Hire the Bozo

On the occasion of the fifteenth anniversary of the Global News Network, Stanley Lloyd Spenser III, third generation owner and CEO of GNN, sat at the head of the solid mahogany table in the corporate boardroom. He fumbled for the right words to say, words he knew would change the direction of the network, broadcast journalism, and most likely, the entire world.

“Hire The Bozo,” he said to his underling Kirk Kirfartagain, sitting across the table from him.

“But, sir, The Bozo hasn’t been seen for six months. The last he was seen was in Zwackystan.”

“You’re going to have to dun your duds, dude, and go find him.”

“But, sir, I’m allergic to traveling.”

His boss, The Third, picked up the phone next to him and buzzed his Administrative Assistant. “Miss Pinkhouse, come in here please.”

The door to the boardroom opened and Melicia Pinkhouse, Administrative Assistant to The Big Cheese, Stanley Lloyd 3, came into the room.

“Yes, sir,” Mel came back with.

“Take K. K. with you to the Banana Republic, get him some duds, and go with him to Zwackystan. You have to find The Bozo.”

“But, sir…” she said.

“And get going today. I want to see El Boz by the end of the week. We need him to save The Network. And possibly the whole world.”

“But, sir…” she said again.

“Don’t ‘but, Sir’ me. After all, I am the Commander-in-Chief of this here Network. And what I say goes.”

“But, sir…. she said again some more.

“Look, Britannia rules the waves. So salute the flag and get the hell to Zwacky before you loose your corporate head to someone who is the adventuresome type.”

“But I’m no Morton Stanley,” K. K. said.

“Neither am I,” The Third came back with. “That was my great-great-grandpappy.”

“But, sir…” Miss Pinkhouse interrupted.

“Look, Pinky…” The Third said.

And before you can count one-two-three, she jumped in with, “The Bozo is in my office, sir.”

The Third breathed a sigh of relief.

Three weeks later, The Bozo was the new Anchorman. The Third finally sold the network to TNP, which stands for Take-No-Prisoners, for an undisclosed few billion bucks. Then he retired and went to live on his ranch in Hawaii, called the Big Pineapple. He moved with his actress wife, Playne Rhonda, who had won three Academy Awards for portraying actresses in distress. In her youth, she had protested the War in Grenada, then converted and become a Born-Again Born-Againer. She also had a new line of pregnant wear called Pregs for Pregs, and had a new series of highly successful exercise videos called “Out of body, out of mind.”

Stan and Playne lived happily ever after. That is, until The Third was asked to take over TNP and make it as successful as GNN had been. And he did that too. After he got his divorce.

Politics in America 27: The Big Snooze

“Man, what is that?” one of the campaign workers asked another about the sound heard round the world. There was fear in his voice. It was yuge. Really yuge, that fear. His fear was afraid. That’s how yuge it was.

The sound was the sound of the Martians landing for a War of the Worlds. It was the sound of shock and awe. It was the sound of…well, you can imagine.

Since the Presidential Campaign had been going on, not one but two Washing of the Clyde Days had been cancelled in Weazel Sneeze. Out of frustration, Clyde Perkalater came to the P F Sneeze for President Campaign Headquarters. He figured that was the place he’d find the best jug and the best bathwater in all of the U S of A. And he was not wrong.

There in the middle of Campaign Headquarters was a giant swimming pool. He didn’t even shed his duds. He jumped in whole hog. It was later known in Campaign History as the Big Splash. Every man, woman and child, every Tom, Dick and Harry in that Headquarters got splashed.

He was the one who solved the mystery. From his place floating on the giant rubber duckie, he called out, “Do not worry. It’s the Big Snooze of the Big Sneaze.”

The sound was indeed P F Sneaze taking a snooze and he was taking it upstairs in his bedroom suite. He was sleeping through all the election action on the tv.

The Big News Guy came on with an emergency broadcasting announcement. You know, that announcement the broadcasters have if a nuclear weapon is on its way. He said, “We interrupt this broadcast for an announcement of vital importance. This is historic.

“In the history of American broadcasting, this has never occurred. Well, once. When Dan Rather had to eat his words over George W Bush’s military record. But never other than that. Well, maybe when we said man landed on the moon. We all know that occurred in the desert in Arizona. Other than that.

“Well, maybe a few other times. But not many. Any way this is historic. This announcement. Our projections in Alaska and Hawaii were—how shall we say it—wrong. Yes, I believe that is the word. The count from North Pole, Alaska has come in. Santa, Mrs. Santa and all the six thousand elves voted for P F Sneaze. So the Snooze from Weasel Sneeze has won Alaska. It still looks like the Little Twerp has Hawaii in his grasp.”

All that tawking had made the Big News Guy thirsty. He took a big gulp from his Big Gulp. His face went white. Even with all that makeup the Big News Guy wore, his face still went white.

He continued, “No, wait. The election totals are final. P F Sneaze, the log cabin candidate from Weazel Sneeze, has gone over the top with—I can’t believe this—one vote. He has been elected President of the United States by one vote.”

The roar from the Do Naughty Campaign Offices and Hotel Suites went up. There wasn’t a nook or a cranny in the United States where it was not heard.

Big Al Fresco had been right. P F Sneaze did look like a President. Because when you are elected President of the United States on the Tuesday after the first Monday in November, you look like a President of the United States. And that is the truth.

Next Week A Hot Time in the Old Town