Mr. and Mrs. Fashism ride the enormous circuit of the 89 towards the Patriot Bureau. En route they debark at the Olde Tyme Shop, leaving the box store some hours later with plastic bags of gold plated trinketry.
– “Have you remembered to take your medicine?” says Mr. Fashism. “Remember what Dr. Fussell has said.”
Mrs. Fashism suffers from something the Doctor of Curopathy, Mr. Fussell, calls “limpotagia.” Mrs. Fashism has read about this tragic disease on the Internet. According to the Institute of Higher Curopathy, Limpotagia cannot be cured—but it may be treated, by a certified Doctor of Curopathy. Dr. Fussell is one such professional, having studied at the renowned Grand International University Collegiate Institute of Curopathic Technics, in Blackfoot, Idaho. He is an expert on Limpotagia, which is lucky, as all of his clients appear to suffer from it.
– “Did I not take it already, this morning?” says Mrs. Fashism.
– “I can’t remember,” says Mr. Fashism. “My memory, it is unclear.”
Mr. Fashism suffers from Dimmitriatica, whose symptoms include doubt, loss of memory, fogginess, sluggishness, muttering, puttering, sudden exclamations, joy, bending to pick things up, reading, wakefulness, breathing.
– “Have you taken your Bilophage?” says Mrs. Fashism.
They swallow their medicines with a splash of triple-reversed osmotic and organic President Crusher H2O. They board the 89 North to Molloy Avenue.
– “Did you remember the card?” says Mr. Fashism. “The points card, for our collection.”
Mrs. Fashism rubbages through her faux-alligator wallet and produces the said card for Mr. Fashism’s pleasure.
“Ah,” says Mr. Fashism with evident relish.
So far they have collected 1,900 Patriot Points. In fifteen minutes they will arrive at the Patriot Bureau, where they will report another traitor and receive another 100 points.
“What should we do with our points?” says Mrs. Fashism. “The Magical Juicer, or the Slap Chop?”
“Perhaps there’s a Magical Juicing Slap Chop?” says Mr. Fashism.
“Is that what you would like?” says Mrs. Fashism. “When we get home, I can turn on the cable. We can watch for one.”
Mr. and Mrs. Fashism dream of one day living in a gold-and-marble house like the tower of the President, Mr. Crusher. In the meanwhile, they fill their bungalow with gold plated knick-knacks and hang pictures of gilded objects in expensive looking frames. Mr. Fashism models himself after the President. He wears a red tie at all times. He sprays his puttypink face the deep orange of a basketball. He garnishes meals with sprigs of parsely, ejaculating chocolate lattices onto desert plates from a plastic condiment squeeze dispenser, as he imagines the President’s servants doing. He watches the shopping channel and pronounces upon the offerings, either “tremendous” or, conversely, “a total loser.” Mr. and Mrs. Fashism are pious adherents to luxury and greatness, purchasing whatever reeks of success and self-importance: monogrammed toilet paper, a gilded turnip peeler, Pharoah-themed oven burner covers, Zircon cufflinks.
Mr. and Mrs. Fashism are proud to be American, proud to live in the world’s most powerful, wealthy, sophisticated, scientfically-advanced society. Not that they themselves are particularly powerful (they would like to be), nor wealthy (they aspire), nor sophisticated (they are working at it, bit by bit, with their growing collection of gilded trinketry). As for science, they’ll have none of it. Mr. and Mrs. Fashism are well aware that scientists are agents of Satan, the Deceiver. They know to be hostile toward the so-called facts, and to disregard all pronouncements of the too-clever, atheistic elites. The Fashisms patriotically maintain that Earth was created by God 2,500 years ago, and that any day now our Savior will return, to provide us with a fresh, new Earth.
Their news sources confirm that President Crusher is very likely the Messiah. If not the Messiah, the fore-runner of the Messiah, or at the very least an agent of the Messiah. Their news sources assert that Mr. Vladimir Putin is an unwavering ally in the defence of freedom and civilization against creeping secularism. We should be more like Mother Russia, say the trusted news sources. Their news sources inform them that America is a failed and despicable nation led by traitors, but that this rotted America may be torn down and rebuilt. Support the President, say the trusted news sources. The lying media publish daily stories of the President’s so-called crimes, but the Fashisms know better than to read the fake news. The Fashisms cheer when a State of Emergency is declared. The President is only suspending the Constitution to protect them, after all.
Their news sources have warned them not to drink the water during the Emergency (the media have poisoned it with mind-altering chemicals) but to drink bottles of President Crusher Water instead, available in cases of 24 and 50 bottles, online.
After the news, Mr. Crusher appears on the television with an update on the Emergency. “My fellow Americans, I have given up so much for you,” he says. “For all you, the forgotten Americans. Not for me. For me, there is only sacrifice. I don’t care about my businesses at all. This job is so important, I only care about you. I love you, and I am working for you, and only you, you alone. I sacrifice for you, to make your life tremendous,” says President Crusher. “I don’t care about my businesses, my tremendous businesses that I have spent my life building. The greatest of businesses. I don’t care. I am doing this for you. I am suspending some of your rights, for you, because there is an Emergency. I hate, hate having to do this, but it’s for you. And for America. God bless you.”
Mr. and Mrs. Fashism cry.
– “He is doing this for us,” says Mr. Fashism.
– “For you and I,” says Mrs. Fashism.