If Bozo the Clown Were President [Today's News Satire by Kevin Brown, December 31, 2010]

If Bozo the Clown Were President [Today's News Satire by Kevin Brown, December 31, 2010]

By Kevin Brown

What is satire? Satire’s the truth toned down.

Anonymous

     If Bozo the Clown were President, he’d be sworn in with a BANG! At the Inauguration, he’d Rocky Balboa the steps of the U.S. Capitol, and shadow box for the press. He’d take the official oath with his fingers crossed behind his back: “I do solemnly swear, yadda, yadda, yadda,” he’d say. “…and defend the Constitution of the United States, oh help me God.” Then, he’d smack the Chief Justice in the face with a cream pie. This would be followed by a 21 cap-gun salute and the Big Top Band playing, Hell, Here’s the Chief. And Cooky would be Vice President. Wizzo and Cuddly Duddly cabinet members. They’d cartwheel down Pennsylvania Avenue. Throw candy like a real parade.
     If Bozo were President, he’d start an arms race, where all the weapons are toy flag guns that say, POP! POW! Or: KITOWW! He’d have all airplanes built with the same material as the black box. He’d put treadmill belts in front of fast food registers, so patrons could burn calories while waiting for their food. Speed them up if the orders are Super-sized. Instead of food drops to starving countries, he’d drop the starving off at Chuck E. Cheese.
     President Bozo would then change the type of element that backs the world’s currency. Instead of gold and silver, he’d make it water and see how fast we’d drain the oceans. Class separation would be levels of dehydration. Next, he’d make everyone from each country pick up and move to another—Britain to Africa, Japan to China, Germany to Israel. Move America to Iraq and see if we’re really so advanced or if it’s just location, location, location. He’d stop worrying about life on Mars and focus on death on Earth. He’d settle all wars by having each side play the Grand Prize Game. Each bucket made is another battle won.
     If he were leader, he’d say, “Ask not what your country has done to you, but what you have done to your country.” He’d make diamonds worthless. Make gravel precious stones. Then, the streets would be paved with jewels. He would institute a reversal of celebrity. Make movie stars, sports icons, and rock gods pay outrageous ticket prices to watch teachers teach children, maids scrub toilets, and mechanics fix cars. He’d improvise his speeches and give the world a reason to laugh. He’d text message the State of the Union Address: M-S, V-P-C, M-O-C, etc., etc., and it’d be the easiest to understand in years. He’d put humans on the endangered species list, because we’re all one nuclear pissing contest away from extinction. He’d bring ice cream to NATO meetings and say, “I scream, you scream, we all scream.” He’d squirt water in Queen Elizabeth’s face. Pull a rabbit from Hu Jintao’s ear. Give a balloon to Kim Jong Il. He’d make the world a fun place. Make the world a better place.
     If Bozo the Clown were President, he’d be assassinated with a smile.


Kevin Brown has had work published in over seventy journals and was nominated for a 2007 Journey Award and a Pushcart Prize. His first book Ink On Wood is scheduled to be published in the summer of 2010. His website is: www.InvisibleBodies.com

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Maybe Cory Doctorow Will Take Some of the Stink Off Self-Publishing

I wish I liked his writing as much as I like his thoughts on writing. Then again, I've probably read the wrong compositions, because people insist I _should_ be a fan of his:

http://www.npr.org/blogs/alltechconsidered/2010/10/25/130811846/doctorow

TL;DR? Want summary?
1) Uses Lulu.
2) Gives away most writing. Some will be fans and buy anyhow.
3) Uses social networking to promote sales, build awareness, and edit his book.
4) Accepts commissions and other assorted revenue opportunities.

Maybe people will stop thinking self-publishing is only for clowns.

Well, I might be a clown, but let me be a tragic one with a wee bit of nobility...

Not the sort that sells burgers.

On that note, buy my book!

