(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?

(Official Secret Clubhouse of the He-Man Truth & Cuddly Cat Haters Club)

Scott Pruitt: Jesus, this place is awful

Ben Carson: Why, what’s wrong with it?

Scott: It’s dusty, there’s leaves and dirt all over the floor, doesn’t anyone wipe their feet?…it’s just so….treehousey…so common. Shit, I need a wipe. And is this lead paint?

Ben: I don’t know, you’re the guy who should know that right?

Scott: Watch your tone Ben, and yes, I do know, but it depends on the company and who I’m paying to have it (air quotes) “tested” and then, of course it depends on the relationship with the company that makes the paint etc…etc…it’s a lot of what I do.

Ben: Did you just air quote?

Scott: Maybe. I just don’t recognize this particular paint’s…mmm…imprint you might say. It doesn’t seem to have enough green.

Ben: Should we have it tested?

Scott: (air quotes) “tested” Ben. It’s always “tested”

Ben: ummmm…?…ok…but if it is lead paint, isn’t that dangerous?

Scott: You’re funny Ben. It’s complicated. You understand complicted right?

Ben: I’m a neurosurgeon.

Scott: Right…of course you are…he doesn’t eat the paint chips does he?

Ben: I don’t know, he does snack a lot.

Scott: Could explain some things. Anyway I’ll look into it. Just gotta make a couple of calls, but not here.

Ben: Why not?

Scott: Pretty obvious isn’t it Ben? There’s no booth.

Ben: ?

Scott: Never mind. I have a spot for calls back at my office. Plus we really should tidy up before he comes back.

Ben: Yeh when is that?

Scott: You never know. Depends on how quickly everyone abroad is reminded of how much they hate him.

Ben: So he could have been back before he left?

Scott: Very funny again Ben. You’re a riot. No, we really should do something for him. Maybe buy him some new furniture here, spiff the place up.

Ben: How about a dining set. My wife knows a great place.

Scott: Great idea! Would it be bulletproof?

Ben: Huh?

Scott: This dining set place place your wife knows, do they carry any that are bulletproof?

Ben: Is that a thing?

Scott: It is when you’re me. Lot’s of crazies out there.

Ben: That wanna shoot up your dining room set?

Scott: You never know Ben. Ever vigilant I say, with a good solid piece of bulletproof furniture to cower behind. Important people can never be to careful you know.

Ben: Right, of course. Well I’ll ask my wife to check. But it never really feels like he’s gone anyway though, even when he is.

Scott : Yes he does have that kind of presence doesn’t he?

Ben: What? No, that’s not what I meant.

Scott: Then what?

Ben: It’s that portrait of Andrew Jackson over his step ladder.

Scott: His step stool?

Ben: Yeh, every now and then he just stands on it, top step, I don’t know why.

Scott: Well….alright, whatever. Probably to check out those shoeboxes on the bookshelf or change a lightbulb or something right?

Ben: No. He just stands on it, the top step, and stares out in the distance. Raises his arms.

Scott: Ok then…so what about this portrait?

Ben: I don’t know, it’s weird. Seems like the eyes follow you everywhere and it creeps me the hell out….all the way down to my ancestor’s toes…though I don’t know why.

Scott: You’re black Ben

Ben: Oh, right. Makes more sense now.

(A cough sound from behind the portrait and the sound of falling stuff / cursing)

Ben: Hey, did you hear that?

Scott: Hear what?

Ben: It sounded like that Jackson painting just coughed and knocked over paint cans or something.

Scott: Sure it did Ben. I didn’t hear anything.

Ben: It did, I swear!

Scott: Ok, look, your big neurosurgeon, dumbest smart guy ever brain is just overly tired Ben, maxed out, probably making you hear things…you’ve been working really hard.

Ben: You’re right, I have.

Scott: Yes you have. (assuringly) It’s not easy trying to fuck poor people by raising their rents in order to make them pick themselves up by their bootstraps.

