Senator Willow twitched nervously as she faced the camera.
‘Where is Otis?’ she wondered. ‘Thank God that tricksy guy isn’t here tonight.’
Thunder flickered in the distance. The storm was over.
Or so she hoped.
‘People of America,’ she coughed as she cleared her throat.
‘Oh, Charles Taizé fuckin’ Eddy on a fuckin’ prophet-stick,’ wailed Senator Marcus Charleston Bubble, burping up the rest of this evening’s pizza, filling the cramped office with a stench no more easy to credit, and no less stomach-churningly noxious, as Presidential tears after a drone strike.
Ingrid hurled herself out of the way, but there was no need. It was only raw acid fumes that spewed from the gaping cavern of the filthy, squirming, subhuman, humanitarian-brutality-mongering sack of neocon depravity and liberal-interventionist mendacity slumped in front of her slender frame. ‘How many of me could he eat?’ she wryly asked herself.
‘Hm! How about I eat you ou… uh, how about we eat out us… some… uh… URRRGGHHH-FUCK! Sheesh! Woo! That was a good one! Huh? Oh… oh god, the ass too, let’s get this ah… yeah sorry girl, my ass is kinda… WO-HOOOO-owch! Urgh! Fuck! Hey, Hey, Marcus B, how many pizzas will we… urghh…. Shit…
‘Your suit is nice,’ Ingrid coyly remarked. ‘But some might say it was nicer before you decorated it.’
‘Oh God… Ingrid baby, you say the sweetest things. I swear you should quit going to the Epstein… urgh, the Pizza Express. Whew! Light o’ my life, fire of my… PPPPPPPPPPHHHHUHHHHHHHHHHH!’
‘You enjoy that pizza,’ Ingrid wryly observed.
‘Urgh… Clean me up. Is the shower still working?’
‘You are a big boy now,’ tsked Ingrid. ‘Shouldn’t you know how to shower by now?’
‘Yeah but… I can’t reach down… down… where, I ur… I mean, like… yeah, er, urgh…’
‘Why don’t you go to the bar? I think you would be a real hit with the citizens,’ Ingrid smirked.
‘Undress me, Ingie lady,’ Marcus whimpered. ‘The, the fuckin’ sick… it’s really breakin’ my balls…’
‘My fellow Americans!’
Senator Willow was firmer now. Her voice was far from the loudest, but in her way, it was as authoritative as any; even if, in her own very limited and fallible way, she had come among men to serve, and not to be served.
‘I am here today to remind you of some solemn truths.’
Nauseous by now to the point of giddiness, all Senator Bubble could do was to scream inwardly:
‘Oh God, here comes the pretentious intellectual crap as per usual!’
Our nation is founded upon the three noble truths of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
‘Fuckin’ you go, girl!’ roared Saul Friedman, pounding the table so far the glass shattered.
‘You clumsy Jew fuck!’ roared Dogpound.
And who, pray tell, was Dogpound?
Well, who frickin’ cares?
Fuck this guy.
She’s goin’ in!
‘She’s fuckin’ goin’ in,’ yelled Saul, practically howling with delight. ‘You show these fuckin’ neocon bitches what happens when the Willow hits the fuckin’ shit! Gonna show these bitter neocon fucks what’s gonna hit them when they shit all over our frickin’ Constitution! You go on ahead an’ deal those boys a fuckin’ Steamy Jefferson, girl!’
‘Hm. We’re. We’re. Uh, Sally? Is. Is the Steamy Jefferson. Ready?’
‘Fuck do you care?’ snarled Sally. ‘I fuckin’ told you to just pour the beers, because it’s all a bloody retard like you is good for.’
‘Good for. Good. Good for,’ muttered Jim, smiling weakly.
‘Tell you what, Americans with Disabilities Act is a pile of crap. I wish Alan hadn’t hired you, you worthless shit for brains. I mean, if we had a good libertarian here like Senator Bubble… well, ish! I mean, instead of a fuckin’ Jew sellout like that guy over there… Oh. Oh my gosh.’
‘Took. Took three,’ Jim muttered.
‘The… the fuck. Oh. Oh my God. Let me dial Alan.’
‘Need the phone?’ said Jim, signalling.
‘Oh, you useless retarded sack of crap! Hey… give me that! Alan! Alan!’
‘Wah… wah… it’s… it’s frickin 1 p… pm, bitch!’ Alan almost wailed. ‘Don’t fuckin’ call me this early in the morning! It’s only been light for what… 6 hours?’
‘Alan, just let me tell you what’s going on here. The Jews.’
‘The fuckin’ Jews, Alan.’
‘What? Fuck those guys! They’re always breakin’ my fuckin’ balls, sis!’ Alan groaned.
