The Tragedy of the Orange Menace, King of America

January 9, 2017 Wayne K. Spear

[DRAMATIS PERSONAE

The ORANGE MENACE, Mr. Damien Crusher King of America
SHIVE WHITE, Chief Strategist, and Senior Counselor to the King
RETZ TALLIS, Lord Secretary of State
GENERAL MICKEY CLOBBER, Prince of Defense
GENERAL JIMMY WHACKER, National Security Advisor
BETTY CONAWAY, The President’s Spokesperson
KALASHNIKOV, Detective
BIANCA CASH, Spiritual Advisor to the King

DAMIEN CRUSHER II. }
CHARLES-EDWARD } children of the King
LAKI PILFE }

HEDDI LINE }
BARRY LEDE } journalists
LIBBY E. LEET }

Holt, the manservant
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, Attendants, Commoners

SCENE: America]

ACT I, Scene I

Enter THE ORANGE MENACE and SHIVE WHITE.
Cru. Hath it been so, that mine honor should be stained, and by this Streep?
Shiv. M’lord, ’tis so. A Streep who wills thee stripped.
Cru. Well-strapped perhaps! Yet never shall be stripped.
Shiv. Ha, thou has put a finger on it and made your point, at length.
Cru. Not of the length of my members, but of the girth of my embers, let us speak. For I burn with rage at my equator, so shall there be a stripping. This Streep shall feel the lash. Hand me that device!

[Scene II]

Enter BARRY LEED, HEDDI LINE and LIBBEY E. LEET. SCENE: the Geld News newsroom
Led. Lately the King hath issued a decree!
Hed. Prithee tell, what crisis clefts our realm?
Led. (Reads) Tho ignorant of my righteous Crown,
This Streep in vain would tear me down.
My kingly and empurpled robes
Attacked she at the Golden Globes!
I, the best as well as good,
She, most over-rated in Hollywood!
Lib. From such a twit, such tweets.
Led. The wit of the man is wet, yet I prefer my humors dry.
Hed. Of phlegm and bilious temperament is he;
Inflam’d our body politic shall be.

[Scene III]

Enter GENERAL MICKEY CLOBBER and GENERAL JIMMY WHACKER.
Clob. Hast thou heard the news of late?
Whack. The King hath his sundry diversions set, of this I know.
Clob. A very cornucopia of dainties, to keep the media sated.
Whack. How easily the fools are baited!
Clob. Then let them feed in the anteroom, no further entrée shall they know.
Whack. Let us leave them to their cold collation.
Meanwhile we devour a nation.

To be continued ….

Podcasts

Who Are You: Podcast 74

January 6, 2017 Wayne K. Spear

• Week of 02.01.2017

Honest Ed’s | Joseph Boyden | Mark Twain on Wearing White in Winter | Mr. Triplespeak | Streamlining the Intelligence Services | Drews Reviews: Money

The Roundtable Podcast 74

* Please note that in this podcast I incorrectly say that Robert Jago’s editorial,”Why I Question Joseph Boyden’s Indigenous Ancestry,” was published at APTN. It was in fact published at the Canadaland Podcast on December 24, 2016.

Download entire podcast (320 kbps mp3)

Fiction

Happy Birthday Ken

January 4, 2017 Wayne K. Spear

Ken.

I am writing to you from a secure and secret place, safe from the hacking of the Russians. Yes, it is true, I have found a way to avoid them. The Russians, I mean, and their hacking, I mean. I have found a way to foil entirely their machinations, a quite clever and, I might even say, diabolical way.

Fiction

They Have Begun to Drain the Swamp!

January 3, 2017 Wayne K. Spear

Mr. Venti Cappuccino, Chairman of the House Diabolical Mustachio Committee, has pulled it off. He has rendered the Office of Official Optimism toothless and ineffectual, having placed it under the auspices of the House Committee for Keeping It Secret.

Fiction

What is to be Done with Mr. Crusher’s Enemies?