Ben: No, it’s not.

Scott: Especially when there’s absolutely no logic to it.

Ben: I know, right?

Scott: Exactly. Now take a breath and let’s get back to this cluttered mess here. I mean, what the hell are all these shoeboxes on the bookshelves anyway?

Ben: Don’t touch those.

Scott: Why?

Ben: I don’t know. He just said NOT to touch those.

Scott: You mean you haven’t looked?

Ben: No. That would be bad.

Scott: You’re not curious?

Ben: No, plus, doesn’t curiousity kill stuff? I’ve heard that it does. Like cats?

Scott: You like cats do you Ben?

Ben: Oh, verrrry much. They’re soft.

Scott: Yes they are Ben, very soft, and cuddly too right?

Ben: Yes, I like cuddly.

Scott: I’m sure you do Ben, but you’re right. Curiousity does kill stuff…a LOT of stuff …that’s why we leave curiousity to the “experts”, like me and lobbyists.

Ben: Did you just air quote that too?

Scott: No. (looking in the shoeboxes)…it’s just rocks Ben, lots of rocks in lots of shoeboxes on bookshelves instead of books Ben.

Ben: Any of them small rocks? Small enough to be gravel?

Scott: What? Gravel?

Ben: Yeh gravel, at our last meeting we….

Scott: Yes, well I wasn’t at the last meeting Ben (sigh). Where’s Jeff by the way? A “friend” of mine who’s in some “difficulty” needs to “talk” to him.

Ben: You didn’t air quote AGAIN just there, a LOT, did you?

Scott: Nope.

Ben: He’s probably out on the balcony.

Scott: This treehouse has a balcony?

Ben: Yeh, just over there. Right outside one of the “Alice” doors.

Scott: “Alice” doors?

Ben: Special small doors for Jeff from the boss for some reason. I don’t know. But the balcony overlooks a children’s summer camp. He likes to go out there every now and then.

Scott: A kids’s camp? Why?

Ben: I don’t know, he says it’s to think, to clear his head. Watching the kids helps I guess. Big hearted guy. He also said something about channeling Ralph Feinnes. Some sort of movie reference. I’m not a big movie guy.

Scott: No?

Ben: Though I did like “Concussion”.

Scott: Right up your alley huh?

Ben: Yeh. It was about brains. And Will Smith is black.

Scott: I’ve noticed that. In all of his movies. He’s black just like you right?

Ben: Ummm….yeh…exactly. Black. Do you think he voted for the boss?

Scott: Probably not Ben, he’s one of those Hollywood elites.

Ben: Fucking elites….sorry, excuse my language sir.

Scott: It’s alright Ben. You’re allowed that. Especially when it comes to those fucking elites.

*Knock Knock

Scott: Were we expecting someone?

Ben: Wait! The coughing from behind the Andrew Jackson painting? Do you think someon…

Scott: NO I DON’T. I’ll get it. (whispering to himself as he walks to the door ‘wish I had something bulletproof to hide behind…just in case’) (wary) Who’s there?

Ryan Zinke: Ryan.

Scott: Zinke, is that you?

Zinke: Damn shootin’ straight!

Scott: Hold on. Hey Ben? What’s today’s password?

Ben: Well…I don’t know. The boss isn’t here so we don….

Scott: You mean he didn’t leave a password?

Ben: No.

Scott: Hold on Ryan….If. That. Is. You.

Zinke: If. That. Is. Me? What the hell are you talking about?

Scott: What’s the password?

Zinke: Password? I just heard you ask Ben if there was one.

Scott: No you didn’t.

Zinke: Yes I did.

Scott: No YOU didn’t

Zinke: YES I DID. It’s a treehouse Scott. The walls are pretty fucking thin.

Scott: Well if there WAS a password what would it be?

Zinke: Are you fucking serious?! You know I just got an NRA tattoo on my ass and I’m armed right? To the nines and 47’s and you’ve got no bulletproof shit to hide behind Pruitt! Plus we’ve got a situation here!

