Author: Stephen J Frankenberry

(Note to Universe on behalf of my Grayson: Screw You – He had his dot in this place)

Grayson: (A slow, alert, deliberate peering about the living room) …Mmmmwwrowrp … Mmmmwwrowrp … Mmmmwrowwww … Mmmmwrowwwrra …

Me: (sitting on the bed from around the corner) Who you talking to now dude?

Grayson: …Mmmmwwrow…

Me: Alright my friend

This was an oft repeated conversation (in various kind) Gray and I would have as he made his way around the apartment talking to himself, or maybe to imaginary cat friends, or maybe even to the cat ghosts only cats can see/sense as their ears fall flat, their eyes widen, their tails fatten and they take off in a mad sprint to any place other than the one they were just in, usually to a window looking like one of their cat ghosts just slapped them in the ass.

(Facebook: Tuesday morning, August 7th)

It was around one this morning when I heard what I thought was just Grayson hissing at Cricket, the blind cat I brought upstairs who just has this innate ability to end up wherever Grayson is, a comedy of sorts and moreso than Bella who knows to grab her spot on the table in the living room, above the Cricket circles fray (Cricket walks a lot of circles to find her place). Grayson has never warmed to Cricket, Bella less so, I’m sure the blind being a weirdness that they just don’t understand, but he at least minded her. Usually his hissing was followed by a running away and a being mad at me for such. No confrontation, or maybe a temporary one, quickly quelled. But this hissing wasn’t that, it was different. He was in distress and a few hours later he was gone. Just fucking gone. 

(After my 7a alarm – Gray waits patiently, as I navigate newly opened eyes, in his usual spot on the rug at the end of the bed)

Me: Good morning Gray. (to around the corner) Good morning Bella…and (getting closer as her hearing is also suspect) you too Cricket. You hungry dude?

(getting up and groggily grabbing, after a rub under Gray’s chin, the three empty bowls from last night’s dinner then walking into the kitchen and putting them into the sink to soak while, in turn, grabbing the three clean bowls from the strainer)

Me: (Gray slapping at my feet) …whoa, dude! Can ya not make my feet bleed already? I’m not even awake yet… (Gray changes to rubbing around my legs) …you’re a good boy.

This was the routine in the old apartment with Bella and Gray and now the same one in the new apartment I moved into last December with the only change being the additional “good morning” to Cricket who I brought upstairs here a few months ago. I will thank whatever providence is for landing me in this place, here in this apartment, that couldn’t possibly be any more perfect. It’s two huge, beautiful hardwood floor rooms above the garage of the house of my landlady, Celie, who has an animal shelter just down the hill. She, along with her daughter, Sam, run the shelter with a selflessness that absolutely astounds me and the house itself, here, is filled with a wonderful myriad of happy, individual fur and a lone feather, another Bella actually, just louder, more insistent. I came across Cricket when I took to feeding the cats downstairs some nights during the week shortly after I moved in. It feels good to help out and the reward of knowing every cat, every dog too, not just by name but by every singular quirk of personality is immeasurable and my general welcome home from too frustrating days lately, from all of this fur, cat and dog alike (thank you Cujo, Spuds, Blue, Eve, Pea, Chubs, Florida, Senta, Dutch, Sharky, Nick, Lumpy, Harry, Ghost, Honey Bob Tail “Boo”, Tom, Polly, Spanky, Stick, the nameless black & whites et al), is a calm and often a chaos that I cherish. But it was in the feedings that I came to know Cricket, blind Cricket in her spot in the sun room, who was usually much more interested in trying to climb my leg to my shoulder to stick her head behind my ear than she was in any night’s meal. So I eventually brought her upstairs so she could have a human. Bella and Gray have let it be known that they are not fans of this decision but, well, we’ll see.

(Facebook: Tuesday morning, August 7th…continued)

So I write here as it is all I have right now. At my blog later. Now I understand that posting here or other places is a form of comfort, It’s what I’m doing right now, it’s a place of community with friends who, hopefully, understand your pain. But I do know that there are some out there who don’t understand this pain, “he/she was just a pet so why does it hurt so much?” (Hell, I don’t even like the word pet as it implies some sort of ownership and we all know that that is just not the case – they have names and are our partners for their short time where they own US) but he was my friend, same as any other. That’s why this hurts as much as it does. He was my confidant, my foot slapper, my laughter at home, my window greeter, my welcome in the door. 

Me: (peering under) …Bella, c’mon now, you can come out from under the couch. We’re all in.

Bella: (wide eyed stare)

Me: Ok girlfriend. What about you Gray? (as I watch him nose out every corner and every window of the place, happily murmuring to himself along the way)

The move to my two big rooms above this garage had gone as expected. It was long, Bella was hiding, hating being taken from her comfort zone and Grayson was nosing, checking the lay of the land. The first thing I did, after getting somewhat settled, was to lay out some crunchy paper on an ugly green rug I had bought at Odd Lot. Apparently cheap comes in ugly green, but cheap is cheap and it was a rug, a reminder of the carpeting we left in the old apartment (the first and only in house feel he had ever known) and the crunchy paper was an equal reminder. Gray had never before dealt with hardwood floors, the new slip slide that is hardwood floors at playtime, even the occasional slip slide head first into furniture. Oh, for the the video of some of those moments. So, ugly green rugs were a must. He ignored the crunchy paper at first for his early reconnaisance but later, that first night, with the assistance of a couple of stuffed mice, Grayson was back to building himself little crunchy paper forts and rolling around on his back to fight with me. Bella eventually too, made her way out from under the couch to start her own nosing. An ever on alert slow nosing mind you, but still nosing. We were in. The best part was to watch both of them discover all of their new windows, so many more windows here with so much more to see compared to the old view. A house cat’s paradise.

(Facebook: Tuesday morning, August 7th…continued)

The Doc at the hospital said he had a heart murmur, which I didn’t know of, maybe a blood clot did what blood clots do, but my Grayson is gone. The heartbreak (I’m a bit of a mess and incredibly angry) as with all your similars, is immense. This may sound self serving, but he was MY save. And I was/am proud of it. From a little stray gray left behind cat, to my robust playfully combative Grayson, unique in so many ways. I hope he knew, at the end, what a friend he was. It was only two years Gray which, of course, is just too short and not fucking fair. But, well, we know ‘fair” isn’t really in life’s vocabulary. 

Grayson? After beating the shit out of me on a regular basis when I first came upon you and until I convinced you that I was your guy and until you eventually nudged me to sleep under the covers on my arm? That’s my thought.

A belly rub for Bella, a chin rub or a slap at my hand with Gray, a shoulder pick up and close words into whichever ear may hear something for Cricket all followed with an “I’ll see ya when I get home”. I always have to say “I’ll see ya when I get home”. It’s a part of the regular that I can’t change. You know, that superstitious nature I think we all share. I got mine playing baseball as a kid. Reading of such of my ballplayer heroes. They all had them and they all worked right? Same t-shirt underneath my jersey from last week’s win, usually unwashed (don’t tell mom). Maybe the same socks, though usually washed as they were always very well game worn and stinky (mom knew). Same underwear…(no, Mom was patient but…). We are all loathe to change our routines as, well, whatever that routine is, it’s routine right? It gets repeated, which means it works right? We came home alive again today to the comfort of our usual is courtesy of this routine right? Well it is until it isn’t.

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th)

So I must tell you all that the support, the condolences, the sharing of similar heartbreak (and preceding joy), the reminder of the good that Gray had with Bella and I over the last two years that he wouldn’t have had otherwise has been beyond overwhelming and brought, at least, a lighter tear to my eyes, a thankful tear in this moment. I spent the day yesterday, after first posting of the loss of my Grayson, just sitting in silence starting at 3am, crying, and then doing some more sitting, more crying and repeating. I read what I wrote about him a year and a half ago “Grayson” to remember the beginning (not that I really need the reminding of course but it’s nice to have words in front of me…I’m pretty fond of them). I watched Bella check his spots for her missing friend and it broke my heart again. In my sitting I angered at fate, the whatever Gods, the simple painful/beautiful circumstance that is life and wondered why the need to take him? He was only 4. So full of life and so happy with what those three entities had brought him in the first place. 

Me: (to Gray on top of the fridge) So that’s a new spot huh?

Grayson: (laying splayed out staring intently at me…a playful paw at ready)

Me: …and it’s eye to eye. Well, cross eye to eye. I like it.

If you know cats you know they like high spots, I guess, maybe, to lord over us measley merely humans. I noted in the piece I wrote of Grayson a year or so ago “Grayson” when he was still an outside stray but was slowly coming to be accustomed to me, that he had a tree stump just behind the spot I would feed him in the mornings and then the evenings. It overlooked, down a short wooded hill, a lay of lawn next to a pond that sits in the middle of the apartment complex I, he and I, lived at. It was almost as if he were surveying his holdings as he sat there. It always seemed that there was a certain introspection on his part, as he sat, of perusing what was his, that he was taking stock, daily, on his tree stump, of HIS world, the one HE owned. He would eventually take an even taller spot on a cat tower in front of the screened sliding door of my third floor apartment that had the same view. For a land baron cat? What could be grander?

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th…continued)

I’ve had quite a few cats over the years but none of them were as joyous at living, at play, or even as joyous at anger. Almost human there with Gray. What I was so proud of with him was that he took that necessary fierceness he had when he was outside alone, fending for himself, took that anger defense and let it morph into a profound cat joy once he finally found a safe place to let it change – but to still hold onto the fierce. He took it and played tag, hiding around corners to swipe at my leg and run away, waiting for me to follow, I’m sure giggling the whole time in his big ol’ cross eyed noggin’. He forcibly convinced Bella that him chasing her and that them two eventually wrestling was a good thing and just a lotta goddamn fun. I’ve never had a cat stand on his hind legs with his fronts ready to play or fight like Gray. He attacked a thrown shoelace with the zealousness of somecat who was fighting a family battle after the shoelace said something about his momma. 

