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Fauntleroy and Flossy – They Call me Ishmael

fauntleroy-and-flossy-the-spin-room

Put-Baby rose from his barber’s chair. Every hair in place. Skin tightening lineament treatment complete. He reached for his jacket and slipped it on. His assistant brushed imaginary lint from his shoulder. Put-Baby walked to the side curtain and waited for Comrade Kuputski to end the introduction.

When done speaking, Kuputski turned and extended both arms toward where Put-Baby stood.

He reached the podium and waited for the compulsory applause to end, roughly thirty-two seconds.

“My friends – Russia has caught itself a whale. Though we set out to catch a whale, we had no idea, no hope really, of catching one.” He paused and gave that wry smile. “The question becomes what do we do with this whale?” Another reflective pause.

“We have to admit that our craft, is not big enough to bring her alongside, without extensive damage to ourselves. History has proven that this beast is without compass, no direction, and no discretion.” There was light applause.

“We are working furiously to untangle ourselves from this burden. The trail of witnesses within our reach have been silenced. Our own people have taken to the streets to show the world that they are alive, not completely passive and are flaunting our authority. We are taking steps here to silence these protestors. Some of our American comrades legislators in red States are doing the same.” Put-Baby let that sink in a moment.

“We are receiving inquiries from Norway, Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Poland, and Romania regarding purchasing our newest and deadliest, T-14 Armata tanks. At first this was a mystery to our armament industry. But then our spies in Mission Viejo received coded information about a program tied to the upcoming ejection of millions of citizens and guests from America.” He put his hand to his lips and then continued. “It seems our future options may be do we want to see our tanks cross our borders or do we want tanks made in America or France to cross our borders.”

He stepped in front of the podium. “These are unacceptable results from our years of hard work, subterfuge, infiltration, coercion, bribery and interference. Comrades, the Americans are soft. But I think perhaps without the Germans to make us the fierce fighters like those fearless, deadly machines that fought off Hitler, we too have hidden behind our technology.”

“We know now, that the gullible Americans will swallow the red bait anytime we throw it into the waters of international politics. We know we can stir the Europeans any way we wish. Just like Pavlov, our famous Russian scientist proved over one hundred years ago, the mind is a simple thing to train, be it beast or man.”

fauntyleroy-and-flossy-they-call-me-ishmael

“We must be more prudent. We must be careful how and why we set our goals. We cannot be crushed in a moment of victory by the defeat of a giant. We will devour the West, but we have to take her apart in smaller portions. Much smaller portions. We can still enjoy the wealth siphoned off from the Americans through all the cuts being made.”

“I propose that we slowly remove our spies from Washington, D.C. step by step, so there is only a cold trail to follow. Then we will double our hate speech broadcasts, to continue reshaping the thinking to our ‘meinung.’ It is time the Americans learned, the middle class has outlived their usefulness. Time they lived through some economic winters. Once we have achieved that, we are done with the West, we then can turn our attention to the East and the materialistic leaders in China. Comrades, we have won, but we must absorb the loot slowly, or be carried to the bottom of the sea with the prize.”

Put-baby stood waiting for the compulsory applause to stop, then left the stage.

He took his phone out of his pocket and dialed the camouflage phone to deliver the news.

Disclaimer


This is a disquieting disclaimer. It is a work of fiction and the fictious whale that was harpooned is the United States of America. The bots, came, they saw, they conquered. The saturated zombie, vampire, culture was no match for the four hundred pound Russian sitting in front of his Moscow laptop. It appears we are the most heavily armed and dangerous pushovers on the planet.

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