Sunday, June 12, 2016

325. Campaigns

It had been nearly two weeks since I saw C.W. and I was beginning, as I drifted between concern and relief, to wonder what happened to him. It was late afternoon and the rest of the family was away, so I mixed a drink and sat in the backyard of the farm watching the woodland creatures, actually cows, dogs, and Canadian geese. I heard a noise from the front yard and turned around. There, coming around the house, to great commotion, were the conjoined twins, Lucky and Lefty, one of C.W.’s favorite shapes.

“Turdface,” Lucky was saying, “he’s nothing but a damned sociopath.”

“Asswipe,” Lefty said, thrusting a finger toward the other head, “at least he’s no damned communist.”

“Bite me,” you right-wing idiot.”

“Up yours,”

“Boys, boys,” I said. “What seems to be the matter?”

They looked at me in unison. Lefty spoke first. “What makes you think something’s the matter?”

“Yeah,” Lucky said. “Butt out, watermelon-head.”

I sighed. “Where have you been?”

Lucky looked at Lefty, who looked back. After a few seconds, Lefty said, “Tell him, jerkoff.”

“You tell him,” Lucky said. “It was your fault.”

“It was entrapment, pure and simple,” Lefty said.

After a few minutes of this, I obtained the full story. They, he, whatever, had just completed, by correspondence it seems, the Falloonian version of sensitivity training due to a visit by a representative from the home planet, an individual sent to record progress.”

“He just had to comment that one of her heads made him want to Flurshmithikut.” After some prodding I determined that translated roughly, very roughly, into ‘dancing the Watusi in the nude while emitting mating sounds.’ Anyway …

“We’re free now,” Lucky said. “And guess what?”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, go ahead,” Lefty said.

“Just tell me.”

“We,” Lucky said with a verbal fanfare, “are going to participate in the upcoming presidential race. I’m with the winner, and he’s supporting ‘douchebag.’”

“Don’t you dare call President-to-be Cruz that,” Lefty said. He looked at me. “This from a person who supports, ‘Pencil-di…’”

“The honorable Bernie Sanders, if you please,” Lucky said.

“Honorable my ass,” Lefty said. “My candidate is the honorable one. Just wait until he settles with those scum,”

“What scum?” I asked.

“Immigrants and their illegal offspring, coming our country and claiming to be citizens. Wham, bam, and right back into the jungle with them,”

“Uh, …”

Lucky interrupted. “Bernie’s going to let everyone go to college for free,”

“Yeah,” Lefty said, “even stupid assholes like you.”

“Uh, fellows …” I said.

Lucky blurted out, “We won’t have any more illegal wars with Bernie.”

“Just wait until he takes away your guns,” Lefty said, looking at me.

“I don’t have any guns,” I said.

“What about that one you use to shoot snakes?”

“It’s a pellet gun,” I said.

“Bernie the socialist will get that too,” Lefty said.

“You won’t need guns after Ted, the Bat-shit Crazy, Cruz nukes the entire Middle East,” Lucky said.

“Oh man,” can’t you just see it?” Lefty said. The entire area glowing in the dark on Google Earth.”

“Moron,” Lucky said.

“Hippie weeny.”

“Uh fellows, …”

“What?” Lefty said. “It won’t affect you. “Ted The Man says he’ll exempt the Baby Boomers from all his cuts.”

“It’s not that,” I said.

“Then what is your problem?” Lucky said.

“Have you not heard?”

We always find it odd that so many of your species
 doesn't take the right to make this choice any more
seriously than it does. - C.W.
Lefty looked at Lucky. Lucky looked back, and said, “Heard what? We’ve been gone awhile, or can’t you hear?”

“It’s all settled,” I said. “The nominees are chosen.”

“That’s why we’re gearing up, Dummkopf,” Lefty said. “Now which one of us do you plan to side with, Cruz or Sanders?”

“I hate to tell you this” I said, “but the candidates are going to be Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump.”

“Cut the crap,” Lucky said. “We’re being serious.”

“Afraid so,” I said.

“But … but … but…,” Lefty said. “You’re talking about someone who is despised, ridiculed, and blasted by everyone in the press—a person who reportedly disgusts people and who started to wear thin years ago. Someone who will polarize the country. Someone who has had a troubled marriage in the past.”

“Two, actually,” Lucky said, looking at Lefty, “and you have to take him.”

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