Me: (laughing an all out wholehearted laugh at the sight of the first time I tossed one end of a shoelace at him) …Dude?! You’re not supposed to run AWAY from it!!

He had gotten wide eyed, reared back like a little bucking bronco cat, and took off right out the room! And he was back two seconds later, eyes still wide. He would continue to do this with any cat play. Throw a mouse at him? He ran like I tossed a grenade but he would return with a fervor that just screamed, like a kid, do it again!! …and again…please again!

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th…continued)

But Gray, and this has been gnawing at me, I have to apologize for being lax in my play duties of late, there is no excuse so I won’t offer one. There just is no excuse. The occasional thrown mouse or catnip toy, the occasional hind leg stand patty-cake, the occasional attempt to grab your belly while you fought me off wasn’t enough. All you ever asked was for play and a warm arm at night in the cold winter months. I dropped the ball on the former lately. I didn’t break out your nemesis shoelace enough, give you more chances to really teach it a lesson about keeping a civil tongue. And I even reminded myself of this just last week. I started to take you for granted. For this I am truly sorry Gray.

Me: (to Grayson under the futon in my “office” of the old apartment) …Dude, you alright?

Grayson: (just a look, but a heavy, difficult look, with labored breath…a hard look at me right in the eye)

Me: …no you’re not alright.

I had finally gotten a couple of bucks together to take him to the shelter for a blood test and a checkup, to make sure that he had no cat issues that he could pass to my Bella. When I found out he had been given a clean bill of health I danced a little happy cat guy dance. Don’t ask. He was now free to the apartment and I could finally get rid of that cage at the top of the stairs that I had had bought to get him in from the cold, to help ease him into our home pre-blood test but that I had come to loathe in his defense. After the bringing him back from the shelter though, he soon started to sound chesty, had that labored breathing. Seems he had brought something back from the shelter with him. So much for just needing a couple of dollars for just the blood test huh? And I had to take Bella in soon thereafter for the same. But he had given me that hard “I’m depending on you now” look in the eye.

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th…continued)

A good friend and neighbor who knew and loved Gray well from the apartment where he and I came about each other, Tara Patterson noted, looking at some recent pictures I just sent her of him, that when he was outside, alone and angry his eyes seemed to only display pain. But these pictures, from his life here, his eyes? Nothing but comfort. Joy.

Me: Goodnight Bella (with a belly rub cat stretch and an attempt, on my part, of a kiss on the forehead. Seven years and it’s still like a game to try and sneak one in) … goodnight Cricket (a pickup so she can put her head behind my ear) … goodnight Gray (on the fridge with a welcome kiss on HIS forehead…at least this night without a Grayson swipe) … love ya dude.

This was pretty much the nightly ritual here, (depending on the swipe or not to swipe) just like the morning daily ritual, that almost, again, was/is a superstitious need to keep things the same. So you can wake to that morning ritual right? So you can somehow keep everyone and everything on track right?  Like I said earlier though, that can change, no superstition or faith in such can stop that change. No non-swipe kisses on the forehead on top of the fridge this night will stop the universe from proving you wrong.

It just is.

But can you tell the Universe you’re good? It was two amazing years with an amazing furbound being who did more for me than anyone, let alone me at the start, could imagine. And I thought I was just trying to do that for HIM.

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th…continued)

I’m going to post again the picture of he and his friend Bella. Bella on the table, he on the floor. Though it is obviously just a perfectly timed picture of him mid-yawn I want you to zoom in on him and imagine, instead, that he has just been the told the greatest, funniest fucking joke in the history of Cat. That was my boy. 

Me: (at another time) …Oh, you think that’s funny huh? (as he runs away, surely Grayson giggling) …Great, now I need another bandaid … (to self) …He He He…

(Facebook: Wednesday evening, August 8th…finish)

Thank you all, you crazy cat people, you crazy dog people, you crazy feather people and all you crazy whatever peoples in between, you crazy fucking human humans and Cheers to the joy of our beloved fur. We are no more than how we treat them, respect them, love them, call them friend. We all know the inevitable, profound sadness but revel, instead, in all the life and sharing that leads up to it. Miss you Gray. So miss you.

Oh, by the way Universe? That whole “can you tell the Universe you’re good” thing I was talking of earlier? Fuck it. Taking Grayson wasn’t necessary.

Love ya Gray, my dearest of friends.

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Expensive Chinese Haters Club)

Donnie: Did you get the sandwiches?

Ben: Sandwiches?

Donnie: Yeah, the sandwiches I asked you to pick up for today’s meeting.

Ben: I thought you wanted Chinese?

Donnie: Why would I want Chinese? It’s so expensive now. No, I wanted sandwiches … from the Deli around the corner.

Ben: You sure sir?

Donnie: Well, yeah, why not?

Ben: But you don’t like that Deli.

Donnie: I don’t? Why?

Ben: ‘Cause you claim Ahmed shorted you on the fries on your last order.

Donnie: Well he did!

Ben: No he didn’t. They were just under the burgers.

Donnie: Hey! They should have been on top! Who doesn’t pack a to-go order with the fries on the top of the bag? That’s Un-American. It’s the first go-to for God’s sake, especially on the ride home.

Ben: I know, but you called ICE on him

Donnie: Fries are important Benfred!

Ben: Well, I’ll check and see if Ahmed has been released and…

Donnie: … probably not … no, most probably not … hey did I call ICE on that Mexican place yet?

Ben: I don’t think so sir

Donnie: Good, then make it quick, the meeting is in, like, an hour. Tacos, Fajeeders, Burritos, enchiseeyaladers, Mexican burgers…

Ben: Mexican burgers?

Donnie: Yes Benfred, burgers made by Mexicans, sheeeshh (to self: fucking dumb smart guys) … and quesaphylissdillers … with extra cheese … that peso cheese …

Ben: You mean Queso?

Donnie: Yeah, and that one too, and chips with Spicoli dip … a lot of chips with Spicoli dip.

Ben: Sessions won’t like the Spicoli dip.

Donnie: Oh, he’s just a fucking wet rag. And not the wet rag that will really get you some info, doesn’t have have the stomach for it. No, he’s just always looking to fill his private prisons … just order plenty of Spicoli dip alright Benfred?

Ben: Will do sir.

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Who’s there?

Jeff: It’s me, Sessions.

Donnie: Are you trying to use the big boy door again Jeff?

Jeff: Sorry sir. (moving to the small Alice door)

*Knock Knock

Donnie: What’s the password?

Jeff: Ummmm … “recusal”?

Donnie: Still not funny Jeff.

Jeff: “Crusades”?

Donnie: Better. (lets Sessions in through the Alice door). What the hell is that?

Jeff: It’s my sword sir.

Donnie: It’s a butter knife with a makeshift hilt.

Jeff: It’s my sword now though.

Donnie: Ok, to scale. And what are you wearing?

Jeff: You like it? It’s vintage. A genuine medieval tunic. Got it off some dark web grave robbers site.

Donnie: Nice red cross. Gaudy huge. I like it. It smells a bit funny though.

Jeff: I know. Authentic.

Donnie: It’s a little big for you too.

Jeff: Everything is sir.

Donnie: Is the shield and armor really necessary?

Jeff: Just trying to complete the look sir. This armor and my butter kni … my sword … and …

Donnie: You’re early by the way.

Jeff: Sorry, just a little excited. Plus I heard you were ordering Mexican sandwiches and other stuff made by Mexicans. First dibs on the chicken Fajeedaderrickjeeders!

Donnie: Well, go find a seat

Jeff: Gotcha (slow moving and grunting)

Donnie: You Ok?

Jeff: It’s this gear … it’s a little heavy

Ben: If you don’t mind my sayin’, you wouldn’t really have to have been wearin’ all that stuff then. You wouldn’t have been on the front lines.

Jeff: Who are you?

Ben: Ben? Ben Carson? Benfred?

Jeff: (aside to Donnie) … who’s the black guy? And why is he calling himself Benfred?

Donnie: It’s a superhero thing … relax Jeff, he’s in the cabinet with some tea cups … He’s with us.

Jeff: Watch the silverware.

Donnie: Already there.

Jeff: You sure?

Donnie: Yeah, but he completely organizes me, and he also does something about urban housing and development. Not really sure what that is but I appointed him to it and I expect it has projects that get developmented. Makes poor folk poorer to try and lift them up. Something about bootstraps.

Jeff: Urban housing? Sounds dangerous.

Donnie: It does, but he’s so good at doing nothing about it that no one notices and then we get to keep playing the “you need us” card

Jeff: Admirable

Jeff: (turns to Ben) So, why, Ben

Ben: Benfred … what? … just trying to make it stick.

Jeff: So why … Benfred … wouldn’t I have been on the front lines with my butter knife in all this cool armor and tunics and tabards emblazoned with big red crosses and eventual blood of the un-holy?

Ben: Because you would have been one of the guys directing them to do your will …

Donnie: … like me Jeff …

Ben: … and in God’s name …

Jeff: … oh I like that …

Donnie: … great huh? …

Jeff: … so my Religious Liberty Task Force would be right in line with this …

Ben: … oh Jeff, you def…

Jeff: … did you just call me Jeff? …

Ben: … sorry sir. Mr Sessions …

Jeff: … better …

Ben: … you definitely would have fit right in … Mr Sessions … kindred hearts sir …

Jeff: … always the right track if it’s God’s track!…

Ben: … with ya there Mr Sessions …

Jeff: … and no cake …

Ben: Cake? …  that’s random

Jeff: … I wouldn’t have to make a cake if I didn’t want to?

