With the government getting scarily close to hitting the brick wall on its debt ceiling, parties on both sides have been scurrying to work out a deal of some sort. Hundreds of suggestions have been served up, but all have been plundered by the opposing side as “moronic and totally unacceptable.” It appeared that neither side was willing to budge and financial chaos was only days away.
That is, until Representative Carl “The Codger” Coddington made his suggestion on the House floor. Carl fidgeted in his chair during most of Thursday’s session, looked very agitated, then finally blurted out that they should agree to go ahead and raise the Debt Limit by a Buck 2.80. Perhaps showing total exhaustion from the weeks of wraggling, both sides erupted in wild cheers of excitement. A scribe hurriedly wrote up a blurb of legislative prose, and both sides approved it with a verbal vote on the spot. Crisis averted.
No one, however, exactly knew what the real definition of a Buck 2.80 was. Did it represent some sort of real number, and if so, what was that number? If it was a number between 1 and 3 dollars, it would only keep the government financially solvent for 13 nanoseconds…and while that was “some” progress, it was perhaps not quite “enough” progress. Attempts to interview congressmen to get an answer were met with snide rebuffs, retorting, “Don’t get so damn technical!” as they popped open the champagne bottles on the floor.
One news reporter said he uses the term all the time. “Anytime some nitwit relative asks me how much I paid for a new jacket or fishing rod, I just tell them ‘About a Buck 2.80,’ and that usually shuts them up so that I can get back to doing whatever I was doing. Buck 2.80, brilliant move!”
Another reporter said he uses it, too. “Last week, some idiot doing a survey stopped me, asked a bunch of lame questions, then quizzed me how much money I made. I told him about a Buck 2.80, and he gave me a deer-in-the-headlight stare that was hilarious. Yeah, Buck 2.80…that’s the answer to the Debt crisis.”
The next day, it was written into the Congressional record that the new Debt Limit is $16.7 trillion plus a Buck 2.80. Global financial markets rallied on the news.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction, even though we wish they were true.
Recently, a convicted kidnapper and rapist who had fully admitted guilt in trial was found hanged in his prison cell. The story of his disgusting crimes and trial had made national news, so the hanging was deemed equally newsworthy by the Bizarreville national press. Meanwhile, officials at the prison were under heavy pressure to do something about it, and not just sweep it under the rug…not realizing the fact that there were actually no rugs at the prison in question, and very few brooms, for that matter.
The prison warden, after fully assessing the situation with his staff, decided to do something about it. They decided to issue ropes to every hard-core prison inmate, install load-tested hooks in every cell, and equip each cell with easily kick-out stools. Doing this would alleviate the perplexing problem of the inmate having to fiddle with a darn bed sheet to somehow tie a noose, while looking for something/anything to latch onto in the sparsely-equipped jail cell. One junior-level prison official suggested they provide ropes in an array of designer colors, so that the inmate could choose a rope that would look non-clashing with his prison garb in the aftermath photos.
The warden speculated that if the concept was adopted nationwide, it could save the taxpayers billions of dollars in costs of caretaking the scoundrels and dirtbags for the rest of their lives. He viewed it as the most humane thing to do, particularly for the 100-year and up sentences, and a win/win for both sides. He further speculated that the ropes used in the incidents might be able to be sold at high prices to collectors, depending on the notoriety of the deceased. He said if they did it at his prison, it would free up his budget so he could feed the rest of the inmates upgraded beef cuts on Taco Night at the prison.
“The long-termers are looking for a quick way out of their hopeless situation,” said the prison warden, a veteran of 31 years at the prison. “What’s the point in holding them in this dump for 30, 40, 60 years? There’s a warm spot waiting for them on the other side.”
Some liberal groups have already started protesting the move, calling it barbaric…something they would have expected to see in the Middle Ages…thought up by some guy named Igor, the town’s resident hunchback. The warden was offended by that comment, indicating that Igor was the name of his new grandson, and did not appreciate the jinx that he might develop a lumbar problem in the future.
The Head of the Bizarreville Bureau of Prisons Thug Division said they would take the proposal under advisement. They have been concerned about the rising cost of inmate Health Care with the new government requirements, and this initiative could conceivably offset the increases.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction, even the ones that sound so ridiculous that they could almost be true.
