8/1/2009, 12:14 am
"Bruno!," I said as I came back in the door with the mail, "I have a surprise for you!"
Bruno looked up from his seat on the floor where he was sifting five dollars' worth of fake plastic jewels through his fingers. He knew they weren't worth anything but they did sparkle and so that was okay.
"The new Victoria's Secret catalog? A new Liza compilation? What, Theocritus, what? Make me tingle!"
Queasily I sagged against the wall, and after a few seconds recovered.
"No," I said as I waved a letter. "Comrade Pelosi is coming to the Rancho de Rio Grande."
"Oh. My. God. Stalin's ho? Theocritus, have you lost your mind? The last time she was here every wall in the place had holes punched in it by her nose, elbows or hipbones. And the bed. You do remember that her bed looked like it's been slept in by a running chainsaw, don't you?"
"Bruno, that's beside the point. She's..."
"And the hair. And the hair. I swear that woman went through enough wigs to blind 50 Chinese wigmakers."
"Bruno! She's Speaker of the House! That's where all the power is. And we're Progs, dammit, Progs, and we go to power like flies to a gut wagon or stink to shit." I paused, thinking I'd work on my similes.
"I don't care, Theocritus. When that woman comes here it's 'Do this, do that, bring me my plane, steal this, steal that, rub my claws, caw, awk, caw, awk...' and I don't think that I can stand her again. She makes those Juarez crabs look pretty good. And by crabs I ain't talking crustaceans from the Gulf."
~
"Bruno, she's queen of the progs. She's the proggiest of all progs. This is the woman who has the ability to stiff all democratic opposition, take all the money in America, and destroy health care. I'm warning you, Bruno, she might change my luck and you'll be back hustling drinks at Miss Lillie's Nitespot."
"Yeah, like you're going straight, in any sense of the word. Especially for that rag, bone and hank of other people's hair. Have you no pity for the blinded Chinese wig-makers?"
The doorbell rang and in came Speakerette Nansky. "Theocritus," she cawed, turning her head to look at me with her right eye, "do you have any ideas about what we talked about? How I can get some more respect?" Nansky turned her head and looked at me with her left eye, which was, if anything, beadier. "There's trouble, Theocritus. The Blue Dog Democrats are really pissed that I stiff-armed them."
"Why do you care? Come the revolution they'll be on the impaling stakes along with the Rethuglicans. And, Nansky, dear, don't worry. One of your biggest fans is here to help you. Surely you know of the devotion of Red Rooster. He's used his good offices to help you get an image makeover!”
The doorbell rang and in came our next guest.
"Mario Armando Lavandeira!" screamed Bruno. "My god! He put the lavender in gay."
"That's Perez Hilton, you fruit stand," said Mario, as he trotted in, his trotters marking the parquet.
"Well, your hair looks like a Hilton's toilet brush," scoffed Bruno. "Just what chemicals gave it that color? Do we need a Haz-Mat suit?"
Perez was about reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Michael Jackson, when he was cut off.
"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky. "Can we get back to me? Nansky is in the building," she said as she drove her nose through some innocent drywall and shed even more hairs from her second wig so far that evening on the floor.
"Perez," I purred at our celebrity disher, if not dish, "I've asked you here to help Comrade Nansky. Congressional poll ratings are in the dumper, you know, and it's very important that the sheep, er, pardon, something in my throat," I covered my mouth with my hand and coughed demurely, "the citizens of this great country have more confidence in their leaders. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Well, Theocritus, it's not like you have anything really styling here, going on, you know. I think I'd rather live with Carrie Prejean than that thing over there," he said as he jerked a stubby thumb which looked amazingly like a dew claw toward Bruno. Trotter, dew claw, thumb—it's sooooo hard to tell with Perez.
Bruno bristled. "I may have a melon on my head but you have a head like a melon. Do you have to dodge the garbage men after Halloween?"
Perez started to reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Rihanna but was cut off by an avian sound.
Nansky cawed and spit out a sunflower-seed husk and shed more hairs on the floor, "If you two don't start talking about me, I'm going to fly out of here."
Bruno snorted, "Yeah, like you'll get far with those skinny old bat's wings. They may flop a good battle but they ain't gonna take you far."
"Bruno," I shouted. "Mind your manners! This is Nansky Peloski, the Speaker of the House! There's no one better at getting her hand into people's pockets and giving away the store and undermining AmeriKKKa! If you don't mind your manners, I'll put your Liza CDs in the trash!"
"Well, she sang them when she was trashed, so go ahead."
Turning back to Nansky, I said, "Nansky, I am here to help. Perez is here to help..."
"Jon Gosselin sucks! Jon Gosselin sucks!"
"Nansky!" I shouted, I thought you wanted us to talk about you."