Ben: … No … definitely no cake.

Jeff: Good. They’re not allowed cake. Only God fearing Christians are allowed cake.

Ben: And only the finest of cake. Can they eat it too?

Jeff: ?… Wait … are you mocki…

Ben: … just talking about cake sir

Donnie: So, after the sandwiches get here we shou…

Ben: … it’s Mexican, not sandwiches

Donnie: Whatever Benfred. They’re all sandwiches on both sides in the end right?

Ben: Profound sir

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Who’s there?

Bolton: “Explosive Mustache”

Donnie: See Benfred? WWIII Bolton gets the passwords.

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Who’s there?

DeVoss: “Public Schools”

Donnie: HaHaHaHa! C’mon in Betsy. Now that shit’s funny.

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Who’s there?

Hucksterbee: “Pants on Fire”

Donnie: C’mon in Sarah. See Ben, we’ve got this down. Hey, where’s ….

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Aaaaannnddd who’s there? This is so much fun!

Kellyanne: “Witch”

Donnie: Ben?!!

Ben: (taking carrot off nose)

Kellyanne: “Witch”

Donnie: Ok … my apologies on your password.

Kellyane: It’s alright sir. It’s obvious.

Donnie: So … as we wait for the others I want to get this meeting started. (throwing some gravel on his podium) Here Here. This meeting of the He-Man …

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Get that will ya Benfred?

Ben: Of course … who’s there?

Laura: “Brown shirt”

Ben: C’mon in (to self: man she could subjugate me any day)

Donnie: Ok, this meeting of the He-Man Truth Haters club will now be ordered. Now, It’s come to my atten…

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Jesus Christ!

Ben: Who’s there?

Mick: “Awkward smile”

Donnie: Mulvaney! Where the hell have you been?

Mick: Sorry sir, been busy fucking consumers.

Donnie: Well, good. Now grab a seat.

Mick: (excited) Chinese today?

Donnie: No, too expensive … Mexican sandwiches.

Mick: (deflated) oh … Ok

Donnie: So this meeting of the He-Man truth haters clu…

*Knock Knock

Donnie: … son of a bitch…

Ben: I got it sir … who’s there?

Mitch (with Paul Ryan): “Turtle”

Donnie: Whoa Mitch! You can’t use ONE password for TWO people

Mitch: Sorry sir. Paul’s had a bit of problem lately. Just passwording for both of us.

Donnie: What problem?

Mitch: He’s got a mouthful of money. Can’t speak.

Donnie: Ok, I’ll allow it for now … So this meeting of the He-Man Truth Haters Club will now be orde…

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Motherfucker!

Ben: I got it sir … who’s there?

Delivery Guy: Uhhhh … I’ve got your order?

Donnie: Hey! That’s not a password!

Ben: It is now … we’re all just really hungry.

Donnie: Well … shit … whatever. Let me see that bag (grabbing bag out of his hands)

Delivery Guy: ?

Donnie: (opening bag – peering in) Fries on top. Perfect!

Ben: I specifically asked for that.

Donnie: I’m sure you did Benfred …. now we’re getting somewhere (to Delivery Guy) … you’re one of my “many people” right?…

Delivery Guy: ?

Donnie: … and you voted for me right?

Delivery Guy: That’ll be $66.67

Donnie: Holy shit! Really?!

Betsy: I got it sir … just let me grab my Cayman’s card from my boat.

Donnie: (puts arm around shoulder of Delivery Guy and walks away with him) … So tell me, when you went to the polls … you knew right …

Delivery Guy: What’s “the polls”?

Donnie: So when you went to the polls … hey, sorry, do you speak Russian?

Delivery Guy: ?

Donnie: Never mind … so when you went to the polls before my historic win … my landslide … it’s all about winning right? … when you went to the polls …(trailing off)

Delivery Guy: You’re hurting my arm…

Donnie: … Oh, stop being a wuss…

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Swede Haters Club)

(Donnie cursing – laying stuff out on the Treehouse floor)

Ben: Sir? What exactly are you doing?

Donnie: These directions are shit.

Ben: ?

Donnie: These directions … they’re shit.

Ben: You know you just need to turn the page over for the English vers…

Donnie: Look I’ve got everything laid out and organized … nuts, bolts, lug wrench, duct tape, a small paper clip, glitter, glue, pretty pictures of pretty Swedish chicks, My Little Pony game pieces…

Ben: My Little pony?

Donnie: Yeah … Spicer said I look like a unicorn, riding a unicorn over a rainbow and there’s a real player game now too and even a board game and everything so … did you know there’s a whole universe of guys who do this?

Ben: I’ve heard. Very manly. And I’m sure you’re they’re hero now. But organized? That’s not like you sir.

Donnie: Yeah, exactly, but I’m doing it anyway.

Ben: Don’t they have a simpler way? Directions are so constricting for you. Bullet points. Maybe they have bullet points on the directions that you could then delegate to someone else to figure out? Or maybe a graph, with color. You like color right sir?

Donnie: Color? Of course. Lots of color … a rainbow of color, like that Spicer unicorn thing.

Ben: A rainbow?

Donnie: Yeah, but don’t tell Pence. He’s such a tight ass. Always going on about this God guy and rainbows and shirtless dudes being a strange sensation distraction … I mean, who doesn’t like rainbows …?

Ben: … maybe a multi-colored graph to show how these directions are trending up?

Donnie: That would be nice wouldn’t it? But too easy I’m guessing. Apparently directions are specific. Who knew?

Ben: Yeah, specific isn’t really your thing.

Donnie: I know tell me about it. But I’m trying to do it anyway.

Ben: Do what?

Donnie: Build these bunk beds

Ben: Why, if you don’t mind my asking, are you trying to build bunk beds?

Donnie: Don’t mind at … unless you’re questioning me … (glare) …

Ben:

Donnie: … I’ve got a sleep over planned.

Ben: A sleepover?

Donnie: Yeah, an important sleepover. A playdate then a sleepover.

Ben: With who?

Donnie: With who? Jesus Benfred, don’t you read the news?

Ben: Awww … Benfred?

Donnie: What? Yes, alright, I called you Benfred, the whole Batman butler thing you were going on and on and on about, Benfred. But you’re Ben, he’s Alfred. And I just might be a superhero, the generals love that, gonna have a parade, so I combined the two.

Ben: I like it sir. You combined them on your own?

Donnie: Of course.

Ben: (quizzical look)

Donnie: Ok … I got some help. Kim told me how to combine the names, she’s an expert on this kind of stuff, prisons too, have I told you how good she is with prisons? … then we took a picture in the Oval Office. You know she’s a celebrity right?

Ben: I’ve heard.

Donnie: Big time celebrity. And whip smart. Says she supports me now. What could be more whip smart than that?

Ben: Nothing sir. Support = Whip smart. A given. I’m sure the folks at MENSA have her on speed dial for just that reason.

Donnie: Damn straight. And her guy, that Kanye…

Ben: Yes?

Donnie: He’s whip smart too. I took a picture with him too. Tells everybody how whip smart he is. It’s important to do that by the way. Remind people how whip smart you are … just in case they don’t notice. And he’s black.

Ben: I’ve gathered that from the pictures.

Donnie: Hey, you’re black too!

Ben: Yes, I still am sir.

Donnie: Did you vote for me because you’re black?

Ben: Uh … (big hesitation) …well of course I did. Everybody that voted for you did so because they’re black sir.

Donnie: You got that right, the blacks lov… wait, something’s off there.

Ben: Black power sir! (fist raised)

Donnie: Ummm … right! (fist raised) Black power Benfred!! And you and Kanye are BOTH black. I assume you’re related then?

Ben: ?

Donnie: Never mind, I don’t wanna pry, family business is family business. But with you two both being black and having a cool combo nickname … that’s just some sort of … ummm … a uhhhh … coming up short here Benfred.

Ben: Coincidence?

Donnie: Yes, coinc … shit … that’s a lot of syllables.

Ben: I know. It gets tough after two.

Donnie: Tell me. Anyway, he’s black, like you, and supports me like you, is whip smart and reminds people of it all the time, just like me … so they don’t forget …

Ben: You already said that.

Donnie: What?

Ben: Never mind, No, the whip smart is obvious sir.

Donnie: It is isn’t it?

Ben: You know you could get someone else to do this right?

Donnie: Do what?

Ben: Build these bunk beds.

Donnie: Oh right … yes I could, but there wouldn’t be as much … ummmmm …

Ben: Satisfaction?

Donnie: Exactly. (to self – fucking syllables)

Ben: You sure? I could run down to Home Depot in the White House pickup truck again. Look for some day guys.

Donnie: I thought about that, but it would be too easy … and the off the books would be nice … but Swedish translates so poorly in Spanish … NO! I need to show the American people that I’m a hands on kinda guy, that I’ll get in the trenches with them…

Ben: That you can build some bunk beds on your own?

Donnie: Yes! And directions be damned. I know how it’s supposed to look when it’s done, I’ve seen the catalogue. What could go wrong?

Ben: Well … (imagined images to self: beds falling on top of each other – beds exploding – beds falling from space – beds igniting California wild fires as some sort of divine retribution – beds carrying tiki torches – beds sleeping with beds)

Ben: But sir you haven’t told me who you’re building these for?

Donnie: Hell, Benfred, didn’t I just ask you if you read the news?

Ben: You did sir. But it’s kind of depressing.

Donnie: Why?

Ben: ‘Cause it’s all about you.

Donnie: Vlad! He’s coming here Benfred, and I want to make sure everything is just right. And I want to build these bunk beds myself … show him I don’t need any help.

Ben: But didn’t he help you with the elec …

Donnie: BENNNNNNNFREDDDDD?!

