by Peter Dudnik.
But, and this is a big but, the stench of progress was indescribable. Old and young slaves bred in America were the worst. They intentionally polluted the place. Things got so bad that President C. Bollocks was just sitting down to dinner with a corpse when he was seized with wrath. “Officer Dicky Duck, what are those little terrorists up to now?”
“You’ll never believe it.”
“Try me.”
“The sons of bankers and tycoons are using bio-weapons of mass disgust against us!”
“Then it’s time for the death penalty. Hang them all!”
“But captain, that will make the smell worse!”
“Hmmm, then don’t hang them, just threaten to hang them! Or threaten to take something from them! Threaten to burn everything to cinders!” The Captain smiled in the glow of good memories. “Kids usually fall for threats, so you rarely need to act. Here, take a book of matches. Behavior will improve dramatically. If it not, resort to excessive violence.”
The officers grabbed the matches and ran down to the engine rooms. They had always wanted to issue threats. But halfway down, Arabelle, a common slave who had risen to a minor supervisory position, intercepted them. They threatened her with their matches, but she was already hot. In fact, she faced them with her bosom bare. Her twin boobies awakened their inner children, rousing the primeval need for nutritious delicious milk and warm squishiness. The officers knew they were in mortal danger of treason and, with an almighty act of willpower, they scampered up the stairs and back into the Bull’s Head Diner and shrieked, “Captain, booby-trap! Booby-trap!”
The good captain laughed. “No kidding, my boobies are trapped, you included!”
“No, captain,” Officer Billy the Kid explained, “by booby-trap we mean cog number 63-9 threatened us with milk loaded boobies!”
Captain C. Bollocks was flabberbaffled. “Did you say—loaded? … loaded with milk? Real chemo-free milk?”
“We stopped short of conducting a taste test.”
“This is serious! We have no defense against lactating mammaries! What does the cog want?”
The incompetent officers confessed their absolute ignorance. A crooked smile-twisted the captain’s mug. “I want that milk! I can’t remember the last time … All right! Tell her in return for one cup of milky goodness I’ll grant all the cogs a cup of freedom. If the cog asks for clarification, free anyone wearing A, B, C, or D cups. If that doesn’t do it, open the booby hatch and give them exactly five minutes to wipe their butts, stretch their legs, and romp a bit. Got it?”
“Captain, that milk might be contaminated. It has not been pasteurized. It’s too risky! Besides, that milk … uhm … it belongs to others.”
He growled. The officers scampered away, back down to the engine room.
There they found her, Arabelle, their own mother. This time they spoke kindly to her, and after much haggling they paid two grand for some milky goodness. The captain downed the whole gallon, smacked his lips contentedly and announced a “freedom hour” for the slaves.
I expected pandemonium, but prisoners like Boo Radley chose to stay inside. More adventurous prisoners stampeded through the exit and out to the beach. Those who survived the landmines they enjoyed a dip in the ocean before they frolicked in the sand, sang Free at Last and made such a hubbub that the captain’s curiosity was roused. Despite my warnings, he sauntered outside to investigate the scene.
Upon seeing the childish antics of his happy slaves his spirit broke and reverted to a child. Laughing, he jumped out of the caboose and acted like a naked monkey on drugs. The officers that bore witness blushed as their captain gave free rides on his backside, neighed like a horse and staggered around until he collapsed from too much ecstasy. The slaves had planned this from the beginning. They leapt into action and tied him to the railway tracks. President C. Bollocks understood and cried, “I swear!” he cried. “From now on, I’ll be a better president!”
Everyone laughed at that.
“This time I’ll spend money responsibly! I’ll make ten quadrillion luv—that’s O10,000,000,000,000,000—the absolute debt limit! And if I break that limit, you can kick my ass!”
Everyone laughed with disbelief.
“I swear, I’ll even raise the interest rate on the government’s credit card to ten thousand percent! That will deter me from spending too much!”
They laughed. They knew he only paid interest to himself.
“And if I create one more penny of debt, you can put me in prison!”
That was a good joke. He owned all the prisons and everyone knew it.
So, being out of promises, he tried a different tactic. He cried and prayed, “Oh God, what have I done to deserve this? I’m not Harry Houdini! Please, don’t do this to me! Tell me what they want! Whatever it is, I’ll give it to them!”
First Officer Jesse James had overheard his prayer and felt a smidgen of pity and said, “For crying out loud, Dad, can’t you see we just want a good time?”
The President was stunned. Then he shook on the tracks and shouted, “WTF? A go-o-od time? What is that? Don’t you have any ambition?”
First Officer JJ nodded. “Thanks, Dad. You’ve just given me my ambition.”
Everyone took the hint, climbed back on board and got to work. They strained and groaned but they could not make Economic Powerhouse move one inch forward. So, they pedaled backwards a bit and took a run at the President’s body, but they could not achieve sufficient velocity to do more than crease his clothes.
On account of their failure, the President was seized with an endless fit of laughing and taunting. Psychiatrists diagnosed him in a very severe manner before they dragged him away, kicking and bawling, into the quarantine car[1].
[1] This car was headed in the opposite direction.