Scott: Situation, Shmittuation. (aside) Ben, what would the password be?

Ben: I don’t know…ummm….treacle?

Scott: Treacle?!

Ben: What? I like sweet stuff.

Scott: You’re not English Ben!

Ben: I am black though.

Scott: Yes, and the boss appreciates that….c’mon!

Ben: How about “Cuddly”? We were talking cuddly earlier.

Scott: *exasperated

Zinke: You know I can STILL hear you right?!

Ben: I got it! (whispers in Pruitt’s ear) The password is “Extinct”

Scott: Ooooh, that’s a good one…Ok, Zinke…If. That. Is. Really. You…what’s the password?

Zinke: Extinct.

Scott: Damn this guy is good.

Zinke: (bursts through the door) You are both idiots. And where’s the door I ordered for here for me to make my bursting through appear more impressive?! And what the fuck is going on? I told you, we have a situation.

Scott: And?  The boss is gone, we passworded you, and quite effectively I might add, you came in. Done. What “situation” tops that?

Zinke: Sessions is trying to pick off kids in that camp next door…

Scott: ….woahhh!…

Zinke: …and his aim is ALL off…

Scott: …crap…

Zinke: …and since when does he smoke while shooting?…

Scott: …I don…

Zinke: …we gotta get this guy to the range…

Scott: …uhhhh…

Zinke: ….fucking amateurs…

Ben: …have you seen my cat?…

Scott: …you have a cat here?…

Zinke: …was he furry?…

Ben: …well, yes…

Zinke: …cuddly?…

Scott: …seriously, you have a cat here? I thought that was metaphorical…

Ben: …oh yes, very much so…very furry AND cuddly…

Zinke: I shot it.

Ben: …oh…

Zinke: …it’s been extincted…

Ben: …oh…(single tear falls)

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

Donnie: Alright, this meeting of the He-Man Truth Haters Club will now be ordered. Jeff, bang your gravel.

Jeff (Sessions): It’s gavel.

Donnie: What?

Jeff: It’s gavel, not gravel.

Donnie: That’s what I said.

Jeff: No, you said gravel, small stones, what you meant was gavel. Kinda like a little mallet.

Donnie: What I meant? Are you trying to tell me what I meant, like I was wrong? Are you correcting me Jeff?

Jeff: No sir, not at all. Just pointing out that to bring the meeting to order you want a gavel.

Donnie: Really…JEFF? Maybe Trump’s changing this conventional gavel crap Jeff  ’cause he’s Trump. Maybe Trump meant exactly what he said…JEFF! Maybe Trump meant to order this meeting with gravel and not some big headed tiny little elf stick. Ben!

Token Carson: Yes sir?

Donnie: Climb down the tree and get me some GRAVEL. But not small stones, I want big gravel. Gotta be big Trump gravel.

Ben: Ummm…ok, but then technically speaking it’s not really gravel anymo…

Donnie: …(glaring) don’t use your big brain, just go get me some BIG gravel Ben. And paint it gold before you get back.

Ben: Yes sir.

Jeff: Should we wait for him?

Donnie: For who?

Jeff: Ben, sir.

Donnie: Ben who?

Jeff: Carson. Ben Carson. You just sent him down the tree to get you some gravel? So we can start the meeting?

Donnie: Oh Ben, right. What’s he do again?

Jeff: He’s in charge of HUD.

Donnie: Really? Housing and urban something?

Jeff: Yes.

Donnie: Is urban really a part of it? I don’t like urban.

Jeff: I know sir, but yes.

Donnie: Well ok, it is what it is. Does he know what he’s doing?

Jeff: Housing? No clue…but he has a really nice newly afforded office.

Donnie: As nice as Pruitt’s?

Jeff: No…none of us seem to rate that sir.

Donnie: Yeh I know…wait…I’m President. I don’t rate that…(aside whisper “I gotta get me some of that bulletproof shit”)

Jeff: He may not have not a clue sir, but he’s a neurosurgeon.