Ben: Sorry sir.

Donnie: You know we don’t talk about that.

Ben: My fault.

Donnie: Hey wait! I just noticed. Have you been wearing a carrot on your nose this whole time? *

Ben: Carrot?

Donnie: Yeah, on your nose. Tied with string?

Ben: On my nose? No.

Donnie: Yes you have.

Ben: (pulling the carrot nose off his face) No I haven’t.

Donnie: Whewww, thank God. I thought for sure you were a witch.

Ben: They’re sneaky sir.

Donnie: Devious.

Ben: That they are.

Donnie: So, you gonna help me or not?

Ben: ?

Donnie: Put these bunk beds together?

Ben: You know they/you canceled that meeting?

Donnie: We/I did?

Ben: Yes.

Donnie: Why the fuck would we/I do that?

Ben: It’s all about the witch hunt sir. A rigged witch hunt. They just don’t understand your relationship with Vlad.

Donnie: Are you wearing that carrot again?

Ben: No sir. (after putting it back on then pulling carrot off nose again)

Donnie: … I know, they miss the positive influence that a good relationship with Vlad could have.

Ben: For the American people right?

Donnie: The who?

Ben: The American people sir.

Donnie: Who are they?

Ben: ummmm … they’re the ones you stand up for sir?

Donnie: Do I really?

Ben: Yes. The ones that wear your $40 hats. The ones you rile up into a mob frenzy with lies and incendiary short word language. The ones who would scream “jump” at a guy on a roof and then shoot him on the way down. The ones taking Russian as a second language now.

Donnie: Well I’m better at this than I thought.

Ben: You are sir. Much better.

Donnie: But a positive relationship with Vlad would be Yuge!

Ben: It would be sir. Yuge, just like you say.

Donnie: I mean he’s such a cool dude. How could anyone not like him?

Ben: … well …

Donnie: … Ok, the foot on the neck approach could be considered a little harsh by some, poisoning folks is a little much too, and so many tall windows, slipping happens, but I like the imprisoning of journalists and opposition leaders and the guy rides horses shirtless for Christ’s sake … and looks good doing it … I really gotta start working out … and his fake elections seem so legitimate to me … so does this piece go here?

Ben: What sir?

Donnie: This piece here. Does it go with this one?

Ben: Are we back on the bunk beds sir?

Donnie: Yes Benfred! Of course we fucking are! This has to be perfect!

Ben: What do the directions say?

Donnie: Dammit Benfred! We’ve talked about this!

Ben: I know sir. Sorry. Directions – bad. And in Swedish. Does Melania know about this?

Donnie: What? Who? And why should she? She’s in the residence with some kid and I got impor…

Ben: Your son?

Donnie: … yeah right … but I got important stuff to do here. Look, if you’re not really going to help at least grab some pillows.

Ben: ?

Donnie: For the fort. Duh.

Ben: Oh, right … the fort.

Donnie: … and grab a bedsheet to cover it. You got any flashlights?

Ben: I’m sure I could find some.

Donnie: … and some Playboys. Not a real fort without some Playboys right? Hugh, that guy really knew what he was doing. Oh, and make sure you put those nesting dolls under it too.

Ben: The nesting dolls?

Donnie: Yeah, the ones with Vlad’s picture on them over there (pointing the the night stand) They were a gift from him. They confuse me but he seems to like them so make sure they’re under the bedsheet.

Ben: But they shouldn’t confuse you sir.

Donnie: Why the hell not?

Ben: They’re right up your alley sir.

Donnie: (sigh) You’re going to explain why now aren’t you? (to self trailing off – fucking smart guys).

Ben: They’re a metaphor sir. Vlad is the big doll and you and Mitch and Lindsey and the rest are the little ones inside.

Donnie: A whatafor?

Ben: A metaphor. A figure of speech…

Donnie: … a nice figure?

Ben: Of course, always. Curvy. But like I said it’s one large doll with a number of smaller dolls inside, inside, inside and inside this one big doll.

Donnie: Hey! The 80’s were a weird time Benfred and I’m a hero for surviving them … and sometimes it hurt …

Ben: Sorry sir, didn’t mean to bring up ol…

Donnie: … it’s Ok … I didn’t say it was bad …

Ben: … alright anyway … when is he coming now sir?

Donnie: I’m not sure and that makes me SOOOOOO mad! … fucking witch hunt … HEY! … are you wearing that carrot again?!

Ben: (after putting on and then taking off the carrot) No sir.

after a long pause  – working on the bunk beds

Donnie: Shit! … have I tariffed Sweden?

Ben: What sir?

Donnie: Have I tariffed Sweden? I wanna make them pay! I can’t get dick from these directions.

Ben: You know, again, if you just turn them ove…

Donnie: … fuck them.

Ben: I’ll grab the pickup truck sir.

Donnie: Good idea. And have them make me a taco salad when they’re done … I’m famished.

Ben: Will do sir.

Donnie: (trailing off) …Ok, this part goes…(bang bang) … shit! my finger … (bang bang) … son of a bitch … it’s supposed to …

* – always indebted to the Monty Python boys

A couple of posts ago, I took a short break from episodes from the Trump Treehouse for a little Georgia Sattelites inspired music interlude as, well, there’s always a little music inerlude (though not always one inspired by the Georgia Sattelites). It’s a tune about Donnie and the Supreme Court and how he gets to put his stamp on it, which is one of the saddest statements of our times that I can imagine.

This and the Treehouse posts are an attempt to keep myself sane in a #TrumpDumbDown World, especially as the IQ drops to that of broccoli – lower for Trump supporters, single cell type stuff.

So Friday night, knowing I had nowhere to be, being a single cat dude an all, I decided to stay late in my little studio, take my lyrics and try to actually sing out this little interlude (but Father…all I want to do is sing).

I’ll apologize in advance if it makes your or your neighbor’s dogs cry. I won’t apologize if makes just you or your neighbors cry as I don’t care and you’ve obviously got issues.

As to my Bella? She gives a paws up…but with an attitude.

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Tan Haters Club)

Last we saw our dynamically inept duo?  (in ep #6)

(trying to pull a body up the tree)

Paul (Ryan): Hold your end turtle!

(rope slips)

Mitch (McConnel): Stop calling me turtle!

(rope slips further)

Mitch: And why do you call me turtle anyway?

Paul: ’cause you look like one out of its’ shell.

Mitch: Oh, well that’s just mean Risky … shit!

(rope slips a bit more)

Paul: And stop calling me Risky!

Mitch: But that one’s so obvious! Check the deficit!

(rope lets go)

Paul: Son of  a bitch!!

Mitch: Shit!!

(plop sound. moans)

////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Paul: Dammit!! (sheepishly) He’s not dead is he?

Mitch: I don’t know Paul. I’m not a doctor.

Paul: You’re not?

Mitch: No.

Paul: I thought all congressman were automatically doctors, at least the Republican ones.

Mitch: No Paul, we just think that way.

Paul: Gotcha. “We’re not really doctors” Noted. We are all scientists though right?

Mitch: No, not that either.

Paul: Dammit!

Guy: (from under a hood) I’m not dead.

Paul: Put your finger on his throat.

Mitch: What?

Paul: Do that finger on the throat thing, like they do on TV.

Mitch: I don’t know how that works.

Guy: I’m all good. You don’t need to.

Paul: Me neither. I just know they do it on television and then maybe shake their heads with sadness.

Mitch: Ok, and?

Paul: Just do it!!

Mitch: Fine!! (puts finger on Guy’s throat)

Guy: Hey (he he) that tickles.

Mitch: I got nothin’

Paul: What’s nothin’?

Mitch: I don’t know numbnuts. Nothing. I just felt his neck.

Guy: I’m fine by the way

Paul: Is it still warm?

Mitch: Sure Paul, his neck is still warm. But if he JUST died he’d still be warm anyway.

Paul: I just wanna feel better about this. Warm is good for right now.

Guy: I didn’t JUST die you guys.

Paul and Mitch: Shut up!!!

Guy: Sorry.

Paul: Try the throat ag …

Mitch: Enough with the throat Paul. I’ve tried. He’s still warm. That’s all I got.

Guy: You’re looking for a pulse.

Mitch: What?

Guy: You’re looking for a pulse. That’s the finger on the throat thing.

Mitch: Really?

Guy: Yeah, a pulse, feel the blood moving. Mine is moving by the way and I’ve got one.

Mitch: One what?

Guy: A pulse.

Paul: Don’t believe him turtle. That’s what they all want. For us to believe they’re alive.

Mitch: But he IS alive

Guy: He’s right, breathing here.

Paul: Bullshit. I think he’s definitely dead.

Guy: I’m not dead.

Paul: So you say. No, Mitch we need to bury him in the backyard. I’m sure Donnie has another shoebox on his bookshelf he can use (aside … after he empties out more of those fucking rocks). And even if he’s not REALLY dead I’d just be so much more comfortable with knowing he’s somebody else’s problem.

Guy: Whoa!! Who else’s problem am I if I’m buried alive in the backyard in a shoebox?

Paul: … ummmm … I don’t kn…. Gods’ …yeah, your God’s problem then. I talk to him you know.

Mitch: Yes, we know and it’s really annoying. But we brought him here for a reason.

Paul: We did?

Mitch: Yeah, the boss will want to see him.

Paul: He will?

Mitch: Jesus, you’re dim … yes, that’s why we were pulling him up the tree in the first place.

Paul: Oh, right. Hey! Not dead guy! Time to meet your maker!

Mitch: Paul (sigh) … you only say that if you’re gonna kill someone.

Paul: He’s not already dead?

Mitch: (twice sigh) No Paul, we established that, you just talked to him.

