‘Puter’s had enough with this pseudonymous blogging. After all, how much money can one man possibly need? Blogging’s made ‘Puter fabulously wealthy and an even bigger egomaniac than he used to be.
With all his leisure time, ‘Puter figured he’d better find an honorable pursuit to fill his countless hours, lest he succumb to fin de siecle malaise. It was either get a pastime, or join Czar in drinking too much absinthe and Absorbine Jr. and forcing Sleestak, Dat Ho and the Tcho-Tchos to play full contact, nude, Crisco-covered Twister for our amusement. Again.
‘Puter’s been wracking his brain for an appropriate avocation, one for which his rare combination of super-genius IQ, unspeakably horrible visage, misanthropy, sociopathic temperament and tenuous grip on reality. Then, yesterday, as he was gutting and cleaning the neighborhood pets he’d stalked and killed overnight, it hit him. ‘Puter’s going to write a children’s book!
It’s going to be a great book, once he finds a publisher. ‘Puter’s even thinking about recruiting Czar to illustrate. Underneath Czar’s flea and tick infested hairy hide, he’s a talented artist. You should see his renderings of Paris put to the torch, done in rendered pet fat, of all things. Czar is quite the literalist.
So here’s ‘Puter’s first draft.
My Daddy Drives a Prius
A Little Golden Book by ‘Puter Gormogon
Graphically Illustrated by Czar Gormogon
My Daddy drives a Prius
My Mommy drives a Volt.
They say we must save Gaia,
And carbon is for dolts.
We only shop at Whole Foods
Our produce quickly rots
Our family eats organic
Better than have-nots.
Dad works for Solyndra
Mom works for GM
Obama’s a great cap’t’list
To hear the tale from them.
Mom nixed my jabs for polio,
Dad vetoed DPT.
They’re smarter than the scientists
No autism for me!
But now my sky’s all sooty,
And my river runs with lead.
Coal burned to charge car batteries,
Killed my pet bird dead.
I picked up salmonella
From a migrant’s rancid pee.
I’ll not again eat organic foods,
More specific, strawberries.
My parents’ jobs are gone now,
We’re in a real big fix.
Mom supports our family
Playing bingo, turning tricks.
I never did get autism,
But I did get HPV.
I spend my days scratching parts
One usually can’t see.
But my parents, they were never wrong,
They’ll tell you, yesirree.
But how come all their bad ideas
Always end up hurting me?
‘Puter can envision the critical acclaim for his magnum opus. He’s certain to get one of them fancy-schmancy awards. You know the ones. The ones publishers stick on books they want you to make your kids read. Like that Nude Berry award. Or the Cow-on-Top award. Man, now that’s high class. And you can’t spell “high class” without “‘Puter.”
So, if any of you minions out there are publishers, drop ‘Puter a line. Let’s corrupt the youth and get rich doing it.
Always right, unless he isn’t, the infallible Ghettoputer F. X. Gormogons claims to be an in-law of the Volgi, although no one really believes this.
’Puter carefully follows economic and financial trends, legal affairs, and serves as the Gormogons’ financial and legal advisor. He successfully defended us against a lawsuit from a liquor distributor worth hundreds of thousands of dollars in unpaid deliveries of bootleg shandies.
The Geep has an IQ so high it is untestable and attempts to measure it have resulted in dangerously unstable results as well as injuries to researchers. Coincidentally, he publishes intelligence tests as a side gig.
His sarcasm is so highly developed it borders on the psychic, and he is often able to insult a person even before meeting them. ’Puter enjoys hunting small game with 000 slugs and punt guns, correcting homilies in real time at Mass, and undermining unions. ’Puter likes to wear a hockey mask and carry an axe into public campgrounds, where he bursts into people’s tents and screams. As you might expect, he has been shot several times but remains completely undeterred.
He assures us that his obsessive fawning over news stories involving women teachers sleeping with young students is not Freudian in any way, although he admits something similar once happened to him. Uniquely, ’Puter is unable to speak, read, or write Russian, but he is able to sing it fluently.
Geep joined the order in the mid-1980s. He arrived at the Castle door with dozens of steamer trunks and an inarticulate hissing creature of astonishingly low intelligence he calls “Sleestak.” Ghettoputer appears to make his wishes known to Sleestak, although no one is sure whether this is the result of complex sign language, expert body posture reading, or simply beating Sleestak with a rubber mallet.
‘Puter suggests the Czar suck it.