Posted on 21 November 2012.
Karl Rove, weasel extraordinaire and famous shill for the Republican Party, was found unconscious, beaten half to death and left lying in a Washington alley early this morning. Surveillance tapes retrieved from security cameras around the neighborhood revealed a most disturbing incident. The following is a verbatim rendering of what was seen and heard upon the tapes:
Karl Rove exits the ritzy Republican Rabble, an exclusive Washington conservative nightspot for right wing adherents and their toadies. He is only lightly inebriated, much better than the nights following the humiliating Republican loss in the Presidential elections when he would snocker himself into his own private limbo to cushion the blow to his ego and his esteem.
He is just starting to pass a dingy alleyway when a burly voice beckons out to him.
“Hey Rove, how ya doin’? Got a second? A few of your buddies want to have a chat wit youse.”
Rove, frightened, pulls up short. He is immediately surrounded by four large, rough types in trenchcoats who hustle him back into the alley and back him up against a wall.
“So, my man, it looks like you lost us a lot of money wit yer shenanigans.” says the largest man.
Rove, so scared that a stain is already spreading across his pants in the crotch area, barely manages to wheeze out his reply; “Whoooo…are……you….?”
A rough finger jabs him in the chest hard enough to bruise it. “Who we is is none of yer business! Let’s jist say that we is friends of friends of friends of the people you do business with. The friends whose money you just spent like a whore who just got through screwin’ Donald Trump and iz now hitting Las Vegas like a Saudi Prince on Coke!”
Rove shivered like he was naked on stage at a Holiday on Ice performance without any skates. “Oh my God….” he whimpered.
The scarred face looming over him grinned sardonically. “Yeah, I think youse gots the idea. The big boys went along wit alla yer ideas on how to snuff this Obama cat in the elections, but it looks like alla yer ideas weren’t worth a hill o’ beans. Now, cause a dat you is owin’ the big boys big time. They trusted you wit their money and now they got nothin’ to show fer it. Three hundred million bucks blown away like a Jersey streetwalker in Hurricane Sandy.”
Rove swallowed hard and tried to think up something to schmarm them with, this being his major talent in life. ‘Look, guys, I’ll make it up to them! I….I know ways to get us back in power!
This was just a fluke! Really guys! I can get us back on top again!”
A muscled fist grabbed Rove’s shirt and lifted him up to a face that was diabolically twisted with malice. “Look here, Junior, the only thing you gonna be on top of is that pile of rubbish there in the back of the alley in a minute! Now youse got ta gits that money back to the big boys who fronted you or you gonna be ridin’ under the campaign bus instead of in it! Capice?”
Rove melted down into a total nervous wreck. His pants were now ruined beyond the redemption of any washer to ever clean them. “Yeah! Yeah! I get it! No problem! I’ll get it! You don’t have to get rough!”
The big man smirked sadistically. “Oh yes we do! ‘We got orders to leave ya wit a few permanent souvenirs of the 2012 Presidential election!” Hardened fists start beating on the pudgy pundit from all directions.
“Wait! Wait!” squealed Rove. “Are you guys really Italian hoodlums?”
The blows stopped for a moment. “Na,” said one of the other assailants. “We is really higher ups in the Corporate world from the Super Pacs who sponsored you. We just like the whole Godfather Mafia image thing! Now just say ‘Tha…tha….thatt’s all folks!’ and it will be nighty night fer youse!”
The blows again began to rain down on Rove as he fainted into a merciful, blissful unconsciousness.