The Bizarreville War Council met 3 days and 3 nights on the wrenching issue of whether or not to go to war with Sycolia. The Defense Secretary, reflecting the views of the heads of all the military branches, wanted to nuke the bloody a-holes. He knew, through all his years of military experience, that the only way to send a message was to send the Miracle on 34th Street Santa Clause letter barrage version. Timidity was for sandbox players…take that back, even sandboxers needed aggression when the sand starts flying. Besides, their stockpile of nukes was nearing their expiration dates, and needed to be used or tossed.
The other side of the table spoke for diplomacy, negotiation, and light sanctions, at most…and “do nothing” preferably. They argued that escalating the issue would inevitably lead to a full blown regional war, maybe world war, that no one wanted to see happen. They understood the war mongers desire to pick a fight, since it had been decades since a full-boat war had been fought. Human history had shown that wars were needed on some sort of regular basis, and now was probably past due. But they still could not support a war on such a meaningless basis.
Sycolia was, in truth, a country that almost no one gave a crap about. The country had no important resources, had no particular geographic value, had no wealth worth plundering. It was a country that had gotten captured and recaptured over history, with the captors often saying “Remind me again…why did we bother?” just before packing it in and leaving. The habitants of Sycolia were an unruly bunch of radical nimrods who could only be peacefully managed by a tough no-nonsense ruler who excelled at herding cats. They had such a ruler now.
The world-caring problem bubbled up when the ruler began using weapons of mass-disgusting on his own people. If he had shot the mobs of protestors with machine guns, frankly, no one would have cared. But when he started using catapults loaded with piles of human excrement…well, that was beyond the pail. Dozens and dozens of protestors began uncontrollably vomiting, choking to death in a scene of indescribable disgustingness. It was no wonder it grabbed world attention.
But for the rest of the world, the attention was limited to firm scolding. No other country was willing to escalate it into a s#!t war coalition. No one else seemed to really care about what Sycolians did to each other, and would prefer to just change the channel rather than watch the play-by-play. Bizarreville would have to go it alone if it wanted to confiscate these evil weapons.
The President claimed he wanted to review the options with congress, but they were still adjourned for their 2-month summer break. He had petitioned them to reconvene for this vital national crisis, but most just laughed. “Put me down for a No,” several emailed from their beach houses.
The President indicated he would go forward without the support of congress, the public, the allies, friends, family, colleagues, world opinion, or his barber. He said that his pedicurist supported his position, but was not sure if it represented her understanding of geo-politics or just wanting a bigger tip.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction. Names have been changed to protect the incompetent.
The line had 100 people in front of him. One hundred bodies fuming from having to wait for one of two highly unmotivated, thoroughly discharged clerks to finally get to his or her number. “62,414″ blared the loudspeaker. Was this the number of people this week? This month? He looked at his ticket…62,513, now only a mere 99 shmucks to wait for. This was just to get a damn drivers license renewal…not an unemployment compensation check, or a donated kidney, or anything that made more sense to be waiting for. The photo camera must be on the fritz or something. Why else would there be such a nonsensical queue?
He thought himself to be better than the shlubs and shlubettes that were supposed to be in long lines like this. After all, he was a prestigious lawyer who became a congressman, with a law practice on the side, not some ordinary Joe. Joes, yes, they should wait in lines. They had much less important things to do today…hey, maybe this little exercise was the highlight of their drab day.
He thought back to the old days when his life was more drab…back to the days just after graduating college with no job offers in his field of study. A friend of an uncle had convinced him that Entomology was the hot career of the next century. Fact is: he truly did thoroughly enjoy his Masters thesis work researching/examining the Eating Habits of the Housefly. But, sadly, no corporate recruiters seemed to make the seemingly obvious connection on how this unique skillset could help guide them on their roads to excellence. Vinnie Shlango did, however, when he offered him the pizza delivery job, instructing him to get creative in devising clever diversions to keep those nasty flies from buzzing the pizzas in the back of the van. Even that drab job had its interesting moments. Never did quite figure out if it was the pizza itself or the diversion that caused so many customers to complain. Could have been the box made of recycled paper…who knows what sleazy components could have gone into that mixing tub? 62, 415 squawked the speaker.