January 2, 2017 Wayne K. Spear

As we saw in an earlier instalment, the episode with Ozymandias has left our hero in a state of unrest. The orange menace paces his realm of marble-and-gold as his mind searches for an outlet through which the pent-up emotions might soar. Soon, so soon, he will have the resources of the world’s most powerful nation at his disposal. Yes, in only days his hands will be upon the levers. For now, however, he must settle on less grand arrangements.

Fiction

The President-elect Goes to the Desert

December 30, 2016 Wayne K. Spear

The sun rises over the city of Geld. “Thank-you, Damien Crusher,” says the President-elect. “Thank-you for once again causing the sun to rise over your tremendous city.”

Fiction

Kalashnikov’s Umbrella

December 29, 2016 Wayne K. Spear

Today, it rains. Today I must go out. When I say I must go out, I mean to say that the choice to go out is not mine, or not mine alone, for there are external forces which compel me to rise from my bed and to venture into the world, against my will. My will! How absurd it sounds when I put it that way, as if I had a definite will and not rather a velleity. And against this will, this velleity, the many forces, some external but others perhaps not. Forces, that is precisely the word. And external, also the precise word. For everyone understands what is meant by a force, and also by an external. Were it not for these, I would stay in today, as I would stay in every day, if left to my own devices.

Fiction

The Ghost of Presidents Future

December 28, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

It’s not a merry Christmas for the orange menace. He finds neither rest nor peace in the holiday. In the night, Mr. Crusher is visited by three spirits. The first is the Ghost of Presidents Past, Mr. John F. Kennedy.

Fiction

A Bigly Christmas

December 23, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

Gather around, children, gather around. That’s right, at my feet, like good patriotic Americans. Kids, don’t sit on the Louis XIV chairs, made of the best 24k gold, okay? Sit here on the marble floor, which my servants will have an easier time sanitizing after you’re gone, which hopefully will be soon. I am kidding, just kidding … well, sort of kidding. You know satire, right? It’s when you’re sort of kidding, but also sort of serious, but also you really mean it but you don’t. You can tell satire, right? I hope so, but most people can’t, even adults can’t. Even adults who read this website, in many cases.

Fiction

Kalashnikov and the Russian Hack

December 19, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

Should I rise from my bed or should I remain in my bed? This is the first question I face, each and every day. Yes, each and every day I must decide, before all else, whether to get out of my bed or whether to not get out of my bed. This is how I go about it.

Fiction

The Party

December 16, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

The evening of the party is like every other evening. They sit around the numberless tables in a vast well-lit space. It is a sea of humanity shrinking into the horizon. Ten are seated at each table. There is no theme to the evening, no thread that ties them. Some are dressed as for a formal occasion, but most are not. Each table is draped in white linen.

Fiction, Personal Essay

Mr. and Mrs. Fashism

December 15, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

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.

Fiction, Personal Essay

The End of the World

December 13, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

They often ask me, How will it end? They, the people, the ones who think about such things; and it, the world, I presume, the earth but also everything upon it. They ask me because I know, because I have seen the future. I alone have seen it, not in a dream or a vision but in math. Dreams and visions may deceive, but math is pure. It does not lie. So they ask me, How will it end?

Fiction

Mr. Crusher’s brand

December 12, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

The color of my brand is gold, tremendous 24k gold. You know when you see the gold of my brand that my brand is rich, so it is powerful, so it is number one and nothing and no one is above or even equal to my brand. My brand is the ultimate, the best, the winner. Whenever it is written, it is written in large letters, the largest letters, the large 24k gold of the winner who is above all else. No name shall be bigger. If there is another name, the name of my brand shall be the largest name, in fact it shall be the largest of all the words, of all the other words that are near. No other name shall surpass the name of my brand, ever.

Fiction

The Tapping of Marco Lepsi

December 6, 2016 Wayne K. Spear Leave a comment

The orange menace knots his power tie. When finished he looks down to inspect the result. Its tip grazes a knee, sways and grazes the other knee, and so on back and forth between his knees, just as the tip of a perfectly deployed tie ought. He tapes the tie-tail, rendered too short to reach the keeper loop, firmly into place. Then he inspects himself in the full-length mirror. He likes what he sees. The orange menace grins, and a relief of orange putty, the shape of a walnut, forms on the pediment atop his scrofulous lappet.