Paul: Right. Ok, again … Hey! Not dead guy, are you ready to meet…

Mitch: Paul?…

Paul: … my bad. I get stuck in a loop sometimes, like trying to justify the Tax Cut Scam. Alright then … the boss wants to see you not dead guy!

Guy: Ummmm …

Mitch: Can you at least pull this time? (grabbing the rope again)

////////////////////////

Donnie: (looking down the tree) Hey, what the fuck are you two doing?

Ben: It’s hard to find Sir.

Donnie: What’s that?

Ben: Good help.

Donnie: I know. Tell me about it. That’s why I’ll bet a good taco salad is completely out of the question right now. But they do have my back.

Ben: There is that sir, it’s just that …

Donnie: Spit it out Alfred … I mean Ben.

Ben: Awww, you’re warming to the idea aren’t you?

Donnie: ?

Ben: Never mind.

Donnie: No, they’ve got my back. Literally, check out their blood autographs right her…

Ben: … please don’t take off your shirt Sir.

Donnie: Why?

Ben: I just ate.

Donnie: Ok, point. But they’ve been right here …

Ben: … I know, the whole time, compromising whatever amounts to self respect these days, selling out Country for party and greed, enabling your delusions, turning a blind eye to you destroying our Democracy, siding with Putin, blah blah blah … (changing subject) How about we just see what this is all about?

Donnie: Right. Yes. (shouting down the tree)  Hey you two!! So what is this … sorry, getting a little lost here …

Ben: … what is this all about?

Donnie: Exactly! So what is this all about?

////////////////////////////////////////////

Paul: (looking up the tree) We’ve got one sir.

Donnie: One what?

Paul: A sympathizer sir.

Donnie: Is that bad?

Paul: Well of course sir. A sympathizer to the resistance sir? Can’t have sympathizers. Gotta keep ’em line.

Donnie: Isn’t Dan Donovan working on that?

Paul: He is. And kudos to him. He’s trying to unmask them.

Donnie: That doesn’t include pointy hoods does it?

Paul: Not sure.

Donnie: Cause I’m fan of the pointy hoods. And body armor. I like body armor. It looks so freakin’ cool! And Tiki Torches.

Paul: We’ll make sure it doesn’t. (jotting a note: pointy hoods are OK – plus body armor – Tiki Torches)

Donnie: Great.

Guy: Still here you guys

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

(after finally being pulled up the tree)

Donnie: Right in front of me boys! So what do you have to say for yourself Guy?!

Guy: (still under hood) My name’s not Guy.

Donnie: It’s not?

Guy: No.

Donnie: Really? But it says so right here.

Guy: That’s just to denote a “guy” in the script. My name is actually Steve.

Donnie: (fingers on chin) … hmmmmm.

Paul: It’s a trick sir!! He doesn’t have real name. None of them do!

Donnie: Shut up Paul.

Guy: The hood is nice.

Donnie: What?

Guy: The kidnap hood. Fur lined is a nice touch.

Donnie: What? … right. I know huh? That’s all Ivanka.

Guy: She’s got a certain flair.

Donnie: She does, she’s so much better at this than me. She told me Trump branding dead cows wouldn’t really sell. Did I listen? No. She warned against the Vodka too, though she might have been a little short sighted on that one

Guy: I know, from the mouths of babes huh?

Donnie: You fucking with me?!!

Guy: Ummmm, no sir

Donnie: Good. So why are you here?

Guy: Well … your guys kidnapped me. Can I take off the hood?

Donnie: Kidnapped? You two kidnapped him? And no … you’re our floor model, plus we’re still waiting on the Chinese trademark. And it’ll be huge in Mexico.

Paul: Well, not quite kidnapped … more … umm … acquired. We thought you might like to know what the resist….

Guy: Acquired?! You had your goons grab me outside a coffee shop at gun point!

Paul: No we didn’t!

Guy: Yes you did! And one of them was small, looked like an evil little elf wearing tiny jackboots. Big ears.

Donnie: Shit … fucking Sessions! I told him not to go out in the field. Guys, I have no room left in the backyard.

Mich: We know that si…

Donnie: No, I actually have have no room left in the backyard. There’s like 30 plus shoeboxes buried out there and now almost all of my treasured bookshelf rocks are boxless. Flynn, Manafort, Page, White Bomb Bannon, T-Rex, McMaster, some chick who made a joke about McCain which I didn’t find in poor taste at all, Prissy Price, Popadopalot or something like that, Gates, Spicer, Hagin, selfish bastard never invited me to one of his parties, Pinky Pruitt, my girl Hope (chokes up a bit “just like a daughter I never got to date”), that sleazy Italian Mooch guy who worked for me for like 5 minutes, the wife beater, a bunch of lawyers sticking me with Rudy, LewanDickski, Precious Priebus and now a dozen or so Russians including that really hot gun toting one … shit that’s lot of shoeboxes Mitch! …plus my back hurts from all the shoveling. I’ll have to start burying them on top of each other at this rate.

Mitch: You won’t have to bury this one sir. I’ve got a better idea.

Donnie: Oh, you do do you turtle?

Mitch: Oh, you too?

Donnie: It’s got a ring to it.

Mitch: (sigh) You won’t have to bury this one. I’m thinking we just drop him right in the Potomac.

Donnie: Concrete shoes?

Mitch: Sure.

Donnie: And weighted? With heavy chains? Just like in the movies?

Mitch: Of course.

Donnie: Now that’s fucking cool!! So Mob like. And I’ll have a nickname too, like Donnie “The Diaper” or Donnie “The Disaster”

Mitch: Those aren’t very flattering sir.

Donnie: No? You don’t think?

Mitch: No

Donnie: Wait! How ’bout Donnie “The Disastrous Diaper” That could be like a signature. I stuff a disastrous diaper in their mouths.

Mitch: No sir.

Donnie: Can we at least video it? On my phone?

Mitch: Probably best not to.

Donnie: Yeah, you’re right. Just do it and have lunch. Is that taco salad done?

Ben: I’ll check sir.

Guy: (under hood) And have lunch?! Hey!! I’m right here ya know!

Donnie: What? Shut up Steve! So what do you know?

Guy: .. .Uhhhhhhh …

Donnie: What?

Guy: I said … uhhhhhhh.

Donnie: Oh, take that fucking hood of him already.

Guy: (Paul takes off the hood) … whew, that’s better. The fur lined is nice but a bit warm and it get’s stuck in your throat.

Paul: I know what will get him to talk sir.

Guy: … you all got a coke or something here? A Fresca? Maybe a glass of water?

Paul: Mitch. Bring it in.

Mitch: You sure? It’s a little extreme.

Paul: Gotta do what ya gotta do right?

Mitch: (hangs head – walks into the next room) You’re right.

Guy: (as Mitch exits the room) … So no water I guess?

Paul: Oh, YOU’LL get water my friend …

(Mitch comes back rolling in a chalkboard)

Paul: Oh, you’re definitely gonna talk now!

Guy: Is that a chalkboard?

(Mitch banging erasers together) Menacing huh?

Guy: ?

Mitch: It’s menacing right?

Guy: What? You clapping erasers together?

Mitch: Just wait (banging into bigger clouds) … how about now Steeeeeevvve? Trouble breathing maybe?!

Paul: (pulls out some chalk and starts drawing)

Guy: What the hell is that?

Paul: Does this SCAAAAAARE you Steve?

Guy: Is that? … are you drawing drops of water?

Paul: Yes I am Steve … on this chalkboard. Are you ready to talk NOW?

Guy: Wait … seriously?

Paul: What?

Guy: Water drawn on a board? Really? You know that’s not how that works right?

Paul: It’s not?

Guy: No. You’re supposed to have me upside down with a towel or something over my head while you pour…

Donnie: (frantically stands up) Towelhead?! Where!!??

Mitch: Relax sir!

Donnie: Sorry. A knee-jerk thing.

Mitch: We understand.

Guy: …while you pour water on me till I can’t breathe.

Paul: Well, shit. That’s how that really works? Kind of inhumane.

Guy: I know huh?

Donnie: (Grabbing a light bulb and getting right in Steve’s face) You’re probably wondering why we grabbed you outside that coffee shop aren’t you Steve?

Guy: Well, yeah, that thought did occur to me. And what’s with the light bulb?

Donnie: For your interrogation Steve. Duh.

Guy: But it’s not lit. It’s not screwed into anything.

Donnie: Shut up Steve! We grabbed you because … ummmm. (whispering aside to Paul – “why did we grab him?”)

Paul: (still in aside, whispering “because we think he’s Antifa sir … and possibly an organizer”)

Donnie: (“really? That’s bad right? What’s Antifa?”)

Paul: (“Anti fascist left wing radicals sir”)

Donnie: (“ANTI fascist? But wait, isn’t that good? Being ANTI fascist?”)

Paul: (“Not in your case sir”)

Donnie: (“ok … I’ll take your word for it”) … we grabbed you because you’re an Antifa radical!!!

Guy: What? No! I was just grabbing a cup of coffee. And even if I was, wouldn’t being ANTI fascist be a good thing.

Donnie: Yes, of course, I just thunked that … wait … no … dammit I’m so confused.

Paul: Sir?!

Guy: I was just grabbing a cup of coffee …

Paul: “Just grabbing a cup of coffee?” You make me laugh antifa pig.

Guy: (sigh)

Paul: Weren’t you thinking of organizing a protest?!

Guy: By grabbing a cup of coffee?

Mitch: C’mon now Steve. Look at the board!! WITH WATER DROPS DRAWN ON IT!!
Tell the truth Steve!

Guy: (to self “Jesus Christ”) … Ok, whatever. I stepped out of line.

Mitch: AAAAAAANNNNND?

Guy: My wife called …

Paul: … now we’re getting somewhere …

Guy: … and I stepped out of the line to take the call. I didn’t want to be rude.

