Next time the sign in Chip Harrison’s car might say something like: “I’m sorry, Mr. Policeman, Mr. Messiah, and Mr. Secret Service Guy. I love babies more than I do the president. I want them to stay and him to go away -- when his term is over…let me make that clear…WHEN HIS TERM IS OVER…OR HE’S IMPEACHED.”
If the sign fits in the window.
Or maybe it will say something more direct, but legal, such as: “Go Frig Yourself, Mr. President.”
But what it WON’T say is: “Abort Obama Not the Unborn.” Why be clever when it gets you associated with “hate groups?”
If you’ve spent any time around this nutty place, you probably have a clear understanding that I’m not exactly in love with b. Hussein. Hmm…does that make me part of a “hate group?” Should I be expecting a visit from the Secret Service, too?
There’s still time to find out…and I’m pretty sure how it will go….
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Two men in black stand rigidly at the door. One reaches out like a dumb friggin’ robot to push the doorbell.
RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG! RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG! RIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGG!
What appear to be explosions erupt inside the house. A vicious dog barks 40 times a second. A chorus of high-pitched screeching approaches the door amid the warnings of the attack dog. The cacophony is so loud one agent puts a hand over his ear. The silhouette of a man becomes clear through the door’s tempered glass. He appears to be bobbing and weaving, as if he were a boxer. He seems to trip… over two smaller silhouettes, and a white amorphous mass, the front of which seems to bounce off the floor like a jackhammer. Up and down. BARK BARK BARK! Up and down. BARK BARK BARK! Up and down.
Secret Service Man #1 reaches his right hand beneath his jacket and flips the catch on his shoulder holster, then returns the hand to his side.
BAM! The man inside slams into the door: Shit!
He fumbles for the locks, frees them, and shouts: Hold on…wait…Dog (real name withheld to protect the guilty)…DAMMIT! DOG!...Lucy? LUCY!? (real name again withheld to protect the guilty) CAN YOU GET THIS FRIGGIN’ BEAST OUT OF HERE?
Two smaller silhouettes, apparently young children, seem to be hopping up and down, as if on a trampoline.
The silhouette of (apparently) “Lucy” pulls the amorphous white mass that is “Dog” back into the recesses of the house, the sound of a million paw nails scratching the floor loud, then diminishing, then gone.
[Narrator interruption: I shit you not. This happens any time anyone rings the door bell. Neighbor kid. Pizza man. Church lady. Secret Service.]
The door opens. Just a little. A bespectacled man with wild curly hair pokes his head through the crack.
SS#1: Sir. Are you Dr. Dave ADHD?
Man: Umm…yes. Can I help you?
Secret Service Man #2: We’re with the Secret Service, Mr. ADHD.
Both men extract wallets and flip them open so quickly to reveal identification, the man in the door blinks a few times.
Man: Is that something you learn as freshmen in Secret Service School?
SS#1: Frowns. Sir. We’re here on official government business.
Man: Smiles, like a jackass. Umm…yeah…I got that when you said the words “Secret Service.”
SS#2: Sir. We understand you write a seditious blog. We’re concerned you’re with a hate group. We’d like to come in and look around.
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
SS#1: Sir. Can we have a look around…inside?
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
SS#1: MR. ADHD!
Man: Collects himself. Sure. Why the hell not? Welcome to my nightmare!
Man opens the door. Two children swoop past him. From somewhere inside the house, a million paw nails scratch the floor, the sound drawing closer and closer.
“Lucy”: Dog. Dog! Get BACK here!
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
SS#1 and SS#2 cross the threshold into the house. The two children block their path. The white amorphous “Dog” jumps between the two children, tail wagging, knocking both of them to the floor.
“Dog” jumps up and plants its paws on SS#1’s chest…and licks SS#2’s trigger hand.
Boy and Girl recover, pull themselves off the floor, and, hopping up and down, again block the path of SS#1 and SS#2.
Boy: Why are you wearing black? Hop. Hop. Hop.
Girl: Yeah. Why? Hop. Hop. Hop.
Boy: Can we have those sunglasses? Hop. Hop. Hop.
Girl: Yeah. Can we? Hop. Hop. Hop.
“Dog” jumps down from SS#1 and jumps on SS#2’s chest…and licks SS#1’s trigger hand.
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
SS#1: MR. ADHD. If you could, PLEASE!
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
Boy: Did you come to see Daddy’s guns?
Girl: Yeah. Did you?
Boy: My daddy was in the Army!
Girl: Yeah. The Army!
Boy: He hates Obama!
Girl: Yeah. Rock Obama! [Narrator translation: This one thinks “Obama has rocks in his head” sounds better her way.]
SS#1 smiles. So…Mr. ADHD. You’re flying your flag outside upside down. You have a seditious blog. You own guns. You “hate” the president. You want to tell us about your hate?
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I’m just a blogger, man. I’m just having fun.
Boy: Want to play football?
Girl: No. Play babies!
SS#2: Sir. Can you do something about these children?
Man: Laughs. And laughs. And laughs. I’ve been trying. For 7 years. That’s why I blog. So I can take my frustration out on dumb people. Your boss just happens to be the dumbest one around. Laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
Girl: Rock Obama!
Boy: I lost my tooth. Grins widely. See?
Girl: Daddy makes fires in the fireplace so I can warm belly? Pulls up her shirt. See?
“Dog” still licks SS#1’s trigger hand.
Boy: Want to see my room?
Girl: No. Mine!
Boy: I like pizza! Do you?
Girl: Yeah. Pizza!
Boy growls. [Narrator: This is an involuntary reflex, we think. Or maybe he really is a monster.]
THUD! Everyone turns around to see Man lying on the floor.
“Lucy”: Hun? Hun, are you okay?
Man was laughing so hard he could no longer stand up. “Dog” hovers over him and starts licking his face.
SS#2 turns to SS#1: Umm…I don’t think this man belongs to any hate group. But he sure isn’t right in the head.
SS#1 turns to “Lucy”: Ma’am. Can we call someone for your husband?
Man stops laughing: Yes. Please! Take me away! I’ll even go to the gulag. Just…get…me…out of here!
Man then laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
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If you made it all the way through my crap, you deserve a reward:
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