The Uglies

Let’s face it. We all have a bit of the Uglies in us. When I say Uglies, I mean Ug-a-lug-lies.

From time to time, those Uglies have to burst loose. There’s no two ways about it. Oh, sure. Later we’ll do a Flip Wilson and say, “The devil made me do it.” That’s ‘cause we’re embarrassed we let our dumbass show.

When we see others do the Uglies, we don’t let them off the hook that easy. We want them to get their just desserts. Either that or some of that instant karma John Lennon sang about.

This goes even more so for fairy tales. We want the Wicked Witch of the West to melt. We want the mirror to shatter on the Wicked Queen. She wanted Mr. Mirror to give her the fake news that she was the fairest in the land. We want He-who-must-not-be-named to have his name stamped on his rear-end. And not just stamped. Branded. Ouch! That’s got to hurt.

Nowhere along the way do we consider that they may not be villains and that they might have a bad case of the Uglies themselves. If we give them a chance, those Uglies might wear off and these folks might turn out to be decent human beings. Who is to say that Harry Potter didn’t have a very good press agent. Once Voldemort was branded with that He-who-must-not-named label, there was no getting off scot free for him.

It may be that Humpty Dumpty woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Or that the king had the Uglies and pushed Humpty off the wall. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put the Dump back into Humpty Dumpty. At least, that’s what the king told the press. And we know the reason the Chicken crossed the road. She was run out of Dodge with her own set of Uglies.

Consider the Cinderella story. We want Cinderella’s wicked step mom to lose. And not just loose, but loose big time. After all, her daughters are real works of art. They’re haughty and persnickety. In fact, that’s their names, Haughty and Persnickety. And Step Mom is not interested in love. She’s only interested in the cash. Bet you’d kick the romantic out of your head if you were as poor as a dormouse and had four mouths to feed.

Let’s just consider Step Mom’s side of things. She marries a guy because he’s got a steady job. Her first husband ran off with the Spoon. He left her with two daughters who were always crying, “Feed me.” She met Cyndi’s dad at the local Parents Without Partners. They hit it off. Before you can say Abracadabra, they did a Vegas and wallah! Problem solved. Then Dad had to go and get himself hit by a truck. Of course, he didn’t have any life insurance. The only income Step Mom had coming in was the alimony payments from her first husband.

Since the girls were about to turn eighteen, Step Mom had to find a new source of income. She got herself a real estate agent certification and started flipping houses. Six months later, the floor fell out of the housing market. About that time, both of her daughters needed glasses.

On top of everything else, Cyndi was a handful with her “just wait till I tell my uncle” attitude. What was a mother to do? This was reason enough for Step Mom to let her Uglies burst lose. There was a ball and she was darned sure that one of her daughters was going to hook up with the prince. Come hell or highwater. And under no condition was she going to allow Cyndi to take their shine away.

For every nickel with a heads, there’s a tails to be considered. After all, it was a rich man who said, “Money can’t buy happiness.” The same fellow who said, “In God we trust. All others pay cash.”

If it quacks like a duck and looks like a duck, it still may not be a duck. It may be an actor who takes his role as a duck seriously. What else can you expect from a method actor? You never know what a person is going through when they are acting out their Uglies.

And, for God’s sake, do not, under any condition, allow your Uglies to burst through the dam. Best thing is to get ready to duck. That guy, who passed you three seconds ago, may have stolen a leprechaun’s pot of gold. The lep is trying to run him down. If you chase him, you may regret it. He could burst your windshield or run you down.

Either that or he has a gub. “A gub?” you ask. “What’s a gub?” That is a whole ‘nother story.

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Politics in America 44: Whatever happened to old what’s his name anyway?

Now I can hear some of you asking, “Just what happened to Big Al Fresco? Didn’t he get caught out on the White House lawn with Stever the Cleaver?”

‘Fraid not. If ever there was a man who knew how to save his butt in a precarious situation, it was Big Al. Back on the lawn on that dark and stormy night, he knocked the breath out of Stever the Cleaver. Face down in the AstroTurf, The Cleaver laid there, counting the blades of grass.

Big Al lit out for Snort Holler. He hasn’t been seen lately. He’s probably doing what DoNaughties always do. He’s doing naughty. And he’s probably doing it with Ellie May Marmalade.