Donnie: Really? Neurosurgenonon? They’re smart right?

Jeff: Well yes…they do surgery on brains. Lots of schooling.

Donnie: Lots of schooling? Fucking elites. Are any of his brains bigger than mine?

Jeff: Well I don’t know abo….

Donnie: ANY BIGGER THAN MINE?!

Jeff: Ummm, no of course not. Yours is the biggest.

Donnie: Damn right it is. All that elitist schooling couldn’t help with a brain the size of mine. Right?

Jeff:

Donnie: RIGHT?

Jeff: Oh, yes, right indeed sir. Too big a brain, the schooling would be useless.

Donnie: Maybe if there were a trade school for brains though, you know, an apprenticeship where the average guy learns hands on, nuts to bolts, bolts to brains from guys that are like, I don’t know, brain mechanics.

Jeff: Well in some regards that’s kind of what medical schooling is. Lots of study and residencies with experienced doctors in working environments.

Donnie: But it’s not a TRADE school is it Jeff? A school where they learn a trade is it…..JEFF? An everyday blue collar, brain mechanic school where they learn from blue collar guys who voted for me because they felt their trade was being disenfranchised by the elites at colleges who were stealing their jobs and livelihoods is it JEFF!!??

Jeff: No…you’re absolutely right sir. Those brain mechanic Trade schools have been overlooked for far too long. And you’re their voice sir.

Donnie: I’m their voice. Exactly! I’m their voice. I like that. Where’s Betsy?

Dippy DeVoss: Right here sir.

Donnie: You been here the whole time Dippy?

Dippy: Of course sir. Right in the corner where you put me earlier. You invited me to the meeting.

Donnie: I did? You have scrapes on your knee.

Dippy: The tree is a bit of a climb sir.

Donnie: Shit, thought it might have been something else to get me in trouble. I miss the 80’s. Well, it’s good to work for it. How come you haven’t added anything?

Dippy: Added anything to what sir?

Donnie: Li’l Jeff (Jeff sigh) and I talking about schooling and trades and how brain mechanics have been overlooked for too long.

Dippy: Schooling?

Donnie: Yes, schooling. That’s what you do right? Didn’t I put you in charge of schools?

Dippy: Oh yes, right, schooling. Absolutely. You’re right…schooling…that’s what I’m in charge of…I am. Must have zoned out a bit on the word schooling. Just doing the Lord’s work sir.

Donnie: That you are. Speaking of that, have we legislated the Bible as mandatory history and science text yet?

Dippy: Working on it sir. That’s my big project.

Donnie: Taxpayer funded?

Dippy: Of course.

Donnie: Good, go back to your corner.

Dippy: Thank you sir. It’s a good corner. God’s in it.

Donnie: Of course he is…he likes me right?

Dippy: Who sir?

Donnie: This God guy. He likes me right?

Dippy: Oh, I’m sure he does.

Donnie: What? You don’t know?

Dippy: Well, I don’t REALLY talk to him directly but I’m sure he does.

Donnie: I’ve had breakfast with him you know.

Dippy: Yes, I know.

Donnie: Fine fucking breakfast. And not just bagels and coffee. A REAL breakfast. With important God people in expensive clothes who like doing shit in circles.

Dippy: I know sir. Always impressive.

Donnie: You still here?

Dippy: Yes….No. No. Not here anymore. Corner.

Donnie: Good.

*Knock Knock

Donnie: Who’s there?

Ben: Ben.

Donnie: Ben who?

Ben: It’s Ben too long?

Donnie: (cue sitcom canned laughter and a cheesy Trump thumbs up orange grin close up)…(pause)…Why are you carrying a box of rocks?

Ben: Irony sir?

Donnie: ???????….(more canned laughter) … Ok, let’s take this meeting up next week. See you then.

Jeff: Next wednesday?

Donnie: No, let’s make it next Tuesday. I’ve still got a bone to pick with Samantha Bee.