Maybe he would introduce a bill into congress to address this ridiculous bureaucratic nightmare of simple license renewal. Could be a tough sell to his colleagues who tended to favor complex bureaucracy and dismiss simplicity. This was the organization, after all, that figured out how to make the Postal Service less efficient, more customer un-friendly, and more costly…accomplishing what was known as the “Trifecta” in their little circles. The Licensing function clearly already had 2 of the 3 legs, and probably just needed a fee redoubling to get the third. 62, 416.
He was gradually becoming a convert to the notion that people wanted rules and procedures, not so-called freedom. Freedom meant unfairness to many people, giving free rein to exploiters to run amok and trample the exploitees. Thinking back, hell, even Vinnie was a friggin’ exploiter, demanding a cut in all his delivery boys’ tips to “help pay for gas.” All that Econ 101 Milton Friedman Free to Choose malarkey was just capitalist propaganda, assuming that people were smart enough to make their own wise choices. Ha, wishful thinking! These were people who struggled on whether to watch the NFC or AFC game of the week, let alone make decisions on whether to put in an extra hour on the job, or sign up for a course to advance their education. 62, 417.
A lady’s voice came across the loudspeaker saying that the office would close in 15 minutes, and that all those with numbers above 62,426 could come back tomorrow when the count would resume. She apologized for the long wait, saying they were just shorthanded today, and maybe it would be better tomorrow. She encouraged everyone to not lose their ticket, or else would have to get a new number at the back of the line. One line-waiter got frustrated and belligerent, yelling out “This is bull$#!t.” Within 3 seconds, a security officer confiscated his ticket and whisked him out the door. A hummmm resonated through the crowd.
The congressman pulled out his Blackberry and sent a message cancelling all meetings for the next day, and putting meetings the following day on tentative hold. Trifecta potential for sure, he thought. 62, 418.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction. Nothing in real life could be this crazy.
Attention Bizarreville nation……
Our new book has now been published…Bizarreville Campfire Stories. This is a new book of 36 fun little stories, chock full of whimsy, hyjinx, and satire, with a splash of irreverent humor thrown in for good measure. Here is just a quick sample of the stories:
Grabbing Karl is a story about a neo-socialist movement leader who travels back in time to grab Karl Marx and bring him to the 21st century to help launch his new movement. Karl has interesting takes on social development over the past 150 years.
Nowhere is about a little town in need of federal funding to rebuild a bridge which is ready for collapse, poking a little fun at the dynamics between town leaders and their legislator who is not too keen on the idea of yet another bridge to nowhere.
Diary of a Recovering Tax-and-Spendaholic traces the writings of a poor legislator afflicted by this debilitating disease, as he desperately tries to figure out how to get his problem under control.
The Freeload Tree is the enchanting story of an amazing tree whose leaves perfectly resemble a 20-dollar bill, and takes us through the humorous outcomes as more and more of the public becomes aware of it.
The Unlevel Playing Field is the tale of a college football programs with a poor winning history coming up with a creative solution to improve their home field advantage.
The End of Customer Service is the story of the last company in the country that offered real customer service before introducing a brand new marketing strategy that revolutionized the industry in a different sort of way.
War Inc is an interesting business success story, as a young startup company tries to convince country after country to outsource their war business to seasoned pros, but then gets unexpectedly ambushed by a war discounter.
Revenge of Ponzi is the tale of Fred Ponzi who is fed up with people making jokes about his name, and decides to turn the tables.
There are 28 more amazing, bizarre, zany stories like these. Great gift idea. Get a jump on holiday shopping. You can order Bizarreville Campfire Stories today at Amazon…for a couple weeks, Amazon is offering an introductory discount on the book, so act now. You will love it. We will put a link to Amazon on our website soon, but for now, just go on Amazon and put the book title in the search block.