Buy the Q1/Q2 2010 Report right now:

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Major Clowning Around [#twitterfoundpoem, October 18, 2010]

Major Clowning Around [#twitterfoundpoem, October 18, 2010]
Tweets+Edits=#twitterfoundpoem

I fell in a jar and hit bottom
somewhat hard.
I hit bottom. no mistake.
me: major clown.
They say no more clowning around for me.
what a drag.
I miss all the little things...
the rockets red glare
at the circus,
the bombs bursting in air
at the "Dark Carnival..."
I miss all the little things.

I'm just a major redheaded clown
In Search Of An Exit,
In Search Of my fighter jet...
In Search Of Cocaine!
I fell in a jar and hit bottom
somewhat hard.
what a major drag.

Someone told me, to live is to die.
I never thought it would come to this:
In Search Of An Exit,
In Search Of my fighter jet...
In Search Of Cocaine!
no more major clowning around for me.





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Wacchu Talkin Bout Skinner? [Guest News Prose, May 30, 2010, by Arnold Jackson]

Wacchu Talkin Bout Skinner? [Guest News, May 30, 2010]
By Arnold Jackson

And the red-haired clown came up to Jim Skinner, brandishing those six or seven photographs taken in the late 1980s.  If he had even the smallest flair for dramatics, he might have said, “Extremely good composition, Mr. Skinner, don’t you agree?”  But the clown wanted to get down to business, and simply said, “You probably remember this dead hooker in your bathtub, Mr. Skinner, don’t you?”  From a medical point of view, it was fascinating to watch the cognitive become discretely palpable, just thirty seconds from puzzled brow to pallid glare.  But from an ethical point of view, it was truly a masterpiece.  They say that the Marlboro man, before he kicked the bucket, spent the last few months taking his sweet revenge, by smoking Lucky Strikes in public, right out of his tracheotomy hole.  But the red-haired clown had a whole lot more bad karma than the Marlboro man.  After all, not that many seven year olds had a fit because their mothers wouldn’t give them a light.  The clown had introduced six hundred million schoolchildren to colon cancer and type-13 diabetes, and he had a real bad case of the really bad conscience, and he needed a more elevated form of revenge than walking into a Wendy’s in his trademark clown suit, and stuffing his face in the window with Wendy’s nummy snatch, or whatever they call that chicken sandwich over there.  “Listen, you’ve got it all wrong,” said the gray-faced CEO, in the coolest voice he could muster.  For a moment, the red-haired clown thought that Skinner was willing to be reasonable.  But he just launched into all the predictable pablum about how times were changing, it was nothing personal, it’s me, it’s not you, yada yada, business mumbo jumbo, graphs, charts, Chinese economic patterns, whatever.  The clown sat there, listening patiently, arms crossed, leaning back in the executive-style ergonomic bucket chair, with his extra-long shoes up on Skinner’s desk.  When the CEO was done with his spiel, the red-haired clown simply snorted.  “And now that I’m old and fat, you’re going to terminate my contract?  I don’t think so, Mr. Skinner.”  After he’d spoken, the clown stuffed the photographs back into the manila envelope.  When Ronald McDonald left the room, Skinner remained seated at his enormous jade desk, absently fingering a paperweight made from the skull of one of earliest Ronald McDonalds.  He didn’t like being forced into this particular business decision.  But it just might work, he said to himself.  By the church of L. Ron Hubbard, it just might work.  By the end of the week, the world would see the first full-length television ads of the grotesquely obese Ronald McDonald.

“Retire Ronald McDonald? No way. That's the message McDonald's Corp.'s CEO Jim Skinner gave Thursday to the red-haired clown's critics who say the cartoon promotes unhealthy eating and should go the way of the Marlboro Man and Joe Camel. ”
– (AP) – May 20, 2010
http://www.google.com/hostednews/ap/article/ALeqM5j1edH9lQQEYKGqv76JXbh95s9r-QD9FQQVRO1

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