‘Lisssstttteeeennnn caaaarefuuulllyyyyy, Al. The Jews. Tell me, Alan. Can they take alcohol? I mean are they like, you know? The Chinese, and the Orientals, and stuff?’
‘And… stuff? Uh… fuck would I know, sis? Quit fuckin’ callin’ me up? No wonder our bar is going down the… the… you fuckin’ caaallin’ me uuup like this!’
‘Look, we have this thing, I mean look, we got ourselves a rowdy Jew guy up here, and he’s making me feel uncomfortable. Do you think he might try ‘n’ pull somethin’?’
‘Huh? Oh, oh my gosh! We haven’t seen one of them folks in a while! Wow! Hee-hee! Ohhh, my, gooossshhh, Sally, why don’t we fuckin’ come ‘n’ bleed the bastard dry, yeah? Wooopie boo-boo-boo da hooooooooooooo-boy! Yowzah!’
Sally cleared her throat and spat on the carpet.
‘You flaming idiot! He practically hasn’t bought shit since he’s come here!’
‘A Jew who ain’t bought shit? Fuck this guy!… What, I mean… what? Ohhh, God! I mean, what fuckin’ good is that? A fuckin’ Jew with no money? Why don’t we fuckin’ call Caleb?’
‘Because he is dead! Ah, for Christ’s sake!’
‘Well, yeah… Alan whispered. ‘Yeah?’
Sally gasped. ‘Now you get it, right?’
Alan quivered. ‘Yeah, yeah, I mean like yeah, sis. But… but…’
Sally practically screamed.
‘He really, really, really hates the Jews, right?’
Sally slammed the phone down in disgust.
‘Why did you give him that beer? You are even more fucking stupid than my other brother?’
‘He. He likes. Beer.’ Stuttered Jim, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.
‘You know what?’ spat Sally. ‘At least Alan has a bit of fight left in him. CNN caught his heckle the other day. He told Marcus Bubble the fuckin’ Zionazi mafia were destroying our country.
‘Of course, the stupid Zioliberalism media are always gonna try and censor our Markie! But he got the message across. One way or another.’
‘Mr.’ began Jim.
‘Don’t you dare!’ warned Sally, wagging his finger in fury.
‘Mr Feinstein is real nice,’ muttered Jim weakly.
‘Nice? Of course he’s fucking nice! He’s a fucking Jew shopkeeper, why wouldn’t he be nice? Well? Hm! Any ideas whyss Huh?’
Jim furrowed his brow.
‘I don’t. Understand?’
Sally slapped the counter in frustration. ‘Of course you don’t understand. Because you’re literallly thick as shit!
‘You know, see us other two siblings: me and Alan? We are the smart ones. We support the troops. We support every lost goddamn war of ours that is necessary to defend our country and sustain the project of our common humanity.
‘We don’t sell to queers, Jews (not unless… well, y’know!), dirty Ayyyrabs, or to those filthy fuckin’…
‘Well wait, technically we do have to sell to the niggers, I mean why? Like, why the hell? Because diversitaaayyy or some PC fuckin’ crap like that back in the 1940s. But you know what? You don’t understand any of that shit.
‘Because you are fuckin’ retarded. Only a fuckin’ special ed trophy spastic like you doesn’t understand with us.
‘See me and Alan, we are really smart; but you are dumb as a fuckin’ block of… of firewood, or, fuck poetry, Christ knows!
‘I mean, you are so fuckin’ thick as shit, you might as well be a Democrat, or a pacifist, or some other worthless sack of shit for brains pinko!’
Jim timidly offered to change the subject. ‘Is Mr Feinstein coming back some day? He’s. He’s a real nice. Nice. Guy.’
‘He’s nice,’ spat Sally. ‘They always are, those guys… when they need to be. But no, he ain’t comin’ back. He was really disrespectful to Alan about his moment of glory at the Charleston Bubble rally. He said Alan was a ‘privileged white guy,’ whatever the fuck that is supposed to mean? I mean, he should have shot the guy, but he’s a lousy shot. Second only to you, genius? Huh?’
Jim wrinkled his brow and paused for a moment, lost in thought.
All of a sudden, he broke out in a smile.
‘Coffee,’ he beamed, his eyes glittering with joy.
‘Well… hell, that’s not a bad idea,’ she muttered. ‘Why don’t we close early. Go and tell jolly ole beat up King Jewfucius here he has to clear out.’
Jim walked over to Saul. ‘Uh, excuse me, Mr sir, uh, I mean, uh, Mr jolly old beat-up King Jewfucius.’
Sally’s mouth fell wide open in horror.
As for Saul, his generous blue eyes blazed with anger for a whole lightning boltsworth of fear and fury.
Habit of a lifetime.
