December 15, 2008
by Volt and Electra Penn
Joe was a German bachelor who earned his daily pumpernickel, plugging leaky pipes and unplugging blocked drains. Big, blonde and raw-boned, the guy everybody called 'Joe the Plumber' also loved to bag a deer and drink a beer. But Joe's full stomach was not enough to make him feel entirely secure. For years there had been a malicious clog nagging his gut, giving him continual indigestion.
This ulcerous boil that Joe hated more than the idiots who used battery acid to unstop a bathroom sink was the government taxman. It was during one of those unhappy periods of governmental 'tax & spend' that Joe finally decided to leave his birthplace and flee to a more hospitable clime.
You see, a new young king had just been appointed, and the young monarch decreed that he would create 2.5 million new jobs, rebuild the nation's infrastructure, improve its schools and reduce dependence on foreign oil.
This 'massive effort' looked good on paper and made for innocuous TV gossip, but to implement his 'change' the king would need 'billions maybe trillions of dollars'. And where would all this green stuff come from? That's right, from all the hardworking, taxpaying Jacks, Jills and Joes.
In the local 'Cheers' the night before Joe left his beloved home, he was overheard complaining, "King O wants to replace the government's heating systems and change the light-bulbs. Pray tell how many bureaucrats will it take to unscrew Edison's invention?
"Repair roads and bridges? With all theses new taxes upon taxes, who has money to travel? Expand the schools? Bring them into the 21st Century? The kids these days don't need improved schools, they need better parents.
"For J-Zeus' sake, why upgrade the hospitals? What difference does that make? Nobody I know can afford to get sick, let alone die."
Early the next morning, Joe was packed and on the road to Bethlehem---Texas, that is, for a fresh start and where there was no state income tax. Not long after he begin his solitary journey, Joe pulled over at a rest-stop. It was outside by a roadside curbside that he picked up a two-bit trick, one who wasn't worth a plug-nickel, let alone a red cent.
Mari was her name, and her condition was delicate, if you know what I mean. Nine months pregnant by nature is a natural condition, but without visible means of support the young lass was desperate for something concrete.
Maybe he was pissed off at the new tax-and-spend king, but gentleman that he was, Joe held a soft spot in his heart for a distressed woman in tatters.
So, off the two went and by the time they arrived in Bethlehem, Mari was having severe contractions. Since there was no room at the Days Inn or Motel 8, Joe and Mari staked-out space under a busy highway overpass. It was on a cold hard mattress, surrounded by piles of trash and sucking car exhaust that Mari settled down to have her child.
Since Joe was a plumber by trade, he knew all the ins and outs of pipes, fittings and valves. When Mari's water broke, Joe was right there with a spanner wrench, rubber gloves and PVC glue.
The newborn must have understood urgency, because to Joe's amazement the infant slid out quickly without a stitch or a bitch. Joe wrapped the baby in a Batman beach towel he'd once used to mop a swamped kitchen floor, tied off, then cut the cord with a clean pair of snippers. When he handed the baby to Mother Mari, she said with relief, "I'll call my little bastard E-Zee since he came out so nice and easy."
It was late that night when a broken-down old man called Wally Street returned to his usual hangout, where Mari had given birth. Wally showed no surprise to find the new homesteaders sprawled out in his living room. Nothing surprised him anymore in Bethlehem. Since the 'big crash', when his stock market gold tarnished and eventually lost all its shine, he was on a permanent campout.
"You come and you go," Wally said with a shrug, "but you're always welcome."
Wally wanted to honor the E-Zee child, and dug through his meager belongings for a suitable gift. When his fingers wrapped around the cold metal tube deep inside a duffel-bag, he knew the search was over.
Respectfully kneeling before the new-age Madonna, Wally offered up his monogrammed platinum ink pen, the one he'd used over and over to ink his name on sub-prime derivatives.
"It still works," the grizzled man said, proudly nodding a peeling bald head that had spent too many uncovered days soaking up the Texas sun.
The next man to come home, the one who always seemed to materialize out of nowhere, was Lame Duck. In an earlier life, Lame had been a king among men. But now, because of his monumental 'stupididty' everyone in the kingdom, including his family, blamed Lame for their misery and suffering. Lame was so bent-over-burdened with regrets that he had to suck up his chin to keep it from scraping the ground.
When Lame laid eyes on E-Zee he bowed even lower than a limbo pole and pulled out his most precious possession. With palsied hands he unfolded the country's Constitution. Upon laying the piece of parchment beside the Zee child, a beauteous smile lighted the wee bastard's face, sending blinding rays in all directions. Struck by the profound implication of the damage he'd inflicted, Lame was blown away, and fell back into oncoming traffic to become one more easily forgotten grease-spot in history.
Christmas day was almost over when the third under/overpass dweller, Oracle Orchid, returned. The tramps had shorted Oracle's handle to an Orc because of her trap which would not, could not, nor never did stop running.
Long before Alan Greenspan 'got it', and the country had sunk into a taxed-to-death debt spiral, Orc had been evicted from the Texas State School for the mentally challenged. Orc and all her other disposed roommates wound up under flyways and byways because the state just couldn't afford to keep a roof over their heads.
After suspiciously inspecting Mari and E-Zee, Orc said, "Better take care lady, or the rats will nibble his toes."
When Orc laid eyes on the platinum pen and the parched parchment she took the silver plume in hand. Orc, who wasn't nearly as dumb as she looked, scribbled as fast as she could whisper on the backside of the fabled document.
"Listen," she croaked, in her West Texas accent, "unless there be change this depression will be eternal. Years ago we dug down to dodge the A-bomb. But no hole is deep enough to hide us from the future. That's when factories will recycle, reconstitute, re-sanitize, and re-molecule industrial by-products to make high protein, artificially flavored, imitation, modified cellular food-stuff. 'Cause people got to eat.
"Judy in the sky with glasses gazes on strawberry fields forever, and that's where nature seeks her balance. Future taxes will be based on individual consumption. Space occupation on this planet comes at a cost. You no pay---you no stay.
"Who are we? Well, nobody knows for sure, but I know what's true: Haves rule the world. Since there is no equitable division in a species, the Have-Nots' very existence is determined by the Haves.
"When the sun in the morning comes over the hill, you better be on top because failure will be a bitter pill. Only success is rewarded. No more gold trophies, head-pats or bail-outs for incompetence.
"Dark matter, not love, guides the stars. When the moon comes over the mountain don't fly away. Keep your feet grounded as you walk across the land. In the meantime, love thy neighbor, but keep both eyes open. Better watch your back."
After Orc filled the blank side of the Constitution with more words than wisdom, she folded the sacred manuscript and tucked it between the layers of E-Zee's swaddling towel. "You're our only hope, little mankind. Go tell it on the mountain. Because tag, you're it."
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Have Penn they'll listen. Volt Penn writes speeches for Progressive Populists and reasoned arguments for those on the left of center. He has also written speeches for anybody who has read his work. You can reach Volt Penn through his artist friend, b.b.kemp, at bbkemp@bbkemp.com
Volt/Electra Penn copyright 2008
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