ONCE UPON A TIME…
ONCE Upon a Time:
In the days when Chicken Little was still a yolk, Henny Penny was bustling about her yard thinking of all the frantic important things Henny Penny always thought like “It’s only a matter of time before Farmer John sees I don’t lay eggs anymore and have been stealing them from the Pechuga Sisters during the 30 minutes of hate each morning before the meds and it’s only going to be a matter of time before my head is on the block!”
Poor Henny Penny always so frantic and sad. Stealing eggs from others to prolong the inevitable. And who is to say a wolf won’t come by and eat her long before Farmer John gets wind of Henny Penny’s subterfuge.
And it was right about then which is right about now, Henny Penny at that very moment felt a piece of sky fall down and hit her on the head like a small but definite thing which hits and runs and is never heard from again but can only mean one thing.
And Henny Penny says, “Oh my God! It’s Obama! It’s so clear! If we don’t stop Obama the sky will fall!”
And just as apocalypse means revelation so too did Henny Penny’s epiphany about Obama have repercussions like a small ripple of hysteria can turn a calm sea to a raging orgy of crashing angst with just a few hours of talk radio and cable TV and internet virality.
Because my goodness, if the sky fell, then what would happen to the sun? And the stars would fall too! And all the kings horses and men and Lego blocks, everything and all because Obama is the president and he’s giving all our money to the communists and he pals around with terrorists, and is the real father of John Edward’s lust-child because it’s been clear since the 2004 debate with Dick Cheney John Edwards was impotent!
“Hi Henny Penny, what are they saying about me?” says Sarahcuda. Not really a barnyard animal, Sarahcuda was more a lab experiment gone bad. It wasn’t the number of personalities which gave pause but the number of them who were sluts which boggled the mind of psychiatric statisticians. Sarahcuda slithered rather than sauntered and lumbered rather than danced and if casting a Garden of Eden passion play for Church or for porn, Sarahcuda would not be Eve.
“Oh,” says Henny Penny, “You startled me. Where on earth did you come from?”
“That’s for me to know and you to find out, Precious. It’s gossip anyway. Idle, bitter, jealous, hateful and hurtful gossip. I am the mother of all my children. And I do not eat them.”
“Well,” says Henny Penny, “A piece of the sky fell on me like the first snowflake of an avalanche of terror. Obama wants to destroy the sky and with it all of creation!”
“Like, tell me something I don’t know sister,” says Sarahcuda, “Obama is a radical Muslim sleeper cell which makes 911 look like the Holocaust. No. Wait. That can’t be right. Damn. These logic and reason classes have been damn hard and I hate my teacher. A little prick from Hollywood who wears a cross and swears he’s not gay but I have my doubts. Obama does not make 911 look like the Holocaust. Obama makes 911 look like a cherry-bomb in a mailbox on Alaska Independence Day! Obama is the Holocaust!”
“Well,” says Henny Penny, “I don’t know about that, I’m just a chicken. My only concern is unless we stop Obama and the Democrats the sky will start falling faster and faster and before you know it all that will be left is…well, can there be anything left without the sky and didn’t God create the sky on the very first day and now look what Obama has done!”
Then like the Phoenix resurrecting from the ash-heap of short-attention-span-politics, Newt-the-Hoot flies down from a withered perch of a whispering willow and says, “It fell on me too. A piece of the sky fell on me too! And since I was higher off the ground than you, I felt it first, so it’s mine by rights. I should herald the demise of Western Civilization from a more erudite and owlish point of view. Wisdom. By the grace of my Catholic God and the love and redemption of Jesus Christ and the gift of tongue’d truth which is gravely placed upon me like blood on the Eucharist.”
“Uh, okay, whatever,” says Henny Penny, “You be the herald or the One or whatever the hell you just said; I just want to save the sky.”
“Well, Newt-the-Hoot,” says Sarahcuda, “We thought you were dead. I thought the worms crawled out of you back in ninety-nine.”