You can never presume it’s gonna be alright. The time will never come when we can really…
Ahhhh, fuckit! All of a sudden, the storm lifted, and he remembered.
‘Hah! Ya cheeky fuckin’ ass,’ Saul grinned, dealing Jim a thoroughly rambunctious bear hug. ‘Jew-sagely as fuckin’ charged, son! Shrewd fuckin’ cookie is old Jim, here! Ya frickin’ snarky fuck, boyo!’
‘Sorry for what the, the-the-the retard said,’ stammered Sally in a faux-apologetic manner. ‘He’s thick as two short… uh, wood pieces, right? Know what I mean. But you know you do have to shift your ass, because we don’t need you now. And your dollars. Bar’s closing.’
‘Awwwwwww! Moaned Saul in desperation that was only half contrived. ‘But… but Senator Willow…’
‘Who? Oh… her,’ murmured Sally. ‘Politicians. The usual shit.’
‘Ah!’ gushed Saul, almost ecstatic with delight. ‘Not just any politician.’
‘Hell you on about, old man?’ whispered Sally. ‘Get. The. Hell. Out. Now.’
‘Hm. Good frickin’ evenin’ to you an’ all. Mizzizz Barmaid Frickin’ Sunshine,’ grunted Saul.
Sally waited until Saul had got the right distance away; by now, the old man was close enough to hear her, but (hopefully) nowhere near close enough to think it worth the trouble to stagger back and give as good as he got.
‘You and your fuckin’ tribe suuuuuucccckkkk!’ screamed Sally. ‘You and your fuckin’ miserly…’
Saul heard it alright. He swang his cane in disgust. ‘Shut yer damn whitie’s craphole, ya racist asswanglin’ vanilla-lickin’ fuck! Hurrrr! Go an’ fuckin’ goy up some other fuckin’ soft-ass Friedman mercymonger!’ he spat.
Nobody was around.
Or so he thought.
Saul raised his head with a start.
A pair of jolly brown eyes and a chubby face, just consumed with innocent mirth and delight.
Or so the naïve onlooker would have thought.
Big Xian was actually a much greater and more profound figure than many a person in his city or nation would have been ready to imagine.
But that said, imagination was scarce enough of a resource in general, God knows!
Big Xian laughed with amusement.
‘Hey! Hey! Hey, Saul! Did they be nasty to you again, Big Saul?’ he chuckled.
‘Hm. What’s it t’ you,’ muttered Saul. He immediately felt bad, though.
‘Come and get something at my place instead. We are still serving your favourite.’
Brightening somewhat, Saul smacked his lips in anticipation. ‘Pork balls? What’s the sauce?’ he practically panted.
‘Nooooo, brother!’ Big Xian grinned. ‘Hunan pork!’
‘What? You frickin’ kiddin’ me, Xian?! Thought you said you weren’t getting’ it again!’
Big Xian’s hearty belly guffawed, and guffawed, and guffawed.
‘You are my best customer! I have to get this for my best customer!’
Saul frowned naively, not fully grasping the joke. ‘How d’ya know I was here in town again? You ain’t been doin’ that fortune tellin’ again? Now that is some spooky shit, Big Sen. Tell yer what, big Sen, I ain’t never been spooked so much in my frickin’ life. You sure you weren’t genuinely witchin’ me? Dear God Sen, that scary-ass Yee King shit! I mean, in all my born days…’
Big Xian roared with laughter and ushered Saul into The Kunming Twilight.
‘You know, Big Saul, it’s just so good your God allows you to eat pork at my place all the time! It’s like all our Christmases have come at once!’
‘Christmas? Heh, heh, heh! Well, ya big-ass snarky fuck, Big Sen! Huh? Some frickin’ big-ass joker fail of a jest! Ya know us folks, we just don’t…’
Big Xian poured Saul a glass of tea. ‘You know, if you keep eating like this, one day, Big Saul will be as big as Big Xian.’
‘Ha! Ha! Ha! Ya outa yer frickin’ mind? Heh, heh!’ roared Saul, by now almost delirious with mirth.
‘You know, this is a big day for us!’ said Big Xian. ‘It is Youtai Independence Day, here in Chinatown! And over there in my hometown in China, our ancient community, we will all celebrate the Youtai Independence Day!’
‘Really!’ gasped Saul. ‘It’s frickin’ Israel day too! Ooo, now that’s some spooky fuckin’ shit, Big Sen! Alright then, well let’s have a toast to the name, cos we don’t know what the proper way o’ callin’ him is, but he won’t mind if we go full Hunan piggy-ass on this one, just this frickin’ once, right? Give us that frickin’ skewer, an’ let’s just blow our fuckin’ balls off to blazes, son!’
Big Xian laughed again. ‘The name that we can name, you know, it is not the everlasting name.’