The Bizarreville Congress has left to take a well-deserved vacation after months upon months of difficult, physically demanding wheel-spinning, accountability dodging, high horse riding, wagon circling, and ball fumbling. Anyone who has ever ridden a bicycle knows how much energy it takes to overcome a rider who is continually dragging his feet…it can be extremely tiring. Add to that the mental stress/strain of people who really and truly want to make important things happen, but are just too stupid to figure out how to do it. Grueling.
“People who call us a bunch of lazy, good-for-nothing sleep walkers do not begin to understand the tough physical and mental challenge of our jobs,” one Bizarreville congressman commented. “Take Immigration Reform…imagine yourself sitting through days and days of all-day meetings, debating the same crap about border security walls, pathway to citizenship amnesty, and local enforcement crazies over and over again ad nauseum. You tell me anyone who would not desperately need a month long vacation after that torture. Brother, you won’t find anybody.”
Some have argued that they should take the rest of the year off, talk to their constituents, contemplate their navels, hit the beach, and come back with some sort of notion on what to do. Others have said, if they did that, most would probably get accosted by their citizens, left beaten-up in roadside ditches, and not make it back for the next round of votes.
One congressman had a novel idea, suggesting that the public just give them all “early retirement” packages, just like corporations do to rid themselves of deadwood. “We need to embrace the Best Practices from our friends in Free Enterprise, rather than trying to always reinvent the broken wheel ourselves. I would be willing to be a guinnea pig, or trial balloon, and accept a package myself.” Unfortunately the congressman dozed off before he could complete his thought process.
Disclaimer: All stories in Bizarreville are fiction. Some seem a little more real than others, though. Notice: Get ready for our all new book, “Bizarreville Campfire Stories”, available at Amazon. It is a collection of 36 fun stories of hyjinx and satire, the kind of stuff you will love. More coming soon.
The Bizarreville IRS was awarded the prestigious Leadership Bozo of the Year distinction by the International Council of Bozos yesterday in an impromptu ceremony in the ICOB Weed Garden. The award recognizes organizations that have gone above and beyond the call of duty in demonstrating leadership ineptness, stumblebum levels of in-agility, and lamebrain capacity in helping drag their respective organizations into the abyss of patheticness. The new acting head of the IRS, Milford Feldwich, proudly accepted the award while thanking his recently terminated predecessor for his considerable accomplishments in, what he called, leadership emptiness.
The award is normally bestowed upon fumble-up private enterprise corporations such as Solyndra, Circuit City, The Chicago Cubs, Dog & Suds, Lenox, or Schlitz Brewing…feeling that government organizations have such an unfair natural advantage in the rating criteria. In this case, however, the Selection Committee felt that the IRS had performed heads and shoulders beyond any regular bloated, inefficient, dopey bureaucracy in bozoness…and each day seemed to peel back another layer, as if witnessing the crack design team on the original Chrysler LeBaron project.
The estate of Ringmaster Ned reiterated its dissociation from the Bozo of the Year award and the ICOB. In its statement, family members warned that if they get audited by the IRS because of this award, they would be filing a lawsuit in circuit court so fast that those big floppy feet would look like a candy apple red blur.
Feldwich was apologetic for the organization’s targeting of certain political groups and individuals that “coincidently” happened to be on the President’s Enemy list. He said that those folks would continue to be targeted in the future, but the IRS would also target some names on the President’s Friends list to make it seem more fair. He said that his organization would be cleaning house, but admitted that the people who would be filling the vacated posts were probably just as pathetic as their predecessors, if not more so. When asked about measures to improve accountability, Feldwich answered, “Huh…what’s that?” He then said, “Just kidding. We’re going to make sure all our agents can count. It’s in their job description…I think. Tell you what, let me check on that.”
ICOB noted that there has never been a repeat winner in the history of their award. One committeeman remarked that the agency’s new head, however, has all the makings of a precedent-breaker. He reminded that there is also a Leadership Bozo of the Decade competition, saying that the IRS now seems to be the team to beat.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction. At least, so they say.
The Immigration and Naturalization Bureau announced early this week that they have issued a Halt on all immigration applications from the country of Funquat. This comes at the heels of the recent terrorist attack from 2 members of the Funquat Neo-Quackism cult that injured hundreds of innocent pigeons and 3 dogs, some critical, in the Stoolville Park incident.