There was one rumor that Big Al had gone Hollywood. He was making B movies, all starring the star in his life, Ellie May. But that’s only a rumor. ‘Course there have been a lot of drive-in movie theaters popping up all over the United States. Snort Holler has two. Weazel Sneaze even has one.

The Great Man, President P F Sneaze, what happened to him? Congress tarred and feathered him and ran him out of town on a rail.

You know what that means? Maynard Gee, the man who hated work, dropped the Vice and became the next POTUS. Since he hated work, he didn’t do anything. That pleased Americans a lot. That’s how we like our leaders. To stay out of our bizwax. Too much leadership and what do you have? Too much leadership, that’s what.

And the former First Lady? What happened to Betty Sue Pudding? She went off on the Grand Tour. She saw Europe in style. Then she returned home and started her own You Tube Channel. There’s another rumor too. She’s been asked to do a series for the Comedy Channel.

And guess what? There may just be a movie called “The Tragic Life and Times of Betty Sue Pudding”. Big Al has been reported to be the director. It won’t be the first time he’s gone big time. ‘Course one thing is for sure. It’s all a lot of B.S., don’t you think?

THE END

Politics in America 43: The Redcoats are coming

Nothing like a scandal to get Americans going. Americans just love their scandals. Whether it’s over a very small thing: a tip on a stock, a sexual dalliance, an affair.
Or a really big thing like a war. Now that is a scandal. It gets American blood going. Americans get to have parades. Americans get to beat our chests. Americans get to fire off fireworks. Nothing like a war to make the Stock Market go up. The day Congress declared war on Canada, the Dow went up 10,000 points.

The President’s favorability rating was 95%. The 5% that gave him a thumbs down didn’t count. They populated the State of Discontent.

“We’re sending in the Magnificent Seven,” the President told his Secretary of State.

“Who?” State asked.

“You know. The Magnificent Seven. Hokey, Pokey, Smokey, Okey, Dokey, Folksey and Cheese. Those guys.”

“Oh,” State said, mildly surprised that a bunch of over-the-hill actors could do the job.
“They have been ordered not to fire until they hear the ehs with their ears.”

“Don’t you mean,” State asked, “the whites of their eyes?”

“No. The ehs is the plan. Then Cheese is going to put some real whip on their ehs.”
Little did the Americans know the Canadians had a Plan. And it wasn’t going to be pretty. They were sending in the World Famous Gordy Howes.

At the famous Battle of the P F Sneaze Battalion, the Magnificent Seven got their—how shall we say it, yes—American butts kicked. Before you can say “Ping pang walla walla bing bang”, the Americans were suing for peace. The Gordy Howes hat-tricked the Americans into a corner. They never had a chance. Then they sent that Seven who were not Magnificent back home again. It was sad. Real sad. There was not going to be a parade.

Oh, well. It’s not the first war America has lost. I could go through the roster but that would be like watching a comedy that ain’t comedy anymore.

As part of the settlement, the Americans had to take back the State of Mississippi. Another part was that the United States had to call Canadian bacon bacon. Good old American bacon was to be called ham. And ham, what was it to be called? Pork. So what was pork called? Well, that was left to American linguists to figure out.

Since Canada had an overflow of comedians, the United States had to take the excess. Suddenly the United States was overrun by comedians. Jokes, like the tulips of bygone days Holland, became worthless because there was so many of them flooding the states. And the Americans developed an immunity to jokes. So much so that no one laughed. Americans didn’t even crack a smile. The time was called the Really Great Depression because Americans were so depressed.

There was one final thing. The United States had to join Canada and start the Great North American Socialist Medicine Plan. It was a hard blow to American Free Enterprise. Now every American could afford to go to the doctor.

Sure, there might be a line or two. To avoid that dilemma, the Canadian P.M. pointed out, “You need to educate more doctors.” ‘Course the pragamatic never stopped Americans from making darn fools of themselves.

It was a deep blow to Americans but the Americans took it with their chins up. If they had to be defeated, Canada was not so bad. They were thinking of all that money the snowbirds were to spend in Florida now that the War was over.

Next Week What’s Left To Tell

Politics in America 42: The Great Bunion Act of 2019

One wouldn’t think that the President losing a bunion would be that big a deal. But the Secret Service, the FBI, the CIA, the Dept. Of Homeland Security and the Congress were not letting it go. Especially Senator Butt Nekkid.

He rose to the floor of the United States Senate and spoke eloquently on the loss of the bunion. “The Secret Service has been caught with its pants down,” he began. He continued with a history of famous bunions. There was Alexander the Great’s bunion. There was Julius Caesar’s bunion. On and on he went.

