Junebug

So the guy I hired backs his truck into the porch and kitchen breaking his crankcase and spilling a truckload of oil into the back of our house. His gas fumes were thick as fog and I knew that anything could set the entire house ablaze. We were in a bomb just a spark away from- I immediately called my Congressman.

I got a recording that told me what times the computer was accepting messages and that every American should vote. Satisfied that the nation’s capital was secure I decided for the sake of the family’s survival I would trust local governance. I called 911,

I got a recording telling me what numbers to call for delinquent refuse removal, dead animals and school closings. There was something about budgetary cuts and it ended with: If you are in an emergency, get help. It repeated: If you are in an emergency, get help. And added: Good luck and thank you for calling your local 911 emergency response messaging system.

I called the operator. Worked my way through two computers and got a human voice and immediately decided to keep it short.

Fire!

The operator asked what station. I told her my address. She said give her a minute and I listened to Nursing Home music and she came back on and said there was no firehouse at that address I’ll need to call one.

I asked for the department-Super Fire Headquarters Command Central-the switchboard and no computer. We were all moving out of the house at this point and neighbors started coming over with baked goods and Bibles.

A lieutenant answered the phone. I explained the situation and she asked what make the truck was. I said I think it was a Ford. The Lieutenant said that since nothing had combusted yet it was not their responsibility. I suggested in a string of expletives that one spark could cause the house to explode. She suggested I turn on the garden hose and dilute the oil and gas and contact my home insurance company.

I told her this is New Orleans. Nobody has home insurance. No company will sell us insurance. The Lieutenant was quiet for a moment then asked where the hired man bought his gas. I had no idea so I just said BP.

The Lieutenant connected me to the Bureau of Immigration and Naturalization. A man named Agent Sam was asking me about the hired man, who, by the way, I had not seen since he went through our porch and kitchen. I told Agent Sam that he had worked for me before and I didn’t know his last name. Everybody speaks with some kind of accent down here and the topic of soccer never came up so I don’t know if he calls it football. Yes, he does have a mustache.

Thirty-six hours later Obama and the press show up where my backdoor used to be. The President has his jacket off, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. He wanted to know where he could find this foreigner who put the BP on me. I told him Pepe stops by once in while on Saturday mornings and asks if I have any work for him. I don’t expect to hear from him soon especially since the license plates on the truck were pre-Katrina.

The next day Secretary Hilary stopped by but with less entourage. She wanted to know what foreign power had destroyed my American dream. I told her Iran to get her out of my hair. She told me somebody would be in contact with me.

The next day the Pro Israeli lobby showed up and asked me if I was Jewish. I told them my rabbi was and that I was a radical Zionist internationalist who was attacked by locals even though everyone knows Louisiana has always been part of Greater Judea.

That evening representatives of Hamas dropped by and promised hookers and pizza. I showed them the check from the Jewish lobby and they said I should have held out for more.

England sent the Earl of Oil; the Saudis sent two Princes and India a naked old man with a mop. I was waiting for the Chinese. I put the order in two hours ago and I hate cold rice.

The Department of Homeland Security has set up a tent in our backyard and the Red Cross attendant hands out juice, water and doughnuts. My wife is putting on a pound a day. The kids are disaster celebrities at their school. I get interviewed pretty much daily and none of my socks match. I know for a fact this isn’t my underwear.

But in a few days this will all end. The Gulf oil is about to arrive. It is about to engulf us. Many of my neighbors have fled but unless they’re moving to the Moon they will never be out of its reach. We hit the Earth’s jugular vein and the oceans will be black before it empties. The shifting plates of the surface of Ea compressed the prehistoric compost into oil and diamonds. We used the diamonds to drill into our mother to make her bleed. Bleed gasoline, kerosene, plastic and jelly.

Soon the tit will run dry. No surprise, the way we suck. In less than a generation the American and German transportation systems will resemble those in rural India and China and will still be envied worldwide.

Don Arrup
Satire1