Political Humor |

Our scene opens in a very dark place.

“Damn, who farted?”

“Wasn’t me.”

“Me either.”

“Or me.”

“Likewise.”

“Ditto.”

“How many people are in here?”

“Quite a few.”

“Hell if I know.”

“A lot.”

“Did someone say Hell?”

“Yeah, I did. Why?”

“Because that’s something I know a lot about.”

“Shit, there’s that smell again.”

“Wow. It’s like rotten eggs.”

“It’s brimstone.”

“What?”

“He said, it’s brimstone!”

“I heard him.”

“Karen, is that you?”

“Roger? Yeah, it’s me, and I’ve got the entire board of directors with me.”

“Hi Roger.”

“Where in the Hell are we?”

“Oh, so close, but no bailout bucks.”

“Huh?”

“He said…”

“I heard him!”

“You’re in my bed.”

“What do you mean in your bed? There’s not enough room to lay down, and even if I wanted to, it’s ankle deep in some kind of nasty muck.”

“Well, you weren’t really expecting to find heavenly comfort in the Devil’s bed, where you?”

“In the what?”

“He said, in the Devil’s bed.”

“I know what he said. I’m not deaf, you know. That was a rhetorical what.”

“I don’t think you can use what in a rhetorical manner. There are certain elements of speech…”

“Oh, shut up!”

“Can someone find a light switch. I can’t see my hand in front of my face.”

“Don’t bother. I plan to keep you in the dark. Just like the terms of our little agreement.”

“That not fair.”

“Who ever said the Devil was fair?”

“Hey, over here in the corner. What’s this about being in bed with the Devil?”

“It’s very easy my friends. You took TARP money and other bailout funds, and now you’re in bed with me. Simple, see?

“I shouldn’t be here. My bank paid all the borrowed funds back… with interest.”

“Don’t matter, you’re not going anywhere. It was never about the money. I don’t care if any of you ever pay back one red cent.”

“Not about money! Surely you jest. It’s always about money.”

“No it’s not, and don’t call me…arrrrgggg. Walked right into that one.”

“Well. If it’s not about money, what is it about?”

“The souls.”

“You want our souls?”

“No, you idiot. I’ve already got those. It’s your Wall Street institution’s, your bank’s and your car company’s souls I was after, and now I’ve got ‘em.”

“I want to go home. I want my mommy.”

“What a cry baby. I think I pitch fork you first.”

“Ouch! Hey, that hurt!”

“Now, I’m going to fork you over there in the face.”

“My eye!”

“Now you, in the butt.”

“Oh, fork me again big boy.”

“There’s always one. Oh well. Now I’ll fork you and you and… What the Hell, I think I’ll just fork the whole country.”

Whiny little… All I hear is, “Where’s the original Photoshop?” “How come you didn’t do a picture?” Fine. Here’s just what you asked for, a Photoshopped image from the scene above.

Are you happy now?