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

Did you ever wake up and just know it, ya know? Just know that you’re special, and not the special that your Mom still tells you you’ll grow up to be someday, but special, unique, maybe even magic? I woke up feeling that way this morning, and not because my Mom left me a voicemail that said I’m going to grow up and be special someday. Nope, I just knew it.  I just knew today that I was magic.

For Bella & Grayson? – BOOM! After I almost tripped on both of them in the semi dark I was magic when breakfast showed up in their bowls.

For Cujo the cat downstairs at my landlady’s? – BOOM! I was magic when I opened my door and he flew past me up the stairs into my kitchen of wonder, followed by cat Bruce and cat Honey Bob Tail.

For the dogs downstairs?- BOOM! I was magic when they suddenly discovered they were outside peeing.

For the stink bug on my towel by the shower? – BOOM! I was magic when he found himself hurtling through space to the other side of the bathroom.

And I knew I was truly magic today when, after opening up the driver side back door to BB (Blue Box – my Scion), I looked in my back seat and BOOM! – I realized I had somehow made it snow INSIDE my car. At first the magic I had performed was a mystery to me, as magic can often be.

“What wonderous powers must I possess” I thought “to have done something as magical as this?” No windows were open and it hadn’t snowed the night before yet, there in front of my eyes, was snow on my backseat and even more of it in the back of car when I opened the hatch.

And it was here in the back that I did discover the source of my Merlin like abilities. An enchanted twelve pack of seltzer water left in single digit weather. If only I had been witness to my great powers as this 12 pack momentarily and violently turned my car into a snow globe that, had anyone been close, would have had them dialing 911 for the mysterious gun shot sounds emanating from a seemingly empty vehicle. My magic was so powerful that some snow even traveled as far as the front seat. 

Yes, I woke up this morning feeling magic. And though this probably isn’t really what she had, or may still have in mind, thanks Mom, anyway, for the constant encouragement – yes I am indeed special (open to interpretation I’m sure).

(pic doesn’t quite do my magic justice as this is after the ‘snow’ melted off a bit)

First let me say that the next time I drive any further than the mailbox (a proud lazy) on the last Saturday before Christmas will be the last and if, for some reason, I do venture out on this accursed day in the future and you see me on the road I want you to take note of my lisence plate and location, call 911 and make shit up.

Today though, I did make this mistake as I actually had a couple of dollars in my pocket courtesy of some of the best co-workers a fella could ask for. I happened to mention to one of said co-workers as he gave me a ride to the shop to pick up the $800 job on my car that it was an expensive day and an anticipated check wasn’t going to get to me in time for Xmas shopping. Money, or having any, is not a skill of mine and this check, the return of my full security deposit from my recently vacated apartment (life hack – always clean the crap out of your soon to be vacated apartment you knuckleheads) had me excited to maybe be able to actually buy some presents for my family for the first time in years. But alas….. So he, unbeknownst to me, got some of the gang to get me a card with those couple of dollars in it. Like I said, some of the best co-workers a fella could ask for. But I could now, at least, show up my sister’s house with something Christmas for my nephews Jake and Matty. Mom, Sis, Bro, my Sis’s guy Buck? IOU’s, sorry guys, but Jake and Matty? They deserve something to open from Uncle (or Unca for the Matty child reminisce) Steve.

So venture I did, against my better judgement, into Dante’s 10th level – humaness on the last minute knife’s present buying gotta get grandma, drunk uncle politic Bill, the paperboy and the rest of the requisite or almost forgotten something’s edge. To try and steel myself as much as I could from this I had a plan. A plan that included just a couple of specific things…plus beer for when I was done to congratulate myself on surviving such. Get up early, like 7am early, get some laundry done, because no one can have as much Saturday fun as a single dude with dirty sundries, stop in to my good friends Bren & Bob to drop off some Christmas present plants and then get to the Mall by 10a. Did I think other folks wouldn’t have a similar “early start” plan? No. Did I hope other folks wouldn’t have a similar “early start” plan? Yes. Well, so much for hope…Hell, it’s the holidays…who has hope at the holidays anyway?