Funquat officials have vehemently objected to the ban, stating that the Neo-Quackism sect is not at all representative of their citizens. They did admit, however, that they were sympathetic to 97% of all their twisted beliefs, including such things as turtle jihad, nostril hair curling, and wiping prohibition. But they said they are generally not sympathetic to the really weird stuff like public sport-belching. The officials did admit no love of pigeons, while saying the potential loss of dog in the recent incident was an unfortunate collateral outcome.
A group of Ex-Funquatees living in Bizarreville organized a peaceful protest at the University, but were promptly hauled away by police and loaded onto boats headed back to Funquat with their green card cancellation notices. The protestors objected, crying that the new law said nothing about deportation. But the Police Chief said “Tough S#!t.” Reporters were shocked at the use of such political incorrectness, but the Chief responded that there was room on the boat for a couple more knuckleheads, which could include reporter-types. One reporter was grabbed, but he managed to slip away and scamper for the hills, tossing his notebook toward a garbage can, but missing it badly.
Most citizens exhibited joy to see a much overdue aggressive approach to this long-time menacing problem. One person said that his neighbor was an Ex-Funquatee, who almost never mowes his lawn and always has his garage door open. He said that he would be happy to personally drive him to the port and help load him on the next boat. When explained that the guy might be fitted with a suicide bomb vest ensemble, the man retracted and volunteered to call him a taxi.
Administration officials privately warned other rogue nations to get their whacko elements under control, or they would face similar sanctions. An embassy member from Shlumpistan warned that, if sanctioned likewise, they might just retaliate by nerve gassing their own countrymen.
Disclaimer: All stories in Bizarreville are fiction. Surprise, surprise.
In a surprising announcement yesterday, Elmer Shtootz, CEO of Burger World, announced that the company’s restaurants would now be accepting food stamps for all purchases of food items, with the exception of hot apple pies. He said that it was high time that everyone started realizing that poor people get tired of slaving over a hot kitchen stove just like other people, and need a break once in a while. Mr. Shtootz revealed that when he was a child, his family had to rely on food stamps and would never take him to a fast food chain to enjoy the occasional greasy burger and fries, let alone a milk shake. He said he was 30 years old before he even tasted a shake, only to find out that he was lactose intolerant. He did not elaborate further on that.
Shtootz indicated that all franchisees would also be expected to follow the lead of the company restaurants, and accept food stamps. Any franchisee grousing would be considered grounds for sign removal.
The Bizarreville Health & Human Services Administration reported that restaurant acceptance of food stamps had been strictly prohibited in the past, but they were willing to allow Burger World to accept them on a trial basis. The BHHS chief said that many food stamp recipients had complained in the past that it was unfair to have such an unreasonable restriction, and she was getting tired of listening to all the whining and bellyaching.
Another major fast food chain, Snarfburger Inc, has filed a charge of Unfair Favoritism by allowing Burger World to have this exclusive benny. A spokesman indicated the company would take the issue to the Supreme Court if necessary in order to level the playing field in the burger wars.
One critic complained that this action was just going to make these poor people unhealthier that they already were. He said that Burger World’s burgers have so much fat that it takes one full pound of meat to end up with a quarter-pounder after cooking. A BW spokesman said, “That’s baloney.” It was not clear if he was referring to their new baloney burger which went on sale earlier this month, or just cracking wise.
One reporter asked Mr. Shtootz why the company was not permitting hot apple pies to be covered under the food stamp provision. Shtootz responded that pies would have to be paid in cash in order to prevent the jumbo-size food stamp customers from loading up 4 or 5 dozen pies and running them out of stock. He said they were also considering placing a limit on orders of fries per food stamp customer, but for now, were adopting a wait-and-see policy.
“The fries question is a much tougher one to deal with,” commented Shtootz. “Do you cap it at 5 large orders, but allow unlimited small fries orders? And where does the medium size fit in? It’s all just too complicated.”
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction. At least for now.