Newt-the-Hoot eyes Sarahcuda with casual pseudology. He says, “I don’t know whether you’re the Whore of Babylon or a dropout from Village Idiot High. Regardless, people will not believe you when you tell them the sky is falling because the dumbest woman on the planet before you was Katie Couric! And the third thing is what species are you anyway?”
At which time all three, Henny Penny, Sarahcuda and Newt-the-Hoot are hit upside the head by a piece of the sky. They all look up.
“Hi kids,” says Foxy Woxy, “What’s up there?”
Henny Penny, Sarahcuda and Newt-theHoot say together, “The sky is falling!!!”
“How’s that?” asks Foxy-Woxy, “The sky is falling? Well it’s always falling isn’t it? Like skin. It flakes off as new sky emerges behind it.”
“Hey, who are you anyway, stranger,” says Newt-the-Hoot, “I knew the sky was falling first. I have the gravitas and sober ability to dissemble and disassociate and convince others of my core values which are your core beliefs which are based upon my understanding of the universal truth which is passion balanced by reason and common sense in service to labor and productivity.”
“Are you running for Sheriff of the Forest there Newt-the-Hoot?” asks Foxy-Woxy with a chuckle.
“If not me then who?” retorts Newt-the-Hoot in a revelry reminiscent of Napoleon at Waterloo.
“Well,” begins Sarahcuda, but is interrupted by Henny Penny who says,”Well, whoever you are, you sure look familiar. You look like a fox but you have the eyes of a…” and then Henny Penny’s eyes open wide and as she is about to scream Foxy Woxy steps out of his fox costume and President Obama stands there like Superman and without a word, which in retrospect says so much about character and commitment, grabs Henny Penny by the throat and tosses her to Bo-Bama the Wonder Dog who snaps her neck in a merciful nanosecond and trots off to the White House kitchen to give the chef a thrill.
Sarahcuda and Newt-the-Hoot stare in awe and contempt. Every superhero needs a villain but the Republicans can only dredge up tired old tabloid tigers; narcissistic moral relativists preaching universal truth with a legacy of disaster as their proof of success.
And Obama says, “You need chickens to breed your contempt Newt and Cuda. And I am going to take you out one Henny Penny at a time. BOO!”
Sarahcuda and Newt-the-Hoot run and fly off the handle in opposite directions somewhat like headless barn yard chickens in the last throes of a Cheneyesque apocalypse which means dark revelation which means they can run but can’t hide from the truth of their destiny as political road-kill.
Obama turns to me, hands on his hips with a little impatient disgust and says, “This is the only Fairy Tale of yours I’m showing up in you got that? You think throwing Henny Penny to Bo for the kill is really suitable for my little girls? Huh?”
“Well, kids grow up pretty fast these days sir,” I say. “Just like we did. And, I did make you the hero sir.”
“All right, well just this once. I did Leno. I’ll do Idol. And I did you. And believe me you need me a whole lot more than I need you. I can make a fairy tale. And you’re a complete unknown.”
“It’s more of a parable, sir,” I say.
“Well, you started it off with Once Upon A Time,” he says.
“Point taken, sir.”
“A parable, huh? It looks like a bunch of cheap shots at low hanging fruit. What’s the moral of your story there, son? Republicans are cartoon characters?”
“Uh, you can’t rule by fear any more, sir. Remember the Greatest Generation, sir, the 60s? Well they said “Question Authority.” Well, now sir, Authority is beyond question so we’ve got to question its tactics which fear is the alpha and omega choice, sir. We’re not going to be afraid just because you tell us to because George Bush did not restore dignity to the White House, sir.”
“Dude, chill out,” says Obama, “Do you play? Let’s discuss this over some hoops.”
“You can’t bowl me over with a charm offensive, sir.”
“Chicken? Bwock, bwock, bwock.”
“Okay, one game, sir. To ten by ones, gotta win by two, no harm no foul and, sir, I just have one question. It’s been more than a hundred days. You must know by now. Who really did kill Kennedy?”
Let the fairy tale begin.