"That was Paris, er, Perez, er Pearez" said Bruno, "You can't spend Jon Gosselin so it couldn't have been Nansky, now could it?"
"Well," I mused, "You could lie about Jon Gosselin so it could have been either one of them."
"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky as she shed even more hairs from her third wig and pecked yet another hole in that expensive dry wall at the Rancho.
"Nansky," snarked Perez, as he trotted across the floor, doing irreparable damage. "What you need is a makeover. People need to see there's a new you! A new People's Nansky! Someone who cares! Now who are the people's heroes?"
"Well," cawed Nansky, "I don't have a beak like George Washington, and Lincoln's beard just doesn't suit me. I don't like..."
At that time Bruno threw some more sunflower seeds under Nansky's feet. She turned one eye toward the floor, the other on the ceiling, and instantly darted down to peck up three or four sunflower seeds.
"Good seeds, Bruno. Are they fair-trade, union-grown seeds? And will the growers give me a campaign contribution?" she asked as she pecked up a few more.
"Nansky! Let's get back to business. What heroes do you admire?"
"Well, Theocritus, I can't admire an American hero because I don't want anyone accusing me of hypocrisy. So..."
"I've got it!" shouted Perez. "Trotsky! She's bought, er, got the hair, and the beak, er nose!"
"Perfect!" I agreed. "Perfect. Now for that finishing touch.
"Nansky, that's really killer. You're the bomb now. My only worry is if you can get through airport security with all that metal in your head."
"What, me worry?" cawed Nansky as she picked up the last sunflower seed from the floor of the Rancho and the ice axe chipped the fine Mexican tile, "the fools at Homeland Security are shaking down old nuns and grandmas in wheelchairs while I'm selling the country down the river. Don't give it a second thought."
With that she picked up an armadillo-shaped purse made very heavy with other people's money and stabbed Ms. Hilton with it. “That,” she hissed with the vitriol generally reserved for the nano Jimmy Carter rabbits, “is what you get when you cross me”. Then she flew to the top of the Rancho, with an ice-axe in her head.
“Well, Bruno, there's nothing to be done except to make Nansky our weathervane.”
Bruno looked at me and asked, "Are you sure that you're the smart one, Theocritus?"
----------------
People's CopyLeft™ © 2009 Commissar Theocritus & Red Rooster for The People's Cube. Download The Original Cartoon: Nansky and Pearez Boar: The Amerikan Zero
Bruno looked up from his seat on the floor where he was sifting five dollars' worth of fake plastic jewels through his fingers. He knew they weren't worth anything but they did sparkle and so that was okay.
"The new Victoria's Secret catalog? A new Liza compilation? What, Theocritus, what? Make me tingle!"
Queasily I sagged against the wall, and after a few seconds recovered.
"No," I said as I waved a letter. "Comrade Pelosi is coming to the Rancho de Rio Grande."
"Oh. My. God. Stalin's ho? Theocritus, have you lost your mind? The last time she was here every wall in the place had holes punched in it by her nose, elbows or hipbones. And the bed. You do remember that her bed looked like it's been slept in by a running chainsaw, don't you?"
"Bruno, that's beside the point. She's..."
"And the hair. And the hair. I swear that woman went through enough wigs to blind 50 Chinese wigmakers."
"Bruno! She's Speaker of the House! That's where all the power is. And we're Progs, dammit, Progs, and we go to power like flies to a gut wagon or stink to shit." I paused, thinking I'd work on my similes.
"I don't care, Theocritus. When that woman comes here it's 'Do this, do that, bring me my plane, steal this, steal that, rub my claws, caw, awk, caw, awk...' and I don't think that I can stand her again. She makes those Juarez crabs look pretty good. And by crabs I ain't talking crustaceans from the Gulf."
~
"Bruno, she's queen of the progs. She's the proggiest of all progs. This is the woman who has the ability to stiff all democratic opposition, take all the money in America, and destroy health care. I'm warning you, Bruno, she might change my luck and you'll be back hustling drinks at Miss Lillie's Nitespot."
"Yeah, like you're going straight, in any sense of the word. Especially for that rag, bone and hank of other people's hair. Have you no pity for the blinded Chinese wig-makers?"
The doorbell rang and in came Speakerette Nansky. "Theocritus," she cawed, turning her head to look at me with her right eye, "do you have any ideas about what we talked about? How I can get some more respect?" Nansky turned her head and looked at me with her left eye, which was, if anything, beadier. "There's trouble, Theocritus. The Blue Dog Democrats are really pissed that I stiff-armed them."
"Why do you care? Come the revolution they'll be on the impaling stakes along with the Rethuglicans. And, Nansky, dear, don't worry. One of your biggest fans is here to help you. Surely you know of the devotion of Red Rooster. He's used his good offices to help you get an image makeover!”