‘Wowee!’ Saul whooped in joy, taking down a carelessly obstructing bamboo dumpling basket as he shook his cane for sheer delight. ‘You and I, we could be practically frickin’ brothers, Senny boy! Whoop! Whoop!’
Xian smiled for a moment. But then, overcome with emotion, he frowned. Pensively, he fell into a muse. He could hide his true despondency no longer.
Youtai Independence Day.
Saul had never once asked who the ‘Youtai’ were.
Silently, in Big Xian’s mind, he pictured himself back in the beautiful Yunnan province of eternal spring.
Silently, the fingers of his grandfather traced his fingers on the half-naked, feverish body of the ailing lad.
But this was no Chinese calligraphy.
‘Youtai,’ Big Xian audibly breathed. ‘Youtai.’
The hills and valleys echoed with the gentle thunder.
The winds of change dispersed, and all was left was the gentle pitter-patter of a bittersweet nostalgia.
‘Y’hudah,’ sang the ospreys, silent.
Far flung, free, and lonesome.
Senator Willow’s speech was already forgotten. At least by a lot of people. The people who really counted.
‘So,’ she murmured, finally letting the first tears flow, so heartbreakingly, soul-rendingly late in her speech.
My judgment was poor.
What’s to be afraid of?
Is it such a shameful thing for a woman to cry?
Oh, oh, oh.
Oh for God’s sake!
Of course it is.
It’s not my America.
It doesn’t belong to me.
‘These ‘filthy Arabs,’ as our good Professor Shankley Butcher classes them, are also mothers. They are daughters. And sisters. And wives.’
What a fucking dumb and divisive thing to say! The first few seconds, after his shower, were amusing. This is just too…
Ingrid tutted. ‘I’m going home. Thanks for dirtying my clothes for me.’
Marcus struggled to beg her without retching.
‘I got some plan B,’ he whispered. ‘Get you anything… anything… you w-AAAHHH-wah-oh-my-fuckin’-GUUURRGGGHHH!’
‘You are scum,’ Ingrid murmured, flicking her ponytail as she deserted the bloodbath.
Well… if only!
‘Shit,’ murmured Bubble, practically immobile.
‘Nordic bitches are really hot when they’re fakin’ bein’ angry. Hm. No wonder I had to pay offa that greasy Findielander bitch and send the CIA to tell her to take the money and just go shut the fuck up! I mean, she wouldna been the first uppity, buppity, schoolyard-slutty, spunk-lovin’ cunt I’d ever had to sort out once and for all.
‘But I wasn’t letting that uppity-utterly-chuggin’-bitchwipe spoil our trade deal with these here Russia folks. I had to arrange the Ukrainian no-fly-zone (‘some would say bombing campaign?’ Ahhh, just you go and fly your fuckin’ ass, Otis!) just right, so that we could bury the bad news.
‘I mean, what’s worse, in all fairness? Fuckin’ a few uppity bitches over, or being a flamin ‘non-interventionist’ pinko isolationist? So, so, so a few fuckin’ white niggers in Ukraine got blown to blazes. Well, so the fuck what? I mean, if Senator Marcus Charleston Bubble calls it a humanitarian intervention, then it’s a fuckin’ goddamn humanitarian intervention, isn’t it!
‘Anyone who says otherwise is a pacifist traitor! I mean look, as one of our boys said a few years back: ‘The First Amendment is great in principle, but we’ve got a war going on!’
‘Well, no shit! Marcus Charleston Bubble is just sick of privileged, latte-sipping limousine liberals from the Ivy League privileging (ha! Gotta love that shit!) the so-called ‘rights’ of our enemies over The National Interest, the Global Village, and The Greater Good of Our Common Humanity!
‘I mean, hell, I woulda thrown in the other shit about ‘the pure Anglo-Saxon white race,’ but you seriously think these shameless Zioliberal Cultural Marxist assholes in the controlled media would ever let me get away with that shit?
‘Well, let me tell you something showful, honeybuckles: I may not have managed to ended Jew Privilege, Arab privilege, Muslim privilege, and general goddamn-motherfuckin’-Oriental foreigner privilege in this great and blessed nation of ours.
‘But you know what? For what it’s worth, I’m working on it. And I tell you what, I am going to keep ‘calling you out’ on your ‘privilege,’ and weaponize your evil ideology, and turn it against you.
‘I will have white people voting for the Republican Party, the Party of Our Common Humanity, Humanitarian Interventionism and of One Nation Under God, and I tell you what, we will have our people voting GOP for a million years!
‘And as for the rest? Well, let me tell you something, people. The Supreme Court is not pristine! I say this… I say this… Urrgghhhh!’
The last word was something Marcus Charleston Bubble had actually said.
The rest of the speech had occurred only in his head.