At 10 o'clock this morning, received a desperate call from my dear mother.
"Damn that Bush!" she cried. "Damn him to HELL!"
"Take it easy, Ma. What's the problem?"
"My car broke down!" she told me. "I have an appointment at the unemployment office to extend my benefits another two years, and I have no way to get there! DAMN THAT BUSH! He sent my job overseas, and now he's trying to take my unemployment insurance away! What am I going to do?"
Ma has been out of work since Boeing laid her off in 2002, thanks to Bush and his tax cuts for the rich. The union hasn't called her back, and no one is hiring 65 year old Airplane Restroom Toilet Paper Dispenser Installers anymore. So she's had to subsist on her pension, social security, her 401k, alimony checks, welfare, and unemployment insurance benefits for the past two years.
"Don't worry, Ma. Tell me where you are and I'll come help."
"At the White Horse Tavern in Marysville. That's as far as I made it before the damn thing quit!"
"Mom, that's totally the opposite direction of the unemployment office."
"Oh that Bush has got me so riled up, I've lost all sense of direction!" Ma cried.
"No biggie, Ma, I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Thank you, dear. I'll go inside and have a beer while I wait."
I arrived at the White Horse a couple hours later. Sure enough, Ma was inside nursing a pounder at the bar when I walked in.
"Oh Larry, thank God you're here!" she greeted me. "I don't know what I'm going to do...I'm out of work, my unemployment benefits have expired, and now my car won't run! I'm going to wind up eating dog food right out of the can, thanks to Bush and his tax cuts for the rich!"
"Would you like some more pull tabs, Mrs. Chomstein?" the bartended interrupted.
"Yeah, gimme fifty bucks on number 10," my Mom told him. "Lotta good it'll do me...I haven't won shit since Bush put on a flight suit and announced 'mission accomplished' from the deck of that aircraft carrier."
"Well, Ma, I'll go out and have a look at the car. Maybe I can fix it."
"Bless your heart, dear," she said, handing me her keys. "I'll have another beer while I wait."
When I popped the hood open on the Jeep, I could immediately tell what the problem was - the fan belt was broken. But upon closer inspection, it became obviuous that it had been cleanly and intentionally cut. I took the broken belt back inside the tavern and showed it to Ma.
"Damn that Bush!" she screeched with anger, her face turning a deep red. "That BASTARD cut my fan belt! Oooh he really knows how to PISS ME OFF! I haven't been this mad since Nixon stole my panties at Woodstock! DAMN HIM! DAMN HIM! DAMN HIM!"
"Calm down, Ma!" I told her. She was lapsing into one of her Sam Kinison screaming fits, and was already drawing a small crowd of slack-jawed gawkers. "Just relax, it's an easy fix. I'll just drive up to the auto parts store and get a new fan belt."
"Oh thank you so much, sweetheart," Ma replied, relaxing a little. "I'll have another beer while I wait."
An hour later, I had the new belt installed and the Jeep was ready to go - just as Ma came stumbling out of the bar, blood gushing from her mouth.
"Holy crap, what happened to you?"
"Oh I fell down in the baffroom and broke my toof on the edge of the terlet," Ma explained.
"DAMN THAT BUSH!" we both shouted in unison.