Despite bi-partisan dissatisfaction, the President signed the new Truth in Lawmaking Act in a poppy garden ceremony yesterday. The new law will require that legislators and other government officials be completely honest in development and communication of new laws, budgets, and other mischievious political dealings. As expected, both parties issued scathing rebuttals, with threats that the Act could unravel the very framework of the legislative body.
The law had been initiated after a nationwide referendum. 87% of the public favored a truth in lawmaking rule; the other 13% turned out to be government employees.
The law will no longer allow congress to call a reduction in the amount of funding increase a “cut”. A cut will have to be a cut, which is defined in the Act as an actual reduction versus current spending. A “sizeable cut” will require a 15% real reduction or more. A “huge cut” will require a 30% hacking. A reduction in the amount of increase will hereafter be called a “smaller increase”.
Politicians will be forced to quit claiming job losses or job gains from sequesters or any other program. A recent Bizarreville University study determined that all such claims suggesting there is a relationship between numbers of jobs and political actions of one type or other are “meritless poppycock”. The study left open the possibility that there could, in the future, conceivably be a specific directed government program aimed at truly incentivizing an industry to build new manufacturing plants and create real, long-lasting jobs…but doubted it would ever happen, since it has never happened before.
The President pointed out that he has always supported the whole notion of truth and honesty. An Aide had to pull him aside mid-speech, and tell him that he could no longer get away with that kind of comment any more.
States and local legislatures would be forced to comply with the new law, as well. The concept of a temporary one-cent sales tax, used in the past purportedly to help build new schools and hire better teachers, but really used to line the pockets of cronies with ill-conceived new sidewalk programs, would be specifically prohibited. The new Act states that any local lawmaker even suggesting such a program would be immediately impeached and forced to do 120 days of dog park cleanup duty.
The new law even extends to rogue Homeowner Association Boards who recklessly implement increases in annual dues, based on lies and deceptions. Many such Boards were discovered to have hired inept association managers who were almost as bad as congresspeople in their lack of financial prudence, cost discipline, transparency, and character traits. Some were found trying to jam through increases with fictional accounts of problems in order to fund their swelling budgets. One manager, who was discovered trashing perfectly good flowers at the entrance gate in order to change-up the color scheme, threatened to leave the association and run for congress if any action was taken against her.
A spokesman for the Liberals decried the new law, stating that it infringed on the legislature’s “inalienable right” to massage facts, contort reality, and hide the fine print…so important to the lawmaking process. He said that it would throw 200 years of history in the legislative commode, a commode that is already stopped-up with some big ones.
A Conservative spokesman said, “Ditto”.
A respresentative of the Homeowner Association Managers Union said they plan to continue to bend the truth regardless of the new law. They claim that they are an independent governing body protected from intrusive federal regulation. A network pundit, former judge, just laughed and said, “See you knuckleheads in Court.”
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction, in spite on any obvious similarities.
Once upon a time, there were 2 congressmen. These fellows, at one time in their lives, were very smart people. But the draining effect of serving many years, decades, in congress emptied all their intelligence juices into the congressional sewer, forcing them to act like mindless numbskulls. Somehow these bozos continued to get re-elected, probably because their constituents were as dumb as they were. So they muddled through their legislative jobs, showing up occasionally, and voting Aye or Nay on stuff, normally not paying much attention to what the stuff was. Some pundits, evaluating their lacklusterness, called them gutless weiners. This hurt their feelings, and they claimed that such a characterization was a distortion of the truth.
One gloomy day, the two were wandering aimlessly and found themselves on the brink of a fiscal cliff. One congressman asked the other, “Do you think we should jump?”
“That’s a good question,” the second congressman replied.
“I wasn’t really asking you to give me a letter grade on the quality of the question, sir,” the first responded. “I was asking for your position statement.”
“I’m standing. Right here, next to you. Can’t you see that? I know you have eye problems, but this is ridiculous.”
Both congressmen, in fact, had serious eyesight problems. Neither could see much beyond his own nose. But the first man confidently spoke that there was a pond at the bottom of the fiscal cliff that would break their fall and prevent serious injury. He said that he thought they should go for it.
