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…we turn now to an overheard conversation on Wall Street…
Cock-knocker Executive #1: Can you believe this shit? A $500,000 salary cap! That fuckin’ Obama!
Cock-knocker Executive #2: Shhhh!
CE #1: I mean, what the hell can you do with $500,000?! Nothing! It’s a travesty! Obama’s a jerk!
CE #2: Shut up!
CE #1: What is your problem?
CE #2 (pointing upwards): He can hear you!
CE #1: Who can?
CE #2: President Obama!
CE #1: Oh, fuck off! No he can’t!
CE #2: Yes, he can!
CE #1: If he can hear me, maybe he can answer my question: What the hell can you do with a mere $500,000 a year?!
A burst of HEAT VISION lances from the clouds, melting the glass of the office windows and searing the finely carpeted floor. A MESSAGE is scorched into the flooring, flames dancing merrily. It reads: BUY A WHOLE LOT OF FUCKING RAMEN, YOU DILLWEED.
CE #2: See?!
CE #1: …I suppose I could do that.
* * * * *
In other words, Wall Street: Shut the fuck up.
I make less than $25,000 a year. If I spent NOTHING and that $25,000 was just frosting and could languish in big fat rolls of bills under my mattress it would take me TWENTY YEARS to make what you do in one with a salary cap!
So I hope, Wall Street, that you will forgive the fuck out of me if I do that really obnoxious rubbing-my-finger-and-thumb-together trick while rolling my eyes and saying “I’m playing a sad, sad song on the world’s smallest violin for you, you used enema bag.”
I could buy three houses, four cars and live for the rest of my life on the interest of what’s left over on one year of your new, “pathetically small” salary. And my wife and I are not the poorest people we know. I know people who would blow a hobo, gargle his spunk and then kill and eat the transient bum for your amusement if you offered them $500,000.
How DARE you assholes come to D.C., all weepy-eyed and snot-nosed, begging for money to fix the economy you broke and then whine when Daddy America says “Okay, but we demand you be somewhat responsible with this money.” “Aww, Daaaaaad,” you pule “…we were gonna get us a shiny new jet plane!”
Fuck you guys, seriously. I think Obama’s being nice. If I were president, you would have to deal with a salary cap of minimum wage with no overtime and a punch in the balls so hard you’d taste your own testicles for the rest of your life.
So thank your lucky stars I’m NOT the Commander-in-Chief. I’d be detailing entire squadrons of Marines to Ball Punching Duty. Or maybe I’d make it part of the infrastructure package and assign the task to some real rough and ready blue-collar guys from the auto plants. I’m sure they’d love to have some work that they’d enjoy.
I may run for president myself on that platform: Vote Miracleman in 2016! Get a job punching Wall Street whiners in the junk!
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go price campaign buttons.
What is it with these presidential nominees and taxes?
Timothy Geithner, nominee for the Secretary of Treasury…you know, dealing with MONEY…had an issue with unpaid back taxes. Now Tom Daschle, former nominee to head the Department of Health and Human Services has had to step aside because of some $146,000.00 in unpaid taxes.
Are these guys criminals or just retarded?
Because I’m such an unabashed Obama apologist I imagine scenes in the Oval Office like this…
President Obama: Oh, hey, Tom…c’mon in.
Daschle: Mr. President. You wanted to see me?
President Obama: Yes, yes I did. It’s about this tax thing, Tom.
Daschle: I know, it was stupid…
President Obama: Yes it was.
Daschle: I’m gonna step aside, turn down the job.
President Obama: Okay, that’s a start.
Daschle: Start?
President Obama: Yes. See, I’m very disappointed, Tom. You’re sullying the image of myself, this administration and the Hall of Justice.
Daschle: Hall of…?
President Obama: I meant “White House”.
Daschle: I’m sorry.
President Obama: So I’m going to have to do this…
President Obama steps from behind his desk and PUNCHES Daschle in the COCK.
Daschle: …
President Obama: And if I find out you took a job with the Legion of Doom, you’re a dead man. Got that?
Daschle: …
President Obama: Good. You may go.
Daschle hobbles out. President Obama sits behind his desk. There is a KNOCK at the door, then it opens.
President Obama (looking up): Oh, hey, Zan, Jayna. Glad you could make it.
Wonder Twins: You wanted to see us, sir?
President Obama: It’s about this “Gleek” thing…
*****
Maybe that’s not how it happened. But it should have.
Also, for your amusement, is the following image from my brain:
Have a good one!
Today is February 2, 2009 and I still do not have the flying car I requested. I believe, in fact, that I was promised a flying car in one of your campaign speeches. I don’t remember which one. It was in one of our states. Anyway.
Also, I note that people are still hungry somewhere. I, myself, would like a sandwich. I am willing to have the price of my sandwich deducted from my tax returns, however I must remind you that if the sandwich does not appear at my desk within thirty minutes of posting this letter, the sandwich is free. As to the other people who are hungry, please fix it as per your campaign promise that I heard about somewhere, maybe NPR, in that speech you gave in some state.
I would also like a plastic rocket and a pony.
I heard on the radio this morning that we are launching missiles into lawless parts of western Pakistan (and if you could hear the way I pronounced “Pakistan” I think you would approve; it was just like yours: “Pah-kee-stahn.”) in an attempt to eradicate Al-Qaeda and the Taliban. I must admit I was shocked. Why are we doing this? I was given to understand that you would hover in high earth-orbit and use your super-hearing to pinpoint the location of Taliban and Al-Qaeda bases and then defuse their weaponry with tightly focused bursts of your x-ray and heat vision. I understand that you have a bunch of bills to sign and whatever, but can’t you take those with you into the upper atmosphere? If it’s a problem of the ink in the pen freezing at those altitudes I will gladly purchase you one of those revolutionary “space pens”. You can deduct the price of the pen from my tax return. Seriously, I’m cool with that.
And, while we’re on the subject of global evil, where is Osama bin Laden? I assumed you would immediately scour the four corners of the earth at just under the speed of light and find him. Or check your “Naughty/Nice” list…do they still list delivery addresses on that if they’re “Naughty”? Or, you know, spot him from high earth-orbit as we previously discussed. Though, come to think of it, bin Laden is a wily foe indeed. Like all super-villains he probably has a secret lair somewhere just loaded with anti-Obama technology. It’s probably lead-lined and has sound baffles and stuff. Still, I hope you are working hard to find him before he can lay his hands on some Obamanite, your sole weakness.
I probably shouldn’t have posted that bit of info on the Internet, should I? Dang.
Well, I hope you won’t hold an innocent mistake against me when once again considering my requests. To reiterate: Flying car. Magical flying pony that craps money. Salma Hayek. Oh, and world peace an end to hunger and poverty, etc. etc. The usual.
I understand you’re a busy superman, but if you could get on this post-haste I would greatly appreciate it. After eight years of living under the thumb of a second-rate villain who can’t even pronounce “nuclear” I think I deserve it. I mean, seriously. Captain Boomerang would have been a better president than that yahoo, except for the whole being Australian thing.
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
Sincerely,
–Joe
P.S. Oh, and a B.B. gun. I promise to use it responsibly.
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