Paul: … “didn’t want to be rude” … that’s rich, like YOU’RE concerned with civility.

Mitch: … isn’t it true that you stepped out of the line to allow two immigrants ahead of you?

Guy: Two immigrants?

Mitch: Yes!

Guy: You mean Bob and Tammy?

Paul: Oh there you go, giving them names. That’s how it starts.

Mitch: Shut up Paul! Yeah sure, Bob and Tammy, whatever you say Steve…

Guy: … no, really, that was Bob and Tammy. They’re friends of mine. Live next door. My wife called and …

Mitch: … but they’re brown. Stephen Miller warns us about them all the time …

Donnie: … Browns?! Where?! Somebody get Steve King on the line. Browns!!!

Mitch: … relax sir …

Donnie: … sorry, can’t help it …

Mitch: … it’s Ok sir …

Guy: … they’re not brown. They just got back from vacation in the Keys. They have tans.

Mitch: (stops) … tans?

Guy: … yeah, tans.

Paul: … uhhh, just tans?

Guy: … yeah, that’s it … tans

Paul: … well I uh … just tans …really? … they still shouldn’t have names though …

Mitch: Cut him loose Paul.

Paul: Why? Cutting him loose is a mistake!! There’s more here I know it.

Mitch: Shut up Paul.

(on the phone)

Steve King: Hello? Iowa White National Hotline. If you ain’t white you ain’t right. He He. That shit just makes me laugh … who’s this?

Donnie: KING!!! WE GOT BROWNS!!

Mitch: Sir, please calm down.

Guy: Can I get a soda? That Fresca?

Paul: Shut up Steve!! This isn’t your mom’s kidnapping!

Guy: Sorry.

Steve King: Is that you Mr President?

Donnie: YEAH! BROWNS KINGY!!

Steve King: ALERT!!! MOBILIZE!!! PREZ SAYS WE GOT BROWNS!!

Donnie: Mitch, call Miller – I need an incendiary racist white nationally sounding speech! We’re going to IOWA!!

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Alfred Haters Club)

Ben: Are you alright sir?

Donnie: (trying to hide wiping his eyes) … what? … yes, of course … shit Ben! Why are you still here?

Ben: I’m kind of like your Alfred sir.

Donnie: Alfred?

Ben: Alfred.

Donnie: Alfred?

Ben: Batman? His butler?

Donnie: Oh, butler. Yes, I get butler.

Ben: No, not just A butler, an any butler, but Alfred, THE butler. Batman’s butler.

Donnie: Sorry Ben, I have no idea what you’re talking about.

Ben: I’m like Alfred sir, the butler to Batman? Alfred? It would make you a superhero?

Donnie: But if you’re a butler why do you have to have a name? It’s not good practice to personalize the help with names Ben, like they’re almost equals. And why do I have to be a superhero? I’m the President (side slide step) “can’t touch this!” and soon you legally won’t be able to touch this (side slide step back) “Got a little SCOTUS in my pocket going jing-a-ling-a-ling”. All my butlers were just butler … “hey butler do this … hey butler do that … hey butler there’s something in my teeth floss me … hey butler cover for me while I go do sex stuff … I mean aren’t all butlers just … you know … butler? Or secret service agents?

Ben: But sir. I could be your butler Alfred. Did you hear me say superhero? This treehouse could be your superhero lair.

Donnie: Lair?

Ben: Like a cave. Your superhero cave.

Donnie: But this is a tree Ben. You’re confusing me now. And aren’t caves kind of dark and dank?

Ben: Ok, shouldn’t have mentioned caves. Just a more comfortable point of reference. But I could have all sorts of superhero stuff for you sir, right here in the treehouse. Every time you’d come home to the treehouse I could have new toys that would help you in your fight against the scourge of liberal elites and truth and the …

Donnie: Toys? You’re not getting weird on me are you Ben?

Ben: What? … Oh God No!

Donnie: ’cause that’s not my thing. Well …

Ben: … Oh, I’m sure it’s not sir … not your thing … I get it. But I could have all these cool gadgets & weapons ready at your disposa…

Donnie: … Ben, just stop. How about you just NOT be Alfred ok, or Ben and just be butler? Sorry, just be Ben, not butler, and stop trying to get me to use toys with you. Not now anyway. Where the hell were we?

Ben: I was asking if you were crying?

Donnie: … what? … no, of course not! I don’t … Trumps don’t cry Ben. We don’t even know what crying is.

Ben: Well, it’s when you get upset, when some sort of emotional trauma produces a physical response, like say, tears …

Donnie: Shut up Ben. Tears? You don’t think these are tears do you?

Ben: You are wiping your eyes on your sleeve. Looks kinda like a sponge right now, like you could wring it out and drown a cat.

Donnie: Cat’s again?

Ben: Well, they’re furry and cuddly and I’m just trying to protect them. I’m just concerned for the cats … but is it the children sir?

Donnie: Children? What children?

Ben: The one’s at the border sir.

Donnie: What children at the border?

Ben: The children at the border sir. The one’s you’ve ripped away from their parents and put in camps with your racist, black hearted Draconian prevention policy?  You know, the children and toddlers you’ve justified doing this to because they could be eventual gang leaders? Is it these children that you have no plan for reuniting with their families that you’re crying for?

Donnie: (waves hand slightly in Ben’s direction) … there are no children …

Ben: ?

Donnie: … these aren’t the children you’re looking for Ben.

Ben: You’re not trying to use some sort of Obi Wan Jedi thing on me are you?

Donnie: Dammit! I’ve been practicing that one too. It works really well on Kellyanne.

Ben:  Well, she is kind of dim. Recent marathon on TV?

Donnie: Yeah.

Ben: I watched it too.

Donnie: I love them.

Ben: You do? Really?

Donnie: Yeah, love how Palpatine really comes into his own. And that Jar Jar, funny motherfucker … and with a silly accent. Accents are just funny aren’t they? Not American of course, he should have been American, should have been forced to be American, but still funny.

Ben: You know those are just movies right? Fictional?

Donnie: Well, of COURSE I do (note to self: “shit! not historically accurate”) … but the sleight of hand wave, or for me, the heavy handed, poorly spoken overenunciated pursed lipped double hand pressed thumb/finger points racism wave works so well on the base.

Ben: I know it does sir. But they also actually believe you to be a truthful man. Or just don’t care.

Donnie: Good point.

Ben: Plus, Obi Wan isn’t really you’re style.

Donnie: Right. Just disappeared from the fight. Whoooosh, gone. Pile of clothes. Pussy.

Ben: You’re more the hand squeeze the throat kinda guy.

Donnie: Another good point.

Ben: But what WERE you crying about?

Donnie: Again … (sigh) … I wasn’t crying Ben. I just had some truth in my eye is all. Plus … well … I lost another one.

Ben: Sir?

Donnie: Pinky.

Ben: Pinky?

Donnie: Pruitt.

Ben: Pruitt?

Donnie: Scott Pruitt Ben! Pinky!

Ben: Oh right. Is that what the shoebox is for?

Donnie: Yeah, I gotta bury him in the backyard.

Ben: Not much room left in that backyard sir.

Donnie: No, there isn’t.

Ben: And ya gotta be running out of shoeboxes at this point.

Donnie: I know. I keep having to dump out the rocks from the ones I have left on the bookshelf.

Ben: Well I’m sure Melania or even Ivanka have plenty of taxpayer funded shoeboxes you could use. You know, to put your rocks back into? I know how much you love those shoeboxes of rocks on your bookshelf.

Donnie: Yeah, they are a point of pride.

Ben: As they should be sir.

(banging sounds and muffled moans down the tree)

“Watch his head asshole!”

“Why?”

“He’s gotta answer questions. Can’t do that if we keep banging his fucking head on the tree asshole!”

“So what, ya gotta repeat asshole?!”

“Well if ya are one gotta be one, just own it and stop being a dick”

“Oh, so I’m a dick now too?”

“Yeah, asshole wasn’t enough. Plus there’s a symmetry”

(Donnie and Ben rush to the treehouse door … look down)

Donnie: Hey! What the fuck is going on down there?

Paul “Risky” Ryan: (looking up holding the rope) We got one for you sir!

Donnie: One what?

(more banging and moaning)

Mitch “Marble Mouth” McConnell: We … I … got one for you double sir!

Paul: “Double sir?” Seriously?

Mitch: Yeah! I sir-ed him doubly!!

Paul: Fuck you. We got one for you triple sir! And what’s with the “I?” by the way? It’s a team effort here!!

Mitch: You want I should just drop him? (lets loose the rope a little)

Paul: Oh. like you’re just holding him on your own! (lets loose the rope a little as well – another bounce on the tree – more moans)

Mitch: Ok, Ok!

Donnie: (to Ben) Do you think I need another shoebox?

Ben: For who? Not sure if one will do.

Donnie: Hey! You’re both assholes and dicks and whatever and I don’t have enough shoeboxes or room in the backyard. Just bring it up!

(To Be Continued….)

Paul: Hold your end turtle!

(rope slips)

Mitch: Stop calling me turtle!

(rope slips further)

Mitch: And why do you call me turtle anyway?

Paul: ’cause you look like one out of its shell.

Mitch: Oh, well that’s the just mean Risky … shit!

(rope slips a bit more)

Paul: And stop calling me Risky!

Mitch: But that one’s so obvious! Check the deficit!

(rope lets go)

Paul: Son of a bitch!!

Mitch: Shit!!

(plop sound. moans)

(The Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Singing Doorbell Haters Club)

Donnie: (looking around the treehouse admiringly) … finally this place is a little more tidy. (turns) Hey Be… Jesus! (bumps into and almost steps on Ben Carson who is stoically standing directly behind him)

Ben: Sir?

