first such gift had come somewhere around their seventh birthday, he had “gifted them”  bee bee guns. That would have been bad enough, but Uncle Donnie didn’t stop there. He regaled them with stories about his “bravery” in the “big war” and how he had shot many more “Japs” (as he called them) than he had ever gotten proper credit for. Of course, like all of Donnie’s stories, he completely fabricated this one. He had never been drafted and he certainly never volunteered. He never served in armed services. So far as Geri could tell, he’d never served anywhere for anything. Nonetheless, when she looked at the glowing faces of her admiring twins, she didn’t have the heart to debunk his tall tales. Donnie had left soon after an enormous breakfast to close an ‘enormous’ deal, the details of which he couldn’t disclose for legal reasons, but he assured them all, they’d soon be reading about it in the paper. 

Donnie’s parting words had been: “Tell Daddy to take you to Dick’s soon! They have your rifles waiting for you! Who knows? Maybe some day, you’ll be a war hero too!.” 

That evening, Geri & Fred had had the worst fight of their marriage. She couldn’t understand why Fred had not told the boys they weren’t old enough to have bee bee guns and that their Uncle Donnie had told them a pack of lies. Fred had ended up yelling and saying things he didn’t mean. Geri had ended up yelling and saying things she didn’t mean. They had never really “resolved” that conflict. But they eventually moved on. Since Uncle Donnie’s visits were only occasional, they came to an uneasy cease-fire about the necessity of debunking his lies. Geri promised not to burst the bubble of Donnie’s lies, but Fred understood that if she were ever asked directly, she would tell the truth. Fred said he would do the same. As it turned out, the boys never asked either of their parents whether Uncle Donnie’s tales were true. 

Now, Fred regretted not havingmcalled Donnie out on his lies when he first told them. Well, Fred reasoned, now it was ‘water under the bridge.’ Hopefully, this visit wouldn’t last too long. Fred turned the light out. He knew he’d no longer be able concentrate on his book. Sleep would take awhile. He knew there was no point in worrying about Donnie’s visit or trying to guess what lies he would fill his sons’ heads with next. But that knowledge didn’t bring sleep.

Photo by Rodrigo Souza on Pexels.com



Geri for her part, also lay awake in the dark, struggling to find the argument that would convince Fred to permanently sever ties with his brother. How do you convince someone to forsake their demented and destructive brother? She worried about Donnie’s impact on her sons. What of them? They were bright boys, so their teachers all said. How could they keep falling for Uncle Donnie’s lies? Of course, when the four of them had arrived at the gun shop, Donnie had not paid for the rifles. What he had done was to have the stocks engraved with the boy’s names: “Teddy” and “Ronnie.” Uncle Donnie had assured the store owner that his brother Fred would come by and pay for the rifles and the engraving. Normally, the store owner insisted on cash up front for engraving, but after Donnie explained his status as a war hero and explained that he needed every cent right now to buy the old armory downtown where he was going to make a “first class” shelter for homeless veterans, the store owner agreed and even contributed twenty bucks of his own money. 

Fred had paid the two hundred bucks for the air rifles and engraving. Every time Uncle Donnie visited from then on, Donnie had reminded the boys how he had “bought them” engraved air rifles and asked how their target practice was coming. They complained that their Dad had insisted on strict rules about using the guns. For one thing, they had to wear safety goggles. For another, they could only aim and shoot at paper targets stapled to trees. Uncle Donnie had clicked his tongue and wondered aloud what was wrong with his brother. “When I was in basic training, you know what we did? We shot at each other with live ammo! That way, we learned to duck and aim quickly so when I finally took all those island back from the Japs, it was easy. You don’t get to be a soldier by being a coward! Tell you what, boys, I’ll talk to brother Fred & see whether I can talk some sense into him!”

Geri swung her feet over the edge of the bed. She could tell that Fred was awake and upset too. She said, “Fred, I’m going to make some chamomile tea for myself. You want me to make you some too?” 

Fred sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. Thanks, sweetheart. Actually, how about that Sleepy Time Tea instead? That has hibiscus too. I think it works better.” 

Photo by Mareefe on Pexels.com

The tea quickly sent Geri into dreamland, but Fred still couldn’t get to sleep until about 3 am. He kept going over the other disastrous “gifts” that Donnie had promised over the years. He couldn’t think of a single time that his brother had actually paid even a single dime for any of the gifts he had promised the twins. Nonetheless, the boys kept accepting the idea that Uncle Donnie was their generous and prosperous benefactor. On the few occasions when Fred had tried to set the record straight, the boys just looked at each other and shook their heads. Usually Teddy would pipe up first with a comment like: “It’s okay, Dad. We understand. Uncle Donnie explained it to us. You pay for our house, our clothes, Christmas and birthday presents. And, you’re not rich like Uncle Donnie. He says we shouldn’t expect you to buy extra gifts and that he’s happy to do it.”

