I won’t lie to you; I’ve been busier than an Obama-era food stamp office during the past few weeks. In addition to the still-ongoing “Blogging From A to Z April Challenge,” I’ve encountered a slew of recent personal and professional crises, and as a result some beloved pastimes have fallen by the wayside — chief among them being political punditry.
To rectify the situation, I’d arranged to attend a Tea Party gathering at the home of Mrs. Edwina Lilliput, the matriarch of one of East Egg’s most powerful families. I figured a few hours spent rubbing shoulders with the area’s biggest conservative movers and shakers would provide me with ample ammunition for my war of words against the sinister elitist drive-by gotcha neo-Marxist liberal agenda.
“Oh Oswald, so nice to see you again,” said the hostess after her butler announced me. She kissed my cheeks in continental fashion before continuing. “Glad you could make it.”
“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” Looking around, I noticed that no one else was in sight. “Am I the first to arrive?”
“Heavens no — everyone else is already in the dining room. Well, almost everyone. We’re still waiting on—”
“Hoo doggies!” cried an aged voice that I knew — and loathed — all too well. “Ain’t dat the damndest thing choo ever seen, Claude? A byootiful woman chattin’ up a big ol’ fat piggy boy! Oinkety-oink-oink, haw!”
I grimaced and clenched my fists, then turned to face crazed chicken sandwich magnate S. Truett Cathy. He was accompanied as always by his gigantic manservant Claude and walked with the assistance of a cane, which he rammed down on my left foot as he approached.
“Goddamnit!” I bellowed. “Watch where you put that thing!”
“Haw! Da’s whachoo momma said to me last night, fat boy! Hoo hoo, hee hee! Dat, and ‘Truett, my son Oswald’s jus’ ‘bout the fattest thing choo evah done see. Yessir, he’s a big ol’ piggy, sowee sowee!’ Haw haw, yas yas!”
My face went hot with rage. Fortunately for Cathy, Mrs. Lilliput chose that moment to interject. “Hello Truett, lovely to see you again. So glad you could attend.”
“Hoo hoo, I ain’t nevah passed up a chance to hand out free chikin sammiches and Bibles, an’ I ain’t ’bout to start today! Nossir!” He hooked a thumb back toward his manservant. “See dat sack ol’ Claude’s holding? Damn thing’s full up with chikin sammiches and Bibles! Haw! Now wachoo t’ink o’ dat?”
I could hold my tongue no longer. “Mrs. Lilliput, I have to say that I’m surprised you’d invite someone of Cathy’s caliber to a summit of the area’s leading conservative thinkers. The only thing this bumpkin thinks about is chicken and religion—”
“And titties!” Cathy said.
“—and besides, he’s not even an East Egg resident. Frankly, I’m beginning to feel deceived.”
Mrs. Lilliput cocked her head questioningly. “Summit of conservative thinkers? Where on earth did you get that idea, Oswald?”
“Where did I get that idea? From the invitation!” I yanked said document from my suit jacket and held it out to her.
“Yes, this is the invitation I sent out — an invitation to a tea party. Didn’t you read it?”
“What?” I turned the invite over and stared at it in disbelief. “Son of a—”
“Ha ha hee hee haw haw!” Cathy cackled. “Cain’t ‘spect no piggy to know how to read, Edwina! Tha’s crazy talk! Coo coo for cocoa puffs, hoo hoo hee hee hee! Now get down on all fours and squeal for us, piggy boy!” He then reached into Claude’s sack, produced a fistful of chicken sandwiches, and began pelting me with them. “And eat mor chikin whiles yer at it, yassir!”
Not wanting to add any more charges to my current legal slate, I took the high road and departed. But am I ever going to have words for Ms. Cashtushy! She specifically said it was an invitation to a Tea Party meeting when she delivered it with the rest of my morning mail last week, not a tea party. Needless to say, the deception is not appreciated.
In the meantime, I suppose I’ll just have to leave punditry on the back burner until this challenge is wrapped up. Ciao for now.
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