Donnie: Dammit Ben! I hate when you do that!

Ben: Do what sir?

Donnie: Sneak up on me! Like some sort of black ninja!

Ben: I didn’t sneak up sir. You called for me and I came.

Donnie: But I didn’t even finish your name.

Ben: Just trying to anticipate sir.

Donnie: Shit! Don’t you have anything better to do?

Ben: Not really sir. I just come when you cal…

Donnie: … aren’t you in my cabinet?

Ben: Yes sir. Right next to the dinner plates and the coffee mugs.

Donnie: He He He! Nice one. That shit doesn’t get old … but NO, don’t you have anything better to do?

Ben: Well I’m sure I do but it’s just that … this housing and urban thing? … development?… it’s just so much work and it’s lots of poor people to worry about. I don’t like poor people. Kind of depressing really.

Donnie: Ok, I’ll give you that, but, well, YOU, Ben, of all people, really should be careful with that sneaking up … that … anticipation as you call it Ben. If you know what I mean?

Ben: I don’t understand sir.

Donnie: YOU Ben. Ya know. YOU? I mean I might take you for a … a uhhh …. a mugger or something … or maybe someone waiting for a friend for coffee.

Ben: I still don’t understand sir.

Donnie: (sigh… to self “still the fucking dumbest smart guy ever”) You’re still black right?

Ben: ? … Ohhhhhh, right, black … mugger … just a guy waiting for a friend for coffee … I get ya.

Donnie: Exactly. Wouldn’t wanna accidentally (feverishly checking his pockets) get you shot or tased for possibly not resisting.

Ben: Good point. I would hate that. Did you lose something?

Donnie: (eventual sigh of relief – still has wallet & cell phone) What?… no …no. We bumped into each other is all. No, we’re good. So I see the place has been cleaned up?

Ben: Yes sir. Managed to get those shrink wrapped pallets of kick back mone…

Donnie: Dues Ben. Club dues.

Ben: Oh Right. Dues. My bad. Managed to get them all down the tree and under your mattress in the residence. It wasn’t easy though.

Donnie: Why?

Ben: Well the Secret Service. They get all prickly. “You want in the residence of the PRESIDENT why?” “You wanna hide stuff under the PRESIDENT’S mattress why? “That guy with you speaks Russian why?” “You want my foot off your neck why?” So many questions. They’re really sticklers with this whole security thi…

Donnie: …I know, seriously. It’s really annoying. And it’s not like I need it. I can take care of myself.

Ben: They spoon feed you apple sauce and meds sir and call you Treezy.

Donnie: Hey that’s completely different … and between you and me. Plus, they like calling me Treezy, Kanye came up with it. Kind of a pet name thing and it’s my “designation” when I’m “on the move” You told them you’re my guy though right? After all the questions? What you’re doing is on my orders right?

Ben: Yes … they still didn’t like it thou…

Donnie: …they’re not paid to like it Ben. Just to loyally turn their heads when need be and keep my money from getting shot … keep ME, I mean, from gettin’ shot by some fucking crazed liberal or worse.

Ben: Worse?

Donnie: Could be a brown one.

Ben: Oh, yes. Another good point sir. Brown. Be careful of the brown ones.

Donnie: Yeah, Miller warns me of the danger all the time.

Ben: Stephen is ever vigilant sir when it comes to brown.

Donnie: Writes some damn fine, fan the flames speeches for me too. Gets people all “Us vs Them” riled up. I love it!

Ben: Yes. He’s quite the incendiary poet sir. A little creepy, but quite the poet.

Donnie: Just a little creepy?

Ben: Well, Ok, a lot creepy, but that’s not for me to say.

Donnie: You just said it.

Ben: I did, didn’t I?

Donnie: Yes. You did.

Ben: Sorry, nothing gets by you sir.

Donnie: No, it doesn’t. And you’re Ok. He really is a creepy little son a bitch.

Ben: Well, I’ll let you say that sir.

Donnie: I just did. But he’s MY creepy little son of a bitch.

Ben: Right you are. Good to have his creepy on our side. But back to our point, lowering everything down by rope can be quite challenging.

Donnie: You had help though, right?

Ben: Yes. I went to Home Depot like you said, early in the morning, found some day guys, loaded them in the White House pickup truck…

Donnie: (quick anger) The White House pickup truck!!!

Ben: (fearful) … ummm, yes sir? … the White Hou…

Donnie: Jesus Christ Ben!! You can’t use an official White House vehicle! Especially not the pickup truck!

Ben: But it was the old one sir, you know, that one that no one wants to drive because it’s a money pit and breaks down all the time, needs an alignment ’cause it’s always pulling to the right, has a Jesus bobblehead, can’t pass emmissions regs and still has a Reagan sticker on it?

Donnie: (heavy sigh) Yes! Exactly! THAT pickup truck. But doesn’t it still say White House on it?

Ben: It’s faded.

Donnie: Whatever Ben. Faded or not it still says White House. You HAVE to use something a little more discreet next time. I mean, hell, you gotta have family members that have a beater for shit like this. I mean you all drive beaters right?

Ben: ?

Donnie: Never mind. You said it can be challenging?

Ben: Yes. Besides the difficulty of lowering everything down by rope those day guys were a little tough to give direction to.

Donnie: What’s tough Ben? You just point at stuff, make some insistent hand gestures and then pay them cash when they’re done. Fantasitc salads by the way.

Ben: I know that sir, one of my better lunches recently, I love the corn, but aren’t there any government employees or others, ones that speak English, that could do the job? Any that could use the overtime or just USE the work?

Donnie: Whoa there Benny Boy! Don’t go gettin’ all maverick on me with this talk of overtime … and no, they won’t do the job. Some shit about it being below them. Plus this is tax free. Promise the cash, get the job done, and drive ’em back to Home Depot … done … but in a DIFFERENT pickup truck next time.

Ben: Noted.

(Treehouse doorbell rings in tune “Someone’s knockin’ at the door, Somebody’s ringin’ the bell”)

Donnie: What the fuck is that?

Ben: Ummmm, a doorbell sir?

Donnie: I get that Ben! But when the hell did we get a doorbell? A singing fucking doorbell?

Doorbell: “Someone’s knockin’ at the door, Somebody’s ringin’ the bell”

Ben: When “Zoo” Zinke ordered you that new impressive door for the Treehouse here they threw in a doorbell. A fancy one that sings.

Doorbell: “Do me a favor, Open the door and let ’em in” 

Donnie: It IS a nice door.

Ben: It really is.

Donnie: Cool tune too.

Ben: I know.

Donnie: Is that a Beatle?

Ben: I think so sir.

Donnie: Loved those guys. Sad that they weren’t American.

Ben: I agree.

Donnie: They SHOULD have been American. We should have forced them to be American.

Ben: I continue to agree, though this was McCartney solo.

Donnie: What?

Ben: This was Paul McCartney solo sir. He wasn’t a Beatle then.

Donnie: Oh. good. ‘Cause if he was I would have called for his birth certificate.

Ben: Why sir?

Donnie: To prove he wasn’t American … duh.

Ben: But we already knew he wasn’t Ameri…

Donnie: Ben?!!

Ben: Gotcha.

Donnie: So does this special Zinke door have one of those eye thingys?

Ben: ?

Doorbell (again): “Someone’s knockin’ at the door. Somebody’s ringin’ the bell”

Donnie: Eye thingys Ben. You know, to see who’s on the other side of the door?

Ben: Oh, yes. Right there. (pointing to the middle of the door)

Doorbell: “Someone’s knockin’ at the door. Somebody’s ringin’ the bell”

Donnie: (peering through eye thingy) It’s a guy with … balloons?

Ben: (pretending surprise) Oh … REALLY?? … a guy with balloons??… I wonder what HE could POSSSIBLY want?? Maybe you should let him in?

Donnie: Well, alrig…

Doorbell: “Do me a favor, Ope…”

Donnie: SHUT UP DOORBELL!!!…

Doorbell: “…n and let ‘e…….” (dying doorbell sound)

Donnie: … Wow, that was cool for like 5 seconds. Really, should I let him in?

Ben: (with a wide smile) I think you should.

(balloon messenger enters singing)

“Oh say Ken-nedy, by the dawn’s backwards light…”

Donnie: Singing?

Ben: It’s a thing sir. Or it used to be. All about throwback these days.

“…what so Duetsche bank we bor-rowed, at the twilight of democracy.

Whose broad strokes of court’s pen, a loyal future so bright

what a gift was brought us, through an unright partisan fight”

Donnie: Wow, this guy’s got some lungs

Ben: I know huh?

“And the rockets…”

Donnie: Ooooooh, I like rockets.

Ben: I know you do sir.

Donnie: Think we can parade them?

Ben: Oh. I’m sure we can sir.

“…and the rockets red flair, Putin tousling my hair…”

Donnie: Damn, this is good.

Ben: Chills sir.

“… gave proof to the right, that our flag was still my prop…”

Donnie: That one is a little off.

Ben: Yeah, just a bit

Donnie: Not the lyric. it just came off a bit … flat ya know?

Ben: With ya sir

“…Oh say does that red, white and no blue banner yeeeeeeeet Maaaaagaaaaa…”

“…O’er…” (singer stops) Hold on. Favorite part. I love singing “O’er”

Donnie: Love hearing it!

“…O’er the land of wealthy elite … and the home of the … whoever’s dumb enough to buy into my cult of personality and follow me down autocracy road”

Donnie: Bravo!! Though that last bit didn’t really fit. A little long I think.

Singer: Sorry sir. Got carried away.

Donnie: It’s Ok son. Let those sons of bitches kneel to that! Inspiring! Do you have any young girls in matching shirts who can sing it with you?