Fred had not wanted to come right out and call his brother a liar. To the boys, Donnie was a war hero and a rich successful businessman. To Fred, it was more than a little maddening. After all, the boys had been there when he went to pick up their rifles. Apparently, they had been so focused on how “cool” the rifles looked and were so busy imagining getting a chance to shoot, that they had paid no attention to the fact that he, their father, had paid for the rifles and the engraving. 

Photo by Kindel Media on Pexels.com

It seemed to Fred, only moments after he finally fell asleep that he heard the front doorbell ring.
“Crap,” he muttered aloud. He rolled over. Geri was sitting up in bed. Then, Fred heard the the twins sprint down the upstairs hallway and piston their feet down the stairs. He could hear the happy greetings though he couldn’t make out what was being said. Fred & Geri exchanged a look. Fred took a leak, did a cursory job of brushing his teeth and ambled over to the bedroom door. He turned to look at Geri. “Are you coming down soon?” 

Geri frowned. “Geez. It’s only 6:30 am! Who visits someone that early on a Saturday morning?” 

Fred nodded. He said, “We know who. My brother. Donnie. Anyhow, I’m awake. You ready for coffee or breakfast?” 

Geri half-smiled. “Coffee sounds nice. I’m not ready for breakfast. Tell everyone I’ll be down in a little while. We should use up those eggs. Maybe an omelet for everyone? You can just leave a bit for me?” 

Fred smiled. After all, he did enjoy his life. Most days. They were a very lucky family, he reminded himself. His wife had barely survived having the twins. Lost a lot of blood. It had been touch and go. But all was well. And then, there was the accident. Randy could have easily lost his right eye. Probably would have if the bee bee would have struck a quarter inch over. After that little incident, Fred had put away their rifles for a month and made them promise to always wear their goggles no matter what his demented brother Donnie said.

Fred reached the top of the steps and heard the front door slam. Had the boys gone out for a walk? He took a quick detour into the boys’ room and peered out into the soft predawn. He saw the boys pile into the back seat of Fred’s “custom-made luxury car.” At least, that’s what Fred called it. Where the hell was he taking them? Not exactly cool not to discuss with us. Probably just driving around the block, Fred supposed.

Fred supposed wrong. 

The boys did not return for breakfast. Or lunch. Geri and Fred were both worried, though Fred was reluctant to call the cops on his own brother. Donnie didn’t answer his cellphone. Nor did the boys. Upon checking their room, he found both cellphones on the nightstands. The boys hadn’t known they were going to be away long. Even Uncle Donnie couldn’t have kept them from wanting to text their friends. Their friends! Fred tried calling some of the friends of the twins. None of them admitting to know of any plans. In fact, Judy & Jill had expected the twins after lunch to come study algebra together. 

Photo by olia danilevich on Pexels.com

Fred was fighting a feeling of dread. He felt the shadow of Geri in the doorway and looked over at her. She just stared at him. Fred nodded. “Okay. Okay. I’ll call.” 

Fred still felt bad about calling the cops on his brother. He explained the situation and, in turn, the cops explained that since the man was a close member of their family, there was nothing to be worried about and that, in any case, their hands were tied for 24 hours. Fred wanted to explain that Uncle Donnie wasn’t an “ordinary” Uncle. He wanted to make them see that his brother was a liar; unreliable; a cheat. But he didn’t know these police officers. To them, it was just an Uncle out for a joy ride and all would be well by dinner time. Fred reassured himself that the police were likely right. He supposed the twins would be back by dinner.

Fred supposed wrong. 

Geri didn’t exactly blame Fred. But when the weeks dragged on and no leads arose, Geri stopped crying audibly. Her cheeks bore the light little tracks of tears, silently shed, and she moved on past chamomile tea to heavy drinking and then to opioids. Fred became obsessed with finding the twins. Everyone at work understood. Nonetheless, he was eventually put on unpaid leave. On the few occasions when he tried to concentrate on some time-critical problem, he utterly failed. 

Fred combed the neighborhood for the third time, hoping to trigger the memory of someone who might have seen Donnie’s wreck of a car and noted which way it had turned. But only one jogger, Alice, had noticed the car. At that point, the car was still going the same direction Fred himself had seen although Alice noticed that the car had no plates. But questioning her for the third time turned up nothing new.

Photo by Denniz Futalan on Pexels.com



When Fred returned home from a day of canvasing, Geri was gone. Geri’s clothes were gone. On the kitchen table, she had left a short hand-written note:

“I can’t. Goodbye.” 

Fred supposed she would eventually return. 

Fred supposed wrong.


Dick-Taters

Absolute is not just a vodka

The Siren Song

Poker Chips

My Cousin Bobby

Where does your loyalty lie?

The Stopping Rule

The Ailing King of Agitate

Stoned Soup

The Three Blind Mice

The Orange Man

A Little is not a Lot

The Oxymorons of the Mango Mussolini

True Believer

The Triply Toxic Worm

The Mammoth and the Mouse

Teliot State

Con-Con’s Special Friend

Beware of Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

Donnie Boy Watches a Veteran’s Parade

Donnie Gets a Hamster

Their Dead Shark Eyes

Imagine all the people

Dance of Billions



 

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