Past Imperfect

Past Imperfect – #115

FBI Agent Smith knew that a nest of Russian spies was operating in the Theater District, and he knew that they were posing as bankers, but he couldn’t quite figure out exactly which building he should start searching first…

Aggressive man in a greasy overcoat who suddenly appeared out of the fog and stomped toward our narrator: “You need to take that back or I’m calling somebody and getting you fired.”

Narrator: “I think I’ve missed something here. What the hell are you talking about?”

Aggressive: “You’re being racist.”

Narrator: “And I think you don’t understand what ‘racist’ means.”

Aggressive: “You’re twisting my words and making it sound like something I didn’t say. I’m calling somebody and getting you fired.”

Narrator: “I’m not twisting anything. You called me a racist and I’m challenging that.”

Aggressive: “I never said you were a racist.”

Narrator: “Yes, you did. It’s in the official transcript for this blog. Have you possibly not been taking some critical medication?”

Aggressive: “You’re violating my right to free speech.”

Narrator: “No I’m not. You can say whatever you want. But I have the right to challenge whatever you’re saying.”

Aggressive: “No you don’t. This is America. I can say whatever I want.”

Narrator: “Are you actually listening to the words that are coming out of your mouth? You’re parroting what I’m saying but not understanding what I’m saying.”

Aggressive: “Stop calling me a bird. This is religious persecution. It’s a war on religion!”

Narrator: “Wow, that was an interesting escalation on your part. Help me understand how we got from wherever you started to here. How am I destroying religion? Because that certainly wasn’t my plan when I got up this morning.”

Aggressive: “All you Liberals want to destroy the Jesus Constitution of our Jesus Country.”

Narrator: “Okay, we’re finally starting to flesh out the details of your erratic flight pattern, but I need a little more intel. Let’s circle back to why you called me a racist in the first place. Care to share? Or are you one of those Republicans who denies what they just said five minutes ago. Wait, you’ve already proven that. Still, continue.”

Aggressive: “You were slamming Russian spies with your unfounded conspiracy theories about rigging elections being a bad thing.”

Narrator: “Well, I was actually just poking gentle fun at how the Russian alphabet often uses a “k” when English speakers would use a “c”. It really didn’t go any deeper than that. But for the record, yeah, a foreign country intervening in our electoral process is never a good thing.”

Aggressive: “You are blaspheming my savior. You’re a racist!”

Narrator: “Your savior? I’m thinking that’s another word that you don’t understand. But out of sheer curiosity, who is this savior that you speak of?”

Aggressive: “Me. I am so incredibly fantastic that I can threaten to shoot somebody on Fifth Avenue and still get elected president. And I will continue my reign of insipid inanity for another four years because the Republican Party is filled with mindless acolytes whose sphincters slam shut at the tiniest possibility of stopping my madness. So, I’m still calling somebody to get you fired. Because I’m a god in the eyes of self-centered, backwoods, inbred, hate-filled ignorants who have never read the Constitution, including me.”

There’s a clatter of noise off to the side of the street and suddenly Melania Trump, sporting a jacket which reads “I don’t care about anybody but me” on the back, makes a rare public appearance because she doesn’t understand that presidential wives should actually prove their worth in some way. “Stumpy, it’s time for you to head back to the White House. You missed your last round of medication and you haven’t posted anything on Twitter for at least 30 minutes, so all those sphincters out there have no idea what they should lie about next. Let’s go take care of that, shall we?”

They totter off, codependent in their denial.

The narrator turns off his voice-recording device, fully intent on sharing it during a certain impeachment trial on the horizon…

 

Previously published in “Crusty Pie” and “Bonnywood Manor”. Revised and massively expanded for this post…

 

9 replies »

    • Oh, any appearances of the words “sense”, “intelligence”, “logic” and “basic hygiene” have been removed from the official Republican Party platform. “Idiocy”? That’s still front and center, starting with the preamble…

      Liked by 1 person

  1. Brian,
    The jingoistically steeped dialogue`s film noire volley makes me wanna holler:
    ‘Merica- f yeah’

    🙈🙉🙊
    Ilene

    PS I keep you in my positive meditations, my dear heart, for consistently helping to plug my blog. I read yours when I’m in need of an intelligently wry laugh, and that’s pretty much always.

    PPS We’re in the countdown to move in to the new house Friday and couldn’t be more ready. We’ve been address-less for eight weeks living in a rented house in the woods with four consecutive black outs courtesy of PG&E.

    Liked by 1 person

    • It makes me want to holler, as well, but my word choices are a bit more… brusque…

      P.S. I love plugging your blog. It annoys the hell out of me that more people haven’t discovered your amazing mastery of words, never mind your amazing defiance at letting circumstances cobble your spirit.

      P.P.S. Good to hear about the new house. Not so good to hear about PG&E still being allowed to make their customers suffer instead of sucking it up and fixing their damn infrastructure. Bastards.

      P.P.P.S. Because I want to end on a positive note, let’s circle back. Did I mention that I love your writing. Sure do. Mmm hmm.

      Liked by 1 person

      • Sing to the tune of Yankee Doodle :

        Well hot damn,
        you’re my true fan,
        And I can say I’m flattered
        Even though you are a man
        And even though you’re flatter
        Breast cancer can kill you, too
        And even men’s lives matter!

        Men can get breast cancer too
        Men can get breast cancer
        Don’t forget to grope those moobs
        And mammograms may be the answer.

        Call them pecs or call them man tits
        Men can get breast cancer
        Learn to feel for lumps and pits
        And you will find an answer!

        Repeat chorus.

        Like

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