It was Henry VIII’s bunion that brought about his divorce. Ann Boleyn had fallen for that bunion. Their daughter Elizabeth’s was so prominent that people from all over came to see it. All that tourism business made England the richest country in Europe. Cornwallis didn’t have a bunion and, of course, he lost to GW at Yorktown. Napoleon lost at Waterloo because his doctor had operated and removed his bunion. Abe Lincoln kept that Gettysburg Address short because his bunion hurt so bad.

By the time the Senator finished, there wasn’t a dry eye in the Senate. Senator Butt Nekkid brought his speech to a grand finale. “This dastardly act must be dealt with. This assassinator, Stever the Cleaver, must be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. He will be executed for the traitor he is. And an illegal alien at that. Then, after we have our justice, he will be sent to the depths of hell and the devil his ownself will take care of his eternal soul.

“And finally we must pass an Act of War against Canada. Not only do we have to deal with those darn geese and jokes of mass destruction. They are now attacking our bunions.”

Then there was the United Nations Comedic Weapons Commission. The Commission’s inspections had discovered Jokes of Mass Destruction in Ottawa, in Toronto, in Montreal and in Vancouver. They didn’t find any in Yukon Territory because they weren’t about to go up there and freeze their you-know-whats off.

Under the leadership of Senator Boll Weavel, the Congress voted a Declaration of War against Canada.

Upon hearing of the war, John Tory, the British prime minister, said, “Things just aren’t, are they?”

“I’m afraid so, PM, I’m afraid so,” said the Minister for Affairs-Having-to-Do-With-the-Americans, better known as AM.

“Now they’ve gone and mucked it up. And if I know them, they’ll muck it up some more.”

“I say, it is rahther, isn’t it?” AM commented. “It is rahther late in the day to stop this back-and-forth in the Colonies. Before you know it, it will be high noon. And what then?”

“I suppose it’s jolly good fun for the Americans. At least for now. But just you wait. Those Hockey Pucks will make tea and crumpets out of the Rebels. If they don’t, then my name is not John Tory.”

But, of course, his name was John Tory, the Jolly Good P.M. who would later become Sir John Tory, the Jolly Good Lord. And eventually the Jolly Green Giant. And that was all that the Brits and their stiff upper lips had to say about the matter.

Next Week What about the Aussies?

Politics in America 41: Another Shot Heard Round the World

You’ve heard the saying, “Oops, there goes another rubber tree.” Well, it’s that time in this story to say, “Oops, there goes another rubber tree.” And Thomas Jefferson couldn’t have said it better himself.

There was this bullet meant for Bessie Mae Hogg. Big Al Fresco had sent Stever The Cleaver to eliminate the pig. Well, not eliminate the pig. Just give her a scratch. This would take the President’s mind off invading Canada. At the last minute, Big Al realized that The Cleaver was a Canadian.

Rule Number One: When hiring an assassin to near assassinate a Presidential pig, please check where the assassinator is from. Big Al had not done that.

When he realized his mistake, Big Al Fresco decided to take things into his own hands. A second time. You would think he would learn that the Pickled Finger of Fate never leaves a situation alone. The problem for him and us is that we never ever know where it’s going to point. We never know when we will end up as fungus between a dinosaur’s toes. As Old Murphy used to say, “What must go wrong, must go wrong.” Things were about to go wrong. For Stever The Cleaver. For Big Al Freso. For the President of the United States.

It was a dark and stormy night as Big Al snuck up on The Cleaver. Stever was aiming his gun at the pig when whop. Big Al tackled him. The gun went off. Instead of heading for the pig, the bullet headed for the President in the Presidential wee wee room.

It sped through the keyhole just as the President zipped up and turned and lifted his foot to re-tie his shoe lace. The bullet smashed into the shoe and took out the President’s bunion. The bunion that had been hurting for over a week. That bunion. Then the bullet crashed into the Presidential wee wee room wall and there it stopped. P F Sneaze’s bunion was attached to it.

In the Oval Office, the Vice President and the Ambassador from Some-Godforsaken-Place-He-Couldn’t-Pronounce heard a gigantic sigh of relief coming from the President’s wee wee room. For the first time in weeks, that bunion didn’t hurt. The President’s foot finally had some relief.

Needless to say that bunion was not about to become the Comeback Kid.

Next Week It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.