Kiss My Country’s Asset
by ipam
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2012 Pamela Joan Barlow
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Characters
Albert, former professor of law and finance
Ann, billionaire, North Carolina, Retail queen
Beatrice, billionaire, Kansas, aka Railroad queen
Cole, billionaire, Texas, Real estate prince
Dalton, billionaire, Alabama aka IT prince
Holt, billionaire, Alabama aka IT Sports king
Molly, billionaire, Mississippi aka Food princess
Penny, billionaire, New Jersey, aka Trucking princess
Rich, billionaire, Alabama aka IT king
Shelley, billionaire, Alabama aka Construction prince
Sylvia, inactive physician
Trent, billionaire, Tennessee aka Entertainment prince
Wade, billionaire, Massachusetts aka Wall Street prince
Prologue
limestone quarry. City of Moville, Alabama. four miles north by northeast of Birmingham. woodlands. gravel road. April 23. 10:04 a.m. partly cloudy. 68*F.
“Shoot him between the fucking eyeballs, Cam.” Nameless face rumbles baritone trombone & crosses arms over chest.
Decades ago, open-pit quarry pumped large rock chunks of limestone into dump trucks, hauling to crushing stations for the creation of concrete mixture used in bridges, private driveways and roads throughout great state of Alabama. In 1970s, violent thunderstorms rained upon Moville four days straight, flooding quarry forever. City council members voted to shutdown the site, preserving land and quarry for wildlife wanderers such as deer, coyotes, rabbits acting out Mother Nature’s true intentions. Outcome, teens visited during late evening hanging out swimming, smoking and goofing around water and woodlands.
“O…okay.” Cam nods, once & points, directly Colt .45 at dark forehead. Visible Male’s red eyeballs drips with tears, sparkling snot from nostrils & blood from busted lips. Dark skinned hands are tied, painfully behind waist, kneeling on ground with chin lifted, heavenly upright & piss stain on pants.
Jared says, threateningly. “Hey, bubba! Listen to me.” He slaps, forcefully face. Visible Male grunts, heavily. Jared waves, sideways American flag. “You can kiss this flag or this gun, decide now, asshole?”
Visible Male mumbles, softly, drooling blood between open lips. “Flag…”
Jared eases, slowly flag to Visible Male’s face, then jerks, backwardly high in air. “Too late…” He smiles, evilly & laughs, hardy. Cam fires, accurately bullet.
“Fucking foreigner.” Cam mutters, softly & spits, forcefully his salvia on dead body.
“Stripe them naked, take clothes and jewelry to families with these notes attached.” Nameless face rumbles baritone trombone, pre-offering small wads of paper.
Jared reads, loudly contents. “You. Are. Next….uh…should it be in those there foreign words?”
“Naw, them peoples’ll get the message, silent and softly.” Cam chuckles, lightly.
Jared kicks, lightly with boot toe at still body & talks, boldly. “Ain’t carrying those boys naked in my clean truck bed. I washed it this morning.”
Nameless face points, rudely & places six large buckets on ground. “Drag the bodies over there, deep in the brush, stripe them, then cover with this.” He rumbles bass drum & grins, toothy.
Cam lifts, heavily & sniffs, stupidly whitish-pasty contents of bucket. “Shit! It smells like shit. What’s in here?”
“That one’s my Mama’s bacon grease. You...best be real…careful…when cursing at my Mama…” Nameless face rumbles bass drum & jabs, rudely index finger.
“Pardon, I apologize to your Mama!” Cam talks, meekly & nods, once.
Nameless face rumbles bass drum & points, rudely at other bucket. “Three pails of olive oil and three of bacon grease. Cover the bodies from cow lick to toenails. Got it!”
“Yes, sir.” Cam nods, twice & acknowledges, respectfully.
Jared head twists around green woodlands & inquires, meekly. “Uh…didn’t mean any disrespect but them boys might be found, pretty soon?”
Nameless face laughs, heavy & rumbles bass drum. “Coyotes, snakes and maggots will pick the body clean five days tops…” He scans, upwardly skies. “…if the weather holds.”
Nameless face rumbles baritone trombone & sniggers, lightly. “Heard tell, there’s pack of vicious wild dogs, running and hunting for food around these parts.” He eye burns woodlands & grins, toothy.
“Dawgs’ll eat these dead bodies?” Jared inquires, educationally & points, rudely.
“…covered in Mama’s bacon grease, they will.” Nameless face rumbles bass drum & laughs, hardy.
rear room. Evan’s Gas & Food Station. Highway 79, north. Moville, Alabama. three miles north by southwest of Birmingham. April 24. 8:16 a.m. baby blue skies. Cloudless. 62*F.
“Where am I?” Alto oboe timber sounds, irritantly.
Three men pace, slowly from singular black limousine to weather beaten side door of dull white washed concrete building & steps inside whomping country music blasting from blue plasma TV screens and eyeballs staring rudely & curiously.
Saxophone tenor greets, friendly & extends, warmingly hand to each new guest. “Welcome, gentlemen! Please join me around the table. No need for intros. I believe we know persons…or reputations.” The elderly gentleman of 50ish stands 6 feet, 3 inches with blonde hair, graying at the temples, tanned sun-kissed skin from too many outdoor activities, dark hazel eyes darting back and forth with suspicious and eagerness. Guests stomp, nosily around empty chairs.
“Why are we here? Is this a conference room? It looks like a gas station from the outside to me. Am I in the correct meeting?” Wade stands, regally & poses, studiously eye burning walls stacked boxes of soft drinks & beer, TV screens, musical instruments, then ceiling, floor, chairs, people & then neck snaps back to door.
“Please sit down, Wade! All your questions will be answered, shortly,” Rich motions hand, downwardly & assures, respectfully.
Wade scoots chair, nosily & huffs, dragon-like. He straddles, uncomfortably chair being born 5 feet, 11 inches, weighs 284 pounds of soft muscles crammed, elegantly inside tailor-made business suit, pale skin attached to skull with short cropped black hair, brown eyes and round rosy apple cheeks. The billionaire resides in the state of Massachusetts. He places elbows on table, lifting hand, cupping double chin & eye burns Rich.
Wade had accepted, graciously both, verbal invitation & physical private jet ride from Boston to rural Moville, compliments of Rich. Rich had suggested, mildly leisure attire for the small town gathering in rural Alabama. Wade always dressed business-like for business appointments.
The informal and private meeting consists, exclusively for and of billionaires, sitting in the back room of the American birthed Mom & Pop gas & food station off Highway 79. The primary purpose of the gathering is fixing the problems in America for the American people.
Wade eye burns door & shouts, loudly. “Where’s the waitresses, waiters? I require coffee before enclosure of agenda minutes conducting this early morning business meeting.” He neck snaps to Rich.
Holt clears throat, nosily then, points, rudely & instructs, politely in baritone trombone. “See the North wall, there’s coffee, sugar, crème and cups for ya’ll. This is self service meaning we serve ourselves just like my great grandpa in 1863 during the Civil War between the States.” Wade head twists to wall then, neck snaps to Rich & frowns, ugly. Holt smirks, satisfactorily.
Dalton chuckles, lightly & then rumbles bass drum. “Why did we invite ‘waddling’ ?” He points, rudely at Wade & frowns, ugly & then drinks, nosily Coke. He likes Cokes and beer, not coffee and is here, personally to kick, physically these asshole billionaires into supporting Rich’s grand idea to save the US of A. He smiles, toothy at Holt.
Wade reacts, immediately to nasty insult & sneers, ugly. “Who are you, sir? Why is he here…at all? Why I am here? Is this the proper outlay for a business meeting?”
“Dalton.” Dalton nods, once & extends hand for formal greeting. Wade grunts, heavily & ignores, rudely the gentleman’s gesture. Dalton chuckles, lightly along with some of his Bama buddies. The young male of 30ish stands 6 feet, 6 inches, athletic bronze toned body from outdoor activities, black shoulder length hair, dark dusting of whiskers from not shaving, purposefully, & penetrating baby blue eyes.
“IT prince.” Holt talks, informatively & points, rudely starting with Dalton then, swinging index finger around the table to Rich. “IT king…”
Wade injects, furiously. “I know this young man by visual sight and by…nasty reputation. I want to know. Why am I here...?”
Holt explains, completely. “Dalton’s called the IT prince for his billion dollar envision of computers. Rich is IT king. Miss Molly is Food princess…”
Molly exclaims, excitingly in clarinet alto. “Why thank you, Holt…that’s the kindest remark any male has complimented since 1983.” Female sit, properly late 60s, light brown cropped hair, green eyes & petite body covered in rose complexion.
“You’re welcome, Miss Molly.” Holt points, rudely at the next billionaire. “Shelly’s Construction king. Miss Ann’s Retail queen. Trent’s Entertainment prince. Cole is Real Estate prince…”
“I keep informed, hourly business events occurring inside the US. However, the current question is: why am I here?” Wade insists, annoyingly in alto oboe.
Dalton twirls, entertainingly glass bottle between his finger pads & mews, pitifully. “He’s an asshole, Rich. Told ya, not to invite ‘waddling’.”
Trent expresses, honestly in tenor trumpet & grins, friendly. “Waddling, you’re the Wall Street prince, and now…part of our new club forming right here in Alabama.” Billionaires nod, once.
“My name is Wade…” Wade starts, slowly.
Dalton finishes, quickly. “We ain’t using last names ‘cause we don’t want attention, okay. Secondly, next meeting, you dress in jeans and boots like Holt.” Dalton points, directly at floor where Holt’s rattle skin boots shined in maroon colors. “Got that, Wade?” Billionaire nods, once. Wade frowns, ugly & eye burns Rich.
Rich sips on coffee then, begins, strongly & eye burns each guest. “Here…in the US, presently, now, in 2013, there lives 1,243 billionaires, an American increase of 9.1% from the year 2012.”
“I passed 4th grade math. Please, get to the point of …Why. I. Am. Here.” Wade spits, coldly.
“600 billionaires represented by as little as $2 billion of net worth gives a total of $1.2 quadrillion dollars…” Rich explains, incompletely.
“That’s a whole number with 15 zeros…Wade.” Holt clarifies, swiftly & smirks, coolly. He’s 6 feet, 5 inches of mesomorph body type, naturally wavy blonde hair touching squared shoulders, rectangle face, strong squared-jaw, emerald green eyes, & perfect olive skin.
“I know that since I passed elementary grade math.” Wade intersects, rudely.
“Behind the whole number, not in front of it, ‘waddling’.” Dalton grins, broadly & chuckles, stabbingly stacco sound from belly muscles trying to humiliate Wade.
“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich orders, quickly & shakes, sideways skull with blