Airport Motel

(Scene: Low budget late 60's No Tell Motel room. Enter door on left. Bathroom door on right. Ancient TV with rabbit ears faces Queen sized bed with carpet gold blanket, three pillows and an anonymous painting of a sailing ship rocked in an angry sea. Enter Xi Jingping in fisherman's cap, riding britches and gators. He looks about as he creeps in.)

Xi
NP? NP! Damn you, you Capitalist bitch. Where are you?

(House Speaker Nancy Pelosi comes out of bathroom in a red negligee holding a martini.)

NP
Looking for some commerce, Chinaman?

Xi
Where are your wares, woman?

NP (sticking out her chest)
Fire sale on white ass. Get it before more tariffs kick in.

Xi
You have some globals.

NP
And they're warming.

Xi
You're turning my eyes into solar panels.

NP
Keep staring, Ping Ding. We've got the oil but you're got the future.

Xi
My wife thinks I'm fishing in Hong Kong.

NP
My husband thinks I'm running the House.

Xi
What does Donald think?

NP
He never stops talking and tweeting long enough to think.

Xi
He's either too crazy or too crafty to predict.

NP
Let me see if I can get your Yen up. Heard it's been drooping lately.

Xi
If not then just inflate your dollars more. I've got plenty of them.

NP
That ought to puff your pants. Perhaps not as much as squashing protesters.

Xi
My protesters are in Hong Kong and Bum F##k Manchuria while your protesters are in your own caucus.

NP
You've got me there, China Man. Now, Xi, get me here.

Don Arrup
Satire 1

What, Me Worry?

Last Friday the world woke up to find it had lost its madness. Not its insanity, hatred, stupidity, ignorance, psychosis, neurosis, blindness or denial. Those characteristics flourish as never before. What people the world over are about to miss is their magazine MAD.

What had been the Bible of the Baby Boomers declined in popularity with Gen Xers and Millennials and will soon to be history. The perspective and relief Mad magazine offered will be missed but its influence may become all the greater now that its spokesperson is free for other pursuits. 

The world was introduced to Alfred E. Neuman in 1954. His next appearance two years later on the cover of the magazine announced Mad’s endorsement of Neuman’s write in candidacy for the office of president of the United States of America.

With the big eared, gap toothed, shit eating grin redhead now freed from the nonpartisan restraints of the magazine, Alfred E. can throw his hat into either party’s ring for the nomination or continue his maverick streak as an independent third party candidate.

Satire1, admittedly biased in favor of the fictional nincompoop, took to the corner of Lafayette and Spring Streets in New York’s Soho ho ho where Mad magazine and Alfred were born to ask the local yokels how they gauge the chances for the worry free candidate to take the top office.

Guy with a ponytail

“He couldn’t be worse than the last two clowns we had to choose between. I voted for the woman clown since that would have at least been something new. Maybe it is time for a cartoon to be president.”

Pony with a guy tail

“We animals went along with you late to the evolutionary game humans because we thought you would manage the world better than the other predators but we were wrong. Time to hand the whole shebang over to artificial ignorance and that would be Alfred E.”

Farmer Renick Roozier

“I’ve been pigeon farming in these parts since Neuman was the new man and I can tell you that it is not that he has no idea of how to run the country but that he has no ideas about anything that makes him so qualified. American needs a president with no ideas.”

Mary B. Bumble

“The buzz on Al Neu is that he was a beatnik in the fifties, a hippie in the sixties, a swinger in the seventies, a yuppie in the eighties and an asshole ever since. He’s certainly not what we want but he’s almost certainly what we deserve.”

Cat Diamond

“You know, half this neighborhood was art galleries. Some designer stores. Fashion. And then the shoes get too expensive and the art commercial and the couple of holes in the midnight wall go from being the coolest parties downtown to too rich bitches and assholes wearing their Friday night gear. What, me worry? Williamsburg. Greenpoint. That’s Al E. Need. Leaving just before the crowd.

Don Arrup

Satire1