[Photo Credit: Thomas Totz]
[Buford T. Hogslop is a fictitious character whom we've invited to blog occasionally for us. He has a very charged and honest perspective on the direction of our country. Read his bio here.]
Wake Up ‘Merica! It’s broke and needs to get fixed. Them Congress critters just up and left to go home for the holidays. Well, ya know what they say down at the General Store? You elect clowns, you get a circus. Hell of a circus we got here. They left the work right there on their damn desks. And guess what? It’s goin’ to cost Maynard and me ‘bout $40 a month till they get the J-O-B done. Hey, I didn’t need to eat everyday no way. But poor ol’ Cooter gets downright testy when he don’t get his food bowl filled up. Damn cat better look out.
Poor Maynard’s just sittin’ over there shakin’ his head. You got these T-pot party folks actin’ like a spoilt brat. So go hold your breath and turn blue, see if I care. And then the Occupy folk (we talked ‘bout them last time) screamin’ ‘bout getting’ screwed by the banksters. And nobody, but nobody is talkin’ the truth. Well, I’m hear to tell ya the truth and it ain’t pretty.
Like so many other things these days the gubment don’t work. It don’t work ‘cause everybody be doin’ the “Me, Me, Me” dance. The music stopped back in 2008 and now everyone is runnin’ for the chairs and guess what? There ain’t enough chairs. Some folk are goin’ to have their butts on the floorski, people. Only this time it’s goin’ to be different ‘cause they peed on the wrong cowboy.
Anyway, we got your Congress critter Bonehead and Senator McHappymeal frumpin’ around like they don’t stink. Our J-O-B is to make sure that guy down the street can’t stay in the big house no ‘mo, they say. Everybody else is just KMAG YOYO (look it up dear hearts, this is a family blog). It smells so bad even a drone won’t go near the place. For fear that the BS is so thick it’ll clog the vents and cause an warplane malfunction.
Speakin’ of drones. I hear that the I-ran-aran-aran-stans done figured out a way to get those pesky things to land in their own backyard. (I’m just goin’ call ‘em the Do-run-runs ‘cause it sounds better and I’m sure the Crystals won’t mind). Well, here’s the plan Stan. Just like in Lost Wages when you act all drunk like to get into a poker game and then, all of a sudden, sober up and whip the snot outta everybody.
Them drones are goin’ start acted drunk like buzzin’ around and just when the Do-run-runs think they got another one, they sober on up and smack into one of those (No, we haven’t got any) newclur places and go BAM! Now they are BFeD’s. You know, Big Frackin’ Explosive Devices. You got your IED’s, well we got our BFeD’s. So, now they is buzzin’ around sayin’ “pick me, pick me.” Yea, right, pick me and I’ll pick you nose. But I have digested again. Back at the ranch.
Still smells. Maybe we should get a bunch of them little pine tree thingies and staple them to the ears of all congrescritters. Naw, waste of staples. So, here’s what I got figured out after visitin’ with Larry down at the poop plant out on Miller road. No better place to think on stink than out there. He allows that the big chunks always float to the top in his business which got me to thinkin’.
Now ‘member I’m talkin’ in hypocriticals here. Any resemblance to reality ain’t my fault. The way it works is that Big Bob from Big Bob’s Tank, Missle and Battleship Emporium—aka BBTM&B—takes big bucks and goes to Big Chunk in congress. Bob tells Chunk he’ll give him big bucks if Chunk passes a law that says the gubmint has to buy lots of stuff from BBTM&B. OK, gubmint does that and runs up a thing they call the deafcit.
Here’s the Buford T. Hogslop solution to the whole blasted mess. Since Chunk don’t do nothing anyway why pay ‘em? But Chunk’s got this head so big he couldn’t play football in high school ‘cause he couldn’t find a helmet big enough. He just wants to play the game and someday he can become Bonehead or McHappymeal. So, let’s make him pay to play. Like back in Lost Wages where you got to ante up, right? So now, Chunk goes back to Big Bob (that’s with one “O”) and says, Bob I need more bucks to play. So, my reasonin’ goes if you get this goin’ fast enough all of a sudden Big Bob wakes up and figures out the really owes himself all that moola and the deafcit’s gone. Game over, problem of stink-O is gone, right? Well, wait it gets even better.
You see, we got so much stuff from BBTM&B we can’t park it anywhere. Now’s where it gets to be deviously. We go back to the Do-run-runs and say, “Hey can we park some stuff in your backyard? We’re outta room. We used to have it over in your neighbors backyard but they kicked our butts out.” And “Tell ya what, every once in awhile if it gets crowded you can take some of it out back and blow it up. Ya, know one of them Friday afternoon parties you throw. Blow it up, burn it, throw shoes at it and make noises like a sick camel. We’ll even get the news jugglers to show up. TV and all, even some twitter stuff if that’s makes ya happy.”
See there, problem solved. Big Bob gets the bucks; Chunk gets his cranium fluffed; the Do-run-runs get to blow stuff up and nobody has to give a squat what that odor emanatin’ from the swamp is all about.
But wait. If you call right now, we can throw in an extra country to mess with. You see, to keep all this goin’ like those spinin’ plates at the circus, we got to have some accountants, a counting. ‘Member Big Bob, Big Bucks gotta know where it is. Wouldn’t be prudent not to. So, since we fired all those pointy headed beer-o-crats we go over to somebody who hates the Do-run-runs. Say the Asianinians. They're real good with numbers. And say, “Tell ya what, Cheech and Chong, you do the countin’ and you can have a bunch of the deafcit to hold on to. Hell, we’ll even throw in free shipping and a Congress critter or two to play with.”
There ya go, all tied up in one nice, neat little package, right? ‘Cept one teeny, tiny little thing, Buford and Maynard ain’t as stupid and asleep at the wheel as Big Bob and Chunk think we are. Wake up ‘Merica!
For those of you who think I’m plum crazy by now, rest easy. I’m not drinkin’ cheap corn likker. Matter of fact, I just got back from the Veterinarians Administration with my new medifications. They keep me from ‘memberin’ I played a bit part in Apocalypse Now. But, a funny thing. I’m having increasing bouts of crystal clear clarity. Just amazin’ how that happens.
So, you hunker down for the holidays. Stay dry and warm. You’re gone to need the rest. Go hide and watch, ’cause come the springtime this Stink-a-fication is goin’ pop like a cork on that cheap champagne you had on News Year's. In fact, I believe Cooter reports a whiff of it has floated all the way to Your-rope-a-dope and beyond.
God bless, and back to ya before the flowers are out.
