A REPUBLICAN FABLE
“Mother,” said
fourth-grade Johnny, “may I please have five-dollars to buy some candy?”
“What happened
to the five-dollar allowance I give you every Friday night?”
“I’ve been
giving it to the homeless man in the park.”
Mother is
touched. “I’m proud of you, Johnny. Sharing and caring for other people. But
homeless people are part of the forty-seven percent that expect a
handout—”
“Just like
Mister Romney said on television!”
“Yes. And that
forty-seven percent voted against Mister Romney and that’s why he lost.”
“But my teacher
said Romney lost by more than that. She said it was practically a landslide.”
“The election
was stolen, Johnny. God and White America wanted Mitt and, and—” Mother wiped
away a tear. “But back to your problem. You can’t give away anything to the filthy forty-seven
percent. They have to sink down so far into the gutter that they’ll be thankful
for any type of labor; for any wage whatsoever. They don’t need charity. They
need jobs.”
“But the
homeless guy at the park—”
“Yes Johnny?”
“—that I give
my money to?”
“Yes Johnny?”
“He has a
job.”
“Really? What
does he do?”
“For five-dollars, every
Saturday morning,” said Johnny, “he sucks my cock.”