The doorbell rang and in came our next guest.
"Mario Armando Lavandeira!" screamed Bruno. "My god! He put the lavender in gay."
"That's Perez Hilton, you fruit stand," said Mario, as he trotted in, his trotters marking the parquet.
"Well, your hair looks like a Hilton's toilet brush," scoffed Bruno. "Just what chemicals gave it that color? Do we need a Haz-Mat suit?"
Perez was about reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Michael Jackson, when he was cut off.
"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky. "Can we get back to me? Nansky is in the building," she said as she drove her nose through some innocent drywall and shed even more hairs from her second wig so far that evening on the floor.
"Perez," I purred at our celebrity disher, if not dish, "I've asked you here to help Comrade Nansky. Congressional poll ratings are in the dumper, you know, and it's very important that the sheep, er, pardon, something in my throat," I covered my mouth with my hand and coughed demurely, "the citizens of this great country have more confidence in their leaders. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Well, Theocritus, it's not like you have anything really styling here, going on, you know. I think I'd rather live with Carrie Prejean than that thing over there," he said as he jerked a stubby thumb which looked amazingly like a dew claw toward Bruno. Trotter, dew claw, thumb—it's sooooo hard to tell with Perez.
Bruno bristled. "I may have a melon on my head but you have a head like a melon. Do you have to dodge the garbage men after Halloween?"
Perez started to reply with an unsubstantiated rumor about Rihanna but was cut off by an avian sound.
Nansky cawed and spit out a sunflower-seed husk and shed more hairs on the floor, "If you two don't start talking about me, I'm going to fly out of here."
Bruno snorted, "Yeah, like you'll get far with those skinny old bat's wings. They may flop a good battle but they ain't gonna take you far."
"Bruno," I shouted. "Mind your manners! This is Nansky Peloski, the Speaker of the House! There's no one better at getting her hand into people's pockets and giving away the store and undermining AmeriKKKa! If you don't mind your manners, I'll put your Liza CDs in the trash!"
"Well, she sang them when she was trashed, so go ahead."
Turning back to Nansky, I said, "Nansky, I am here to help. Perez is here to help..."
"Jon Gosselin sucks! Jon Gosselin sucks!"
"Nansky!" I shouted, I thought you wanted us to talk about you."
"That was Paris, er, Perez, er Pearez" said Bruno, "You can't spend Jon Gosselin so it couldn't have been Nansky, now could it?"
"Well," I mused, "You could lie about Jon Gosselin so it could have been either one of them."
"Awk awk eek eek tookie tookie!" cawed Nansky as she shed even more hairs from her third wig and pecked yet another hole in that expensive dry wall at the Rancho.
"Nansky," snarked Perez, as he trotted across the floor, doing irreparable damage. "What you need is a makeover. People need to see there's a new you! A new People's Nansky! Someone who cares! Now who are the people's heroes?"
"Well," cawed Nansky, "I don't have a beak like George Washington, and Lincoln's beard just doesn't suit me. I don't like..."
At that time Bruno threw some more sunflower seeds under Nansky's feet. She turned one eye toward the floor, the other on the ceiling, and instantly darted down to peck up three or four sunflower seeds.
"Good seeds, Bruno. Are they fair-trade, union-grown seeds? And will the growers give me a campaign contribution?" she asked as she pecked up a few more.
"Nansky! Let's get back to business. What heroes do you admire?"
"Well, Theocritus, I can't admire an American hero because I don't want anyone accusing me of hypocrisy. So..."
"I've got it!" shouted Perez. "Trotsky! She's bought, er, got the hair, and the beak, er nose!"
"Perfect!" I agreed. "Perfect. Now for that finishing touch.
"Nansky, that's really killer. You're the bomb now. My only worry is if you can get through airport security with all that metal in your head."
"What, me worry?" cawed Nansky as she picked up the last sunflower seed from the floor of the Rancho and the ice axe chipped the fine Mexican tile, "the fools at Homeland Security are shaking down old nuns and grandmas in wheelchairs while I'm selling the country down the river. Don't give it a second thought."
With that she picked up an armadillo-shaped purse made very heavy with other people's money and stabbed Ms. Hilton with it. “That,” she hissed with the vitriol generally reserved for the nano Jimmy Carter rabbits, “is what you get when you cross me”. Then she flew to the top of the Rancho, with an ice-axe in her head.
“Well, Bruno, there's nothing to be done except to make Nansky our weathervane.”
Bruno looked at me and asked, "Are you sure that you're the smart one, Theocritus?"
----------------
People's CopyLeft™ © 2009 Commissar Theocritus & Red Rooster for The People's Cube. Download The Original Cartoon: Nansky and Pearez Boar: The Amerikan Zero
