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Fauntleroy and Flossy – Obsession Politics


Flossy lay, lady, lay, across her big brass bed, while replacing her lithium battery in the KGB-designed stiletto knife handle. She watched Fauntleroy pace.

“Where is Model T? I have been busy. I received calls from both Ex-wives, their alimony checks have not arrived. She knows what savages those women can be. Can’t anyone in this country see to the details of running an organization?”

The red iPhone on the iPhone bank rang. Fauntleroy picked it up. “No, I already made 3.96 million on Boeing stock. Tell them I have the offer to pick up Osama bin Laden’s, low mileage plane from Pakistan Airlines. It even comes with a C.I.A. pilot. Don’t take any more calls from Boeing.”

Before he was able to put the phone down, it rang again. He answered. “Yes.” He listened for a minute. “Look, the Turkish government has silenced the independent media there. Why can’t we do that here? I am tired of all this scrutiny. We are going to have to plan a crackdown on our adversaries.” He listened again, “Yeah, what amendment is that? I’m not worried about that one, but the 2nd one, which is the one that pays the big bucks. By the way, how many of those are there?”

The stiletto knife, broadcast every word perfectly to the security van with the Russian Circus advertisement that kept circling 5th Avenue.

The white phone rang. Fauntleroy picked it up. “A Russian submarine? Off our coast? What on earth? Oh, wait, send a boat out to greet it. That must be my shipment of Russian beluga caviar for the inauguration.” He listened. “What do you mean banned? Oh, surely you know, that’s for the little people. Do I look like little people? Do you know who my guests are? They only accept the best. I ordered fifty cases. Bring them to the Tower.”

“Darling, you are late for your meeting,” Flossy told him. She closed the stiletto knife and slipped it back into her garter.

The men in the circus van pulled off Fifth Ave. “Перерыв на обед". (Break for lunch. Pronounced Pereryv na obed. Source: Google translate.)

On the way downstairs, the red phone in his right pocket rang. “Yes.” He listened. “Sudan conflict. Ethnic civil war. What exactly is that? Wait, what is in Sudan? Do they have oil? Just what do they have that is worth protecting? OK, get back to me when you know something.” He hung up, and thought, The people, what kind of an answer is that?

Fauntleroy entered the Map Room. When he saw Little PR, his face scrunched up. Agent Y concealed his amusement. Little PR looked at the table, and the Play Doh® pipeline is criss-crossing the world. Little PR noted the clay was starting to dry and there were visible cracks.

“You need to start talking up my, ‘Premium Support’ plan. I wanted to call it ‘Safety Support,’ but someone pointed out that sounds too much like what athletes wear. We are going to spring this trap shut on the people who believe they have earned their entitlements. And how do you like FauntleroyCare as a replacement for what is in place now? This is our country, not those people out there walking around on the streets.”

Fauntleroy, looking for Sudan in the map said, “Did you ever stop to think, that without Medicare money, the whole Health Insurance Industry collapses?” He waited for an answer.

“But we are going to give them a voucher. A voucher I say. Yes, more people will die. How is that our problem?” Little PR was not the gatekeeper for the people. “People are dying all over the globe. Are we going to pay for health care for all of them?” He laughed.

“The script is not yet written. You suffer from a crippled conscience and have placed your personal opportunism as your top priority. This meeting is over.” Fauntleroy smiled, as he found Sudan on the map. “Next.” No one responded. I have to call the Department of Environmental.

Fauntleroy skipped out of the room softly singing, “The Knights Before Christmas.”

Agent K followed.

Fauntleroy turned, “What’s plural for bats?” He paused, but did not wait for an answer, “Is it beets? We could be the Beetsmen. ♪Nana Nana NaNa Beetsmen. ♪ “We are going to bring obsession- politics to a whole new level. Gosh, I have the best words.”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to look at Agent K. “I just figured out your joke. I have agents M., O., N., K., E., and Y.”


This is a work of fiction. I think you can all agree on that. No one could behave as badly as Little PR, Banshee, or other fictitious characters that appear between the fictitious lines of this satire.

Reading may cause heartburn, mental health problems, strange dreams, election down syndrome, hot flashes and increased risk of cognitive awareness.

If you suffer continued confusion, increased poverty, agitation and hunger consult your family members that made this all possible. No worries, State-run television will soon be here to tell you what you are allowed to know.

By reading this, the user consents to school closures, denied access to medical attention, midnight behind closed doors votes, and blatant power grabs, at the discretion of the fictitious author, regarding fictitious characters in fictitious settings.

If you are allergic to Fauntleroy and Flossy or any of the ingredients found in Fauntleroy and Flossy, stop reading immediately and seek a support group that is right for you. There is hope.

This work is not intended as a substitute for the medical advice of physicians. Seek advice while it is still available.

Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

American Pie - Don McLean

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© 2016 mckbirdbks

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