Singer: I’m sure I could find some.

Donnie: A family of sisters?

Singer: No problem sir.

Donnie: Brown shirts?

Singer: Certainly sir.

Donnie: Great! I’ll call Laura. Kellyanne too. They’ll be Sooooooo excited. The balloons are very cool too. Square. Very retro I’m guessing? Turn of the centrury images of sweat shops are a nice touch.

Ben: That was my idea. They’re even filled with hydrogen for effect.

Donnie: (pat on the head) this calls for a cigar.

Ben: Careful with that cigar sir.

Donnie: Clam it Ben.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

Donnie: (aside) You got any cash on ya?

Ben: ?

Donnie: For a tip numbnuts.

Ben: Oh right. (confused) What?…You tip?

Donnie: Never. But It’ll be your money and look like me.

Ben: Smart sir.

Donnie: I know.

(Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Action Figure Haters Club)

Token Ben Carson: Sir?

Donnie: What?

Ben: You really shouldn’t stand on the top step.

Donnie: What?

Ben: The step ladder. You really shouldn’t stand on the top step. There’s even a warning on th…

Donnie: Warning? What the hell does Trump care about warnings? (whispering to himself with a smirk “warnings, hah!”) That’s why we deregulate. Wait, who the hell are you?

Ben: Ben sir. Ben Carson.

Donnie: You’re black right?

Ben: Yes.

Donnie: OOOOhhhh, THAT Ben. Right, yes I remember. I like that. Part of my cabinet right?

Ben: Yes sir

Donnie: And black?

Ben: Yes … again sir.

Donnie: Man I’m good. I should point that out in a tweet. (self noting “black guy in my cabinet…man I’m good”)

Ben: You probably already have.

Donnie: Cabinet. That’s funny.

Ben: What sir?

Donnie: Cabinet. It’s just funny. “you’re in my cabinet” It’s like I have you guys above the counter in my kitchen next to the dinner plates and coffee mugs or something. “Hey Melania, we’re having a thing, an important thing, yea, wear something skimpy, break out the dinner plates from the ‘cabinet’ but don’t grab Ben or Munchkin by mistake! Ha Ha Ha.

Ben: It’s Mnuchin sir.

Donnie: What? What the hell are you talking about?

Ben: His name is Mnuchin, not Munchkin. Plus, he’s tall.

Donnie: I was making a funny Ben!

Ben: Oh, yes, you were, my sides hurt. Lot’s of laughter here sir. It’s just that his name isn’t Munch…

Donnie: … yes I get it Ben. (aside “fucking kill-joy…plus that guy’s name is just stupid” … trailing off … “cabinet … don’t grab by mistake … that’s a “my” person not a tea cup … ha ha ha”)

Ben: If you don’t mind my pointing out sir … you’re still on the top step … could be dangerous.

Donnie: You still here?

Ben: Yes sir.

Donnie: Danger’s nothing to me Ben.

Ben: Oh, I know that … you wouldn’t flinch in the face of it sir. Even without a gun. It’s just that …

Donnie: … you got that right! … I don’t flinch … I’d just run right in … it’s just that what Ben?

Ben: Well, I just don’t want you to fall … you, know … twist an ankle or get a spur or something like that.

Donnie: Hey! Trumps don’t fall Ben!!! We don’t twist ankles BEN!! Or spur!! We laugh in the face of spur. And if we do fall, or spur, that’s what we intended, so THEY can suck it!

Ben: They?

Donnie: Yeah, they.

Ben: Who’s they?

Donnie: They Ben!! They. Them. Those. THEY! All of them! All of them that ain’t us.

Ben: Ummm … (worry) Us?

Donnie: Don’t worry Ben. I’ll save you. You’re a good “they, them. those.” My laundry?

Ben: All done.

Donnie: Great. Still black?

Ben: Still am, five minutes later.

Donnie: Good! I’ll hold you up as an example.

Ben: Thank you sir.

Donnie: You’re welcome.

Ben: So what are the action figures for?

Donnie: (hemming) uhhh … action figures?

Ben: Yeah, you have them them all lined up … right there in front of your step ladder on shelves … and what are those?

Donnie: What? No … they’re not action figures and those are just pallets. Pallets. It’s a treehouse Ben. You make do with what you have. Old pallets maybe, old shoeboxes of rocks, old political planks that no longer matter for the ladder up the tree, It’s just part of the fun.

Ben: Oh, I see them now. pallets. But they’re pallets loaded with cash. Shrink wrapped.

Donnie: Just dues.

Ben: Dues?

Donnie: Just leave it at that Ben. Dues. Need a couple of bucks for the office?

Ben: No, I’m good sir.

Donnie: You sure? You haven’t been eying anything up? You and your wife? Does she need a job?

Ben: No, our ‘cabinets’ are full sir.

Donnie: Oh, now you made a funny.

Ben: I did. Well, OK then. Thank you sir.

Donnie: Do they look like they’re sitting up?

Ben: ?

Donnie: My … ummm … chess pieces

Ben: Chess pieces?

Donnie: The action fig … chess pieces. Yeah, chess pieces … in a game of chess.

Ben: Not action figures?

Donnie: Definitely not action figures. Did you know I played chess?

Ben: No I didn’t. I’m impressed.

Donnie: Yes, love chess, I’m really good at it too. Genius’s are good at chess. Not as challenging as checkers but I know the game. I dabble.

Ben: You are worldly that way.

Donnie: Yeah, they all want me to play chess. But I’m so good at it that I offer checkers instead. All of them take me up on it too. And I win. I always win Ben.

Ben: Do you get to King?

Donnie: Hop Hop stack stack ’nuff said.

Ben: Indeed. They do look like they’re sitting up though.

Donnie: (suddenly alert) They do?

Ben: Yes, but, I don’t recognize this one.

Donnie: Vladetor?

Ben: No, this one.

Donnie: Stretch Xi-strong?

Ben: No.

Donnie: Barbie Ken Orban?

Ben: No.

Donnie: Purple Pony?

Ben: No.

Donnie: Michael J Fox’s Teen Wolf?

Ben: Really?

Donnie: Special collection. Very rare. One of a kind.

Ben: Wow, must be … No, none of those … this little fat one.

Donnie: Oh, the one with the glasses?

Ben: Yeah, and the weird square haircut too.

Donnie: Oh, he writes lovely letters, just part of the gang, they all despot stuff together. Tough guys.

Ben: You really SHOULD hold on to something.

Donnie: What?

Ben: Hold on to something. If you’re going to stand on the top step, you really should hold on to something.

Donnie: Ben (getting tired of the conversation) I can’t hold on to “something” with my arms outstretched like this above my adoring actio … chess pieces.

Ben: I know that sir, but this isn’t a carnival ride.

Donnie: It is if yell “Whoooooooooooo!”

Ben: SIR!!!

(crashing sounds and tumbling onto the floor of the treehouse as the step ladder gives way)

Donnie: Shit!!! (crash … moan)

Ben: (rushing over) Oh my god sir, are you alright?!

Donnie: (moan moan moan)

Ben: Sir!!!

Donnie: (moan) I think I may have broken something. How’s my hair?

Ben: Ummmm … it’s fine

Donnie: You sure? Some follicles feel broken, or at least frayed.

Ben: No, you’re fine … and there’s shampoo for that.

Donnie: Were they still sitting up?

Ben: What? … who sir?

Donnie: My action fig … my chess pieces?

Ben: Yeah … sure.

Donnie: When I went “Whoooooooooooo!”

Ben: Yes, they’re still sitting up.

Donnie: (whew) good, at least there is that.

Ben: ?

Donnie: Sit up Ben.

Ben: ?? Oh right. Sitting up sir.

Donnie: Good

I haven’t worked a gig for Spectrum for a quite a while now (things change) but when I got the call I was all in. Not just for the obvious paycheck, but because it was the Tony’s. Why not take in the experience of celebrity that some find so fascinating? See what it is that makes people line up for just a glimpse? The young girl in a pretty orange dress with cool classy combat boots who was there for hours holding her spot? The tall casper looking guy who could use some sun in the too big Sixers baseball cap with the too big shorts and the too big untied sneaks? I have no idea why he was there other than maybe he thought all the commotion was over a car wreck. The touristy passersby who held their cells above their heads while, of course, passing by, recording what they would wait till later to look at on the bus, hoping it would be something they could show the folks back home? Cheers to them.

It started with a block long wall of styrofoam and chicken wire that eventually turned into an overload of beautifully flowered fancy. A huge group effort meticulously taking thousands upon thousands of single cut roses and green leaves and placing them into this wall of styrofoam and chicken wire. This flowered wall still resonates with me both in it’s impressive beauty but also in it’s over the top indulgence. And, of course understand, there’s only so much a “non” fancy guy like me can take, from tops to toes, dresses to dressings, fanciful to fanci-what the fuck, but it was still a night to remember. Could I just as easily forget it on the way home on the train with a good (as always) Neil Gaiman book? Sure, shit evens out that way. But there were eyelashes that could cut glass, makeup that could bring a smoky eye to tear with layers of regret, hugs and kisses that almost seemed real until you remembered where you were.

There were stars and there were grunts, people of place and people who just had a place. A place to make a living. I was one of the latter but I still found myself taking pictures, justifying that my sis, and maybe my nephews would think they were cool. But, to tell you the truth, I revelled in this, however much my cynicism might have made me smirk and attempt to be above the fancy fray, and however much that was possibly the longest freaking two hours ever (the actual day from wake to home was 19 hours. The event? Those really long two) I let myself snap a few shots.

Hell, someone even, at the end, brought a mountain goat in it’s own mountain goat tux eating grapes which, kind of, in a weird appropriate way, put a cap on it. Who’s to argue with that?