Make it to the Mall I did though and, being a guy, it was going to be quick and emotionless. I knew what I came for, I was by myself, and nothing would distract me. Though I did linger over the calendars (the classic cheap I care just enough about you last minute to know your likes gift) slowly drifting behind below me on my way up the escalator I was resolute. I was heading to Bath & Body for a candle for mom. It was one of the few items in my plan and was the only reason for me being stupid enough to head out on this last Saturday before Christmas and extra stupid enough to make one of my stops the Mall. On the way back I would jump into Barnes and Noble quickly for the nephews as there, as well as the Mall, I knew exactly what I would come for and then it would be Stop and Shop, just down the street from my new place, for a couple of gift cards to augment their books and then home…blessed home.

My plan was going well, especially after I was able to shake off the almost calendar distraction on the up escalator until I ran into the tea candle conspiracy. Now I’m not talking about little actual ‘tea’ candles that are absolutely five minutes useless other than as decorations in some sort of candle display gift that is right up there with the I care about you just enough calendar or to be used in something solemn that just really doesn’t speak Christmas, but instead a candle with the scent of tea. My mother is English. She IS tea. It is part of her being and a good number of years ago I found a Yankee Candle – Tea & Honey – that was absolutely perfect – she loved it, I loved it and of course they discontinued it.

Well I recently re-discovered a similar candle. I say re-discovered as it was a gift that sat in the sheets and blankets closet at my apartment for almost 2 years. Now it wasn’t a gift that I hated and thus was relegated to the sheets and blankets closet to die (as referenced earlier, I’m a single guy, single guys, at least the non metro types, don’t hit the sheets and blankets closet all that often to refresh). No, it was gift that I just didn’t use as I went through a phase of not feeling all that candle-ee. But when I moved into this new place I obviously brought everything and it included that candle…a Bath & Body White Barn “Tea and Lemon” candle.

*Future reference: If you ever find yourself judging a tea scented candle competition put this one at the top of your list…and if they, for some reason, question your tea judge credentials just tell them “Frankenberry’s Mom”…they’ll know.

So I broke it out and in my crazy singleness I lit that bastard up! It was perfect and it was a candle that just screamed, scented “Mom!” A perfect Christmas present as mom and I still wistfully recall that fine “Tea and Honey” candle like a long lost friend (Oh, don’t try and tell me you don’t have some sort of similar). Thus my trip to the Mall for ONE item.

“Sorry Sir, that one is seasonal, there aren’t any”

WHAT?! When the fuck did tea become seasonal?! Have you talked to the English about this?! Is coffee seasonal? No! Is Coke (Pepsi Ok?) seasonal? No! Is a plethora of pumpkin spice everything, even deoderant and perfume, seasonal? No! Yes! Maybe! Oh, crap, you know what I mean! Seasonal? Seriously?

The discontinued or seasonal tea conspiracy left me at a loss. They didnt’ even have one “in the back” though I was encouraged to try back after the holidays in case there are any returns as most of us will surely take the possibility of a used candle. All I can hope for is that mom likes honey cinnamon crumbcake.Who wouldn’t right? I hope? Sigh.

Well I couldn’t walk out empty handed could I?

I made my way out of the Mall leaving a scented wake of honey cinnamon crumbcake, past calendars that didn’t even cause me to flinch now as they approached me on the down escalator, walked 3 miles barefoot and shirtless in the bitter cold to my car (I’m exaggerating now as I’m still pissed off) and headed off to the last stops of my plan. Hey, Jake and Matty will get the books I hope they like, gift certificates to buy what they actually like and I’ll have a story of tea candle conspiracies to share with mom. She’ll surely say “Stephen, I appreciate it, but didnt’t they have anything wine scented”

Merry Christmas