The second congressman hesitated. He gazed across the narrow plateau, and noticed another fiscal cliff on the other side. They both walked over, and saw what appeared to be a very deep, catastrophic drop-off into a pile of craggy impailing rocks. “Why don’t we jump off this fiscal cliff instead? We would get a lot less wet. My wife gets so upset when I come home with soaking wet clothes.”
“But it’s about 10 times as big a drop. We could get seriously skewered on those rocks at the bottom.”
“But it would take longer for it to happen. I bet it would take almost a minute before we were shish-kabobed. Over there on your cliff…you would get totally soaked within 3 seconds.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I wasn’t thinking. You know it’s really great when we work together in a bi-partisan way to solve a tough problem. We learn so much when we work together.”
They hugged each other, and took a flying leap. It took 43 seconds for them to get bludgeoned, far short of the one-minute prediction. A mountain climber who witnessed the leap said they seemed happy and excited most of the way down. He said one yelled “Cowabunga” at about the halfway point, but the other fellow yelled something that sounded like the F-word. He was not sure if that was a positive kind of F, or a negative F…probably the latter.
Back at the Hall of Congress, the fellow congressmen of their 2 fallen comrades commended them for their bravery, and passed a resolution that history should not regard them as gutless weiners. One freshman congressman asked why they felt the need to jump at all? But he was pulled aside and reprimanded by a senior legislator for his lack of sensitivity in this moment of grief.
Disclaimer: all stories in Bizarreville are fiction. Are you surprised?
When the President instructed all citizens to jump off the Fiscal Cliff, Johnnie was reluctant. He had been a staunch supporter of the Chief Exec, even voted for him in the November election. He particularly liked the way the President said he was going to go after those nasty rich guys who had good jobs but were not paying their fair share of taxes. Johnnie knew that those guys were going to have to jump off an even bigger, steeper cliff. And, well, it served them right for being so damn greedy. But as Johnnie approached the precipice, he began to wonder…began to question this brand of leadership: trust me, I’ve got your back. Johnnie looked around and did not see anyone with a life line that would take care of his back, his front, or any other body part for that matter.
Johnnie had been watching the TV news. His favorite station, Channel 7 Marxwitness News, had interviewed a left-leaning senator who confidently explained that it was not really a fiscal “cliff”, more of a fiscal playground slide. “Well then why do they call it a cliff, if it’s only a slide” he thought. “And why, when I look down this fall-off does it look like I will need an EMT squad when I hit bottom?”
He inched forward, loosening a few pebbles that tumbled down the cliff…bouncing along on the jagged rocks until they finally launched themselves for uninterrupted treks to the bottom. Is that how he would tumble…carom off a few rocks, causing some minor bruises and lacerations before being pushed away from the rocky surface for the bullet train to the bottom? Or would he snowball down the cliff, painfully tumbling round and round like some Hanna Barbera cartoon character?
Johnnie backed away for a minute. He began to wonder why it was necessary that he jump off the cliff. After all, he had done nothing wrong, nothing unscrupulous. Well, there was that one time that he padded his expense account on that training trip…but he would gladly refund the $3.50 now to avoid this calamity. His neighbor Fred was a lot more unscrupulous. Fred even lied on his resume about that time he got canned…said it was his own decision to leave the company. Baaah, he was drop-kicked like a worn-out rugby ball. He ought to be jumping off the cliffs of Dover.
Then he remembered the President’s speech last week, explaining how jumping was everyone’s patriotic duty. Johnnie, if nothing else, was certainly a patriot. He knew he could never go back into town and have everyone accuse him of being an unpatriotic piece of chicken crap. It would be a life of shame, hiding from ridicule and finger-pointing of fellow citizens…turning away from the whispers and head shakes from friends who thought they knew him better…being uninvited to Thanksgiving football watching by embarrassed family members. Being called a Jumpless Wonder. No, that would never do.
Johnnie looked down the face of the cliff one more time. Hey, he thought… he might just get a little banged-up, but come out surviving. He could buy himself a tee-shirt proudly saying “I survived the Fiscal Cliff jump”. He could wear that shirt to Thanksgiving Day football next year.
He gulped hard, inched a little bit forward…a little more…a teensy bit more. Then the alarm went off.