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Fauntleroy and Flossy – Microwave Chronicle

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Fauntleroy sat in the WH cafeteria surrounded by his Cabinet, all except Toilman, who had not been seen since he got lost in Asia. The maniacal laughter bouncing off the gold colored walls came to a screeching halt when a voice came from the microwave.

“I am the spirit of William Quantrill.”

Con con Connie, went and kneeled in front of the microwave. Pet Peeve crossed his hands in front of his crotch. Banshee leaned back in his chair and stuffed a handful of Cheetos in his mouth; the orange crumbs the only color on his pallid face. Fauntleroy glared, wondering who dared interrupt him.

Perrier, head of the Energy Department, went and checked the plug of the microwave.

The voice coming from the microwave said, “Sit down, Waterhead!”

Perrier went and sat.

“You are operating a guerilla war, deep inside enemy territory. Your iron fist, crap is not going to win you any battles. You are too small a force. You, Fautleroy are using sabotage brilliantly, but you can’t do it all by yourself. Banshee, you need hit-and-run tactics. You can’t take down the entire house with the strength you have now. Con con, Connie, the citizens are arming against you, you have to increase your mobility. You holding your crotch. What is your name again?” He glanced at his notes, “Pet Peeve, you just need to shut up.” The bell went off on the microwave. When the ringing stopped, the voice said, “The South will rise again.”

The room went back to maniacal laughter.

Perrier went and looked into the microwave. It was empty. He put his wrapped 7-Eleven burrito inside and pushed the popcorn button.

Banshee lifted his 64 oz Robert E. Lee, plastic rebel cup and slurped his diet vodka.

“Cruella.” It was a question. Is public education still alive?” Fauntleroy asked.

“I have moved much of the funding toward our private school corporation. Only ‘approved children’ will be attending school in the near future.” She winked, in approval of the plan to save their tax dollars. “Why educated them, when they will grow up to earn, $0.15 an hour, as we begin to compete with India and China.”

“I forget,” Fauntleroy began, “which one of you is head of Labor?” There was a long pause, “Anybody? Anybody?”

Banshee wiped crumbs from his face. The microwave beeped, and Con con Connie lifted her arms and bowed. Perrier, opened the microwave and removed his steaming burrito.

At that moment, Model T and Mr. Model T entered the WH cafeteria. Model T put a hundred dollar bill in the carriage tray on the Czarbucks Coffee Machine and made her selection. “Want anything?” She asked Mr. Model T. “It’s on the taxpayers.” She took a sip of her Czarbucks beverage grande latte containing 99 extra shots of espresso and 17 pumps of vanilla syrup, mocha and matcha powder.

Mr. Model T. did the same choosing a Venti Czarbucks Flat White with 195 mg of caffeine provided by 3 ristretto shots.

The couple walked out, wide-eyed.

Fauntleroy watched his daughter go.

“Yeah, and we get a cut of every sale.”

The room went back to maniacal laughter.

Disclaimer


This is a work of fiction. It is a work of friction. It is a work of diction. And it is a work of depiction. No microwaves were injured during the construction of this piece. There was use of prescription, and trouble with description. And there is hope for administrative decomposition.

Fauntleroy and Flossy are not for everyone. Even Flossy is having trouble dealing with Fauntleroy.

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