Wednesday, August 14, 2013

Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker orders all fuzzy little cute animals in the State to be killed - Giggles-gate - PoliticoDadio - Week of 14 August 2013

14 August 2013

Wisconsin Governor Scott Walker orders all fuzzy little cute animals in the State to be killed - Giggles-gate - PoliticoDadio - Week of 14 August 2013

This entry was posted on 8/14/2013 1:29 AM and is filed under PoliticoDadio.

    I was in my other favorite neighborhood tavern the other day; it is a more than adequate watering hole for the Dadio's needs.  I was already deep into happy hour and then some.  A disturbing conversation down the bar had drawn a couple pals of mine.  The diversion woke me out of my day dream. I had lost count of beers downed, which is usually a sign of some pending debauchery.  I blew the foam off my latest glass of Wisconsin brew and moved down a few stools to hear the story. 

    There was  Ol' Robert Lee in the middle of the oratory fracas. That was his first and middle names.  We knew that much. Not too many of us knew his last name; we all just knew him as...,  Robert Lee.  Robert Lee still had a bullet in his hip from his second wife - "That Evil Devil," as he recalled her when the cold weather pain came round again.  Be that as it may, Ol' Robert Lee was telling a story one of his co-contractors had relayed. They were both working up ta' Madison regarding some plumbing repairs.  

   This other co-contractor feller was supposedly a capable fellow, knowledgeable in all things plumbing. Now according to Robert Lee, this other guy took drink now and then at lunch break during the work day.  There was a pregnant pause and we all glanced at each other. Some more bar patrons joined the group.  Who were we to pass judgment on a hardworking bloke for taking a bit of pain killer at lunch?  Not a one of us could deny having done it a time or two.  So, one of my pals quickly bought a round of beers for the now burgeoning group, and the story was thus consummated. 

    "This is what this here co-contractor fellah was saying; he come out of the hills of Arkansas or some damn place,"  Ol' Robert Lee said.  Then he added the caveat, "Don't kill the messenger fellahs; this is just what I heard the fellah say." 

    Robert Lee had a limp from the bullet in his hip.  He had flat feet but the Army draft board was willing to look the other way in '67, needing plenty of men back then and all; but, Robert Lee took the deferment.  He told us time and again, "Hell, I should of went to 'Nam.  It'd'a been safer than living with that Evil Devil." 

    Robert's work boots and pants had a couple of plumbing solder stains on board.  His work shirt was pressed and tucked in his skinny waste. And, he had a shirt pocket full of pens and a tap measure hooked to his belt. His curly black but now graying hair was a bit longer than the current style; but, it had the vibrancy of a much younger man. He had obviously been to a salon recently. When ever we ask him what he had done that day he always says, "Check'n and level'n." 

    As Robert Lee launched into the story, we were all amazed at his memory of the details.  It flowed as if we were hearing it right from the source, this so-called co-contractor from Arkansas or some damn place:

    I was a' called up by the trades union and took a task at the Capital building up yonder in your city of Madison. That city a'be'n the Capital that is, of West Consin.  I tain't too sure what happened to East Consin.  But, none-the-less..., now my job up dar was to fix a malfunctioning urinal in the executive bath room.  I reckon that's were the good Gov'nor relieves his self during his busy day of govinat'n.  It was a much bigger facility than I had imagined. And 'course, the task involved more than the work order implied. My tools a'klink'n caused an echo in the room as if I was in a gymnasium.  

    I had just took to fix'n that damn urinal and a security guard popped his head in the door as says, 'Hey, the Gov needs this restroom for a few minutes, so step out a second or two will yah dare pard'ner."  

    Well, I left a couple tools in one of the stalls, but no sooner I picked them up in comes a half dozen fellahs.  I peek though the crack in the door and low and behold one of them well-dressed fellers was the Governor himself.  I hurried up and stood up on the terlet so as to keep myself incognito. 

    Before I could take a breath the Governor says, "Now I called you men in here because it ain't safe to discuss this anywhere else."

    The men took up to leaning on a couple sinks as if settling in for an important chit-chat.  No one seemed to care about my tool box by the urinal.  Anyway the Governor says, "We threw a monkey wrench in their damn unions, we are keeping wages low all across the state in all sectors, we've engineered a culture of part-time workers without benefits; we've turned down countless grants from the Feds to fund nanny-state projects, and we have tinkered with their heath care options.  We have the workers in this State on the run boys."  

    There was a couple of affirmative grunts from the Gov's men.

    "Now, look here fellahs," the Governor continued. "We need to put the nail in the coffin.  These people can barely get around with low wages causing them to have less cash for gas money, but we can't stop there.  We have got to thrust the fatal blow into their spirit.  Don't you hear those damn workers singing in my Rotunda?"

    There was a couple more affirmative grunts from the Gov's men. 

    "Now here's how I see it men," the Governor now lowered his voice. He glanced over his shoulder like his wife might be look'n to catch him take'n a nip, an then he said..., "We kill their pets."   

    There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.  

    "Don't you see, men?" the Governor said, filling the awkward silence. "We can turn their cry-baby rants about that dumb dead deer in Kenosha into a positive. Look at the death of Giggles the fawn as a preemptive strike on the nonsensical need for the working poor to care for some so-called needy little animals. We can turn this Giggles-gate foolishness to our advantage.  Once we kill enough of their little fuzzy animals, their spirit will be finished. There is no room for sentimentality in our new economy. We need these people to be preoccupied with continuous cheap labor, not wasting their time raising pets." 

    The Governor took a breath like he only had one lung, and then continued. 

    "I've given a Gubernatorial wink and nod to all state enforcement agencies to search every home and business in Wisconsin one by one to hunt down their fuzzy little critters..., and kill them.  We'll find some pretense to enter their domiciles, then once inside, make some rationale to kill their pets. Call them critters a threat to investigating personnel or what ever you want. I've got my lawyers looking into how the Chi-coms beat down the peeps."   

    I could see the men scratching their chins as the Governor paused.  

    "You see men,"  the Governor said enthusiastically.  "I take my cue from Richard Nixon.  If you can't get rid of your enemies, then attack what they love.  Nixon attacked his enemies, the hippies, by declaring war on their marijuana. It was brilliant.  The beauty of our version is, we will attack our enemies, them pesky workers, by declaring war on their pets." 

    They Governor's men all grunted, nodded, slapped each other on the back, and ushered each other out of the restroom as fast as they had came in. 

    I snuck out of the stall, tightened the pipe on the urinal, picked up my tool box, and got the hell out of there. 

    At the end of the story Ol' Robert Lee downed the last of his beer in one giant gulp and wiped his mouth on his work shirt sleeve.  As he moved from his spot a bit he winced from the pain in his hip from that bullet.  "Better have another beer, my mouth is dry as a popcorn fart," Robert said and smiled. 

    There was another pregnant pause amongst the group of listeners, now crowded around the end of the bar .  I quickly summoned the bartender lady and ordered two beers each all around.

    As the many beers were plunked on the bar top one by one, there was another awkward silence except for the plunking of the full pint glasses.  Finally, one of my wry-witted drinking pals said..., 

     "Any one ever see that old video short from the late 1960's?  This whole Giggles-gate thing kind of reminds me of that little movie.  What was it called..., Godzilla verses Bambi? "

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