Fauntleroy and Flossy – Falling Democracy
Flossy lay across her big brass bed, “Darling, I saw a Negro man yesterday. Can’t we send them back where they came from?”
Fauntleroy took his eyes off his mirror and turned to her, “You mean the Bronx?”
“Of course, Darling.”
“I have important work to do. Really important work. The most important.” He returned his gaze to the mirror. Over his shoulder he called, “Did you hear that actor criticize me? Why don’t they get real people to make movies instead of these phony Hollywood people?”
Flossy had gone back to reading her Russian text, Cosmopolitan.
He went on, “The press treats me like an idiot. Just wait until there is a complete blackout of the press. They will have to have an army to find out anything before it happens, and will have trouble after it happens. By then it will be too late.”
“Darling, all this worry is bad for your health. There are plenty of people to do the worrying. You just do the negotiations. You are so good at getting what you want. You can’t overcome your Queens upbringing.”
“I need people around me I can trust. I already hired everyone in my family. What about your Uncle Gorbachev do you think he wants a job in Washington?” He paused. “Did you see the map Connie sent over? We have access to a lot of prime national real estate. I quickly looked it over. How does, Fauntlery Grand Teton Hotel sound? Or, Fauntleroy Zion Motel? Oh, I have plans. I’ll set up a corporation to bid on and buy, unannounced land auctions. The ‘anti-parks caucus’ is on my side as long as the oil boys get their hands on the land they are eyeing.”
“Darling, I read that 130,000 Americans died between 2005 and 2010 because of their lack of health insurance. Do you really want that to continue? America is a rich country, is it not?”
“Go back to your reading, my little Flossy. I’ll do the thinking for us. Haven’t I always taken care of you? We are going to crush labor, once we are competitive with the Chinese and Indian labor, then capitol will revisit the concerns of the peasants. Oh, I mean our fellow Americans.”
He adjusted his tie. Look how well we are doing already. Have you visited Model T’s new home on Embassy Row. We are going to be the best first family in the history of the first families.”
The red phone rang on the bank of phones. “Yes.” He listened. “Look, Goudie Ruliana you had your chance, don’t call this number again.” He set the phone down.
Connie entered the room without fanfare or courtesy. “The Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, has declined to attend your party. Did you authorize the invitation?”
“I have no enemies. I am beloved by both the big and the small.”
“He is uninvited!” She walked out of the room.
Fauntleroy’s sock phone rang. “Putt-Baby. What? Who is this?” He listened.
Oh, code name, ‘Tea for the Tillerman’ - How did you get this number?”
Flossy flipped the page on her Cosmopolitan.
“Yes, the land grab is in process. Patience man, patience. The Russians will get their oil.”
“Looks like Turkey and Russia are going to negotiate the cease fire in Syria. What do you think about that?”
“Ah, let them, what do I care? Do you understand me? Keep out of it unless you have an economic reason to intervene.”
“You don’t care if the U.S. or NATO is not involved in the talks?”
“No, and I don’t want Syrian refugees here either.”
Fauntleroy walked out of the residence heading toward his Belgium waffles and jam for breakfast.
This is a work of fiction. No brass beds were injured in the writing of the fictitious story. No persons expressed or implied were consulted during the production of this parody. Cash value of reading this article is valued at 1/1000th of a penny. You cannot combine this cash value with any other offer.
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