To Head “Occupy Wall Street”
Rick Perry Drops Out Of GOP Race
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-Satire- An Exclusive Report by Hugh Betcha, Ace Reporter
It was a cold and blustery day in downtown Wynstone, South Dakota—where the air is clean, the crime rate low, and the people vote red—as Hugh Betcha, Ace Reporter for the Stoos Views International Media Conglomerate shoveled the Global Warming off his driveway and chipped it off the windshield of his F-250 pickup. As the diesel engine turned over reluctantly in the 20 below air, Hugh received a rather unexpected call. But, then again, Hugh—winner of the 2012 “Most Trusted Name in News” awarded by MSNBC, and a man who walks with kings and princes, with unique access to both sides of the aisle in Foggy Bottom—was used to the unexpected. With easy access to Ahmadinejad, Obama, Putin, and other world leaders, it was not unusual for Hugh to receive calls from political figures, despots and socialists, like the President, at any hour of the day. After all, if you wanted to make headlines, Betcha was the man to call.
But this call was different. The voice sounded a little odd—but he recognized it instantly.
“That you Rick?” Hugh inquired of his old friend, the Governor of Texas.
“Yeah man, it’s me. Wassup Dawg?”
“You called me, remember?” Hugh asked.
“Oh yeah…I got somethin’ to tell you, Buddy. Meet me in New York this afternoon for an exclusive. You are not going to want to miss this, Dude.”
There was something unusually mellow in the voice of the caller that Hugh did not recognize. The self-assured, resolute Texas twang sounded more like a California beach bum-drug crazed hippie dialect that he did not recognize.
“Okay, I’ll be there. Where are we meeting?”
“Wall Street, man, by that bull—you know what I mean?”
“Yeah sure,” replied Hugh.
“Cool. Peace out brother,” Perry replied as he hung up his cell phone.
After a quick flight on his corporate jet, Betcha landed at JFK and was whisked away in a limo for an uncertain rendezvous with his old friend Perry. Driving through a motley, unwashed throng of Occupy Wall Streeters carrying an odd assortment of signs bearing mixed messages from “SOMKE DOPE” to “OBAMA 2012” to “END THE WAR IN ‘NAM” to “DOWN WITH SUCCESS,” to “FREE WILLY,” he drove to the meeting spot. Alighting from the limo, Hugh was shocked to find his old friend Governor Perry, sitting on a street corner, beating a drum with one hand, chanting “We Are the Ninety Nine!” and smoking a super-huge doobie.
“That you Rick?” Hugh inquired of the Governor. Gone was the natty suit and tie worn by the normally statuesque and perfectly coiffured Governor. They had been replaced by a PEACE headband, dark shades, and a grungy 1975 Army field jacket.
“Yeah, brother,” the Governor replied, grinning like the Cheshire cat.
“What’s up with this?”
“Got a new gig,” replied the Governor. “Decided to stick it to the Man.”
“But you are Governor of one of the richest states in the country, with one of the largest economies in the world; you are a rich guy yourself, Rick. You are the Man. I don’t—-“
“—Not anymore, man, I decided to give it all up. Got to thinking about these damn Vulture Capitalists like that dude Romney and, well, I had an epiphany you know…started believing my own bulls**t, and found a new gig.”
“You mean since you are losing your butt in the Republican primaries and caucuses?”
“No, I have seen the light. Our leader called me this week, congratulated me on my ads and on my famous Vulture Capitalist speeches, told me that I was ‘one of them’ and made me an offer I could not refuse.”
“You don’t mean…”
“—yeah him, the Great Leader, Obama.”
“I don’t believe it,” Hugh replied, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Perry continued, “he liked my speeches about Vulture Capitalism and Romney and those rich fat cats so much, he asked if the Democrats could use them in the 2012 campaign and said they could really use another Alinsky Socialist like me—you know, one of the 99 percenters. Hired me to head up the Occupy Wall Street Movement as well. It got me to thinking--do I stand with those rich fat cats who make millions and pick at the bones of the working people, or, with Obama, who bravely spends billions of the taxpayers’ money trying his best to create green jobs at Solyndra, and Fisker, and in China, and elsewhere? I got to thinking: yeah, these are my people—out here on the street—the 99 percenters—those whose hearts are in the right places and only want green jobs, welfare benefits, peace on earth, more money from those who work hard, and an end to starving polar bears dying on melting ice floes. Got a great gig now and the promise of a bright future in a second Obama administration. Pretty groovy.”
“How long do you plan to sit here and do this?”
“Just until the next election.” Perry replied.
“And then, a cabinet appointment in the Second Obama Administration,” Perry replied, as he took another hit from his cigar sized reefer and blew the smoke into the air.
“The Department of…uh…oh…ahh…wow, man…uh….”
...whereupon the Governor drifted off into a drugged slumber, slumped over his drum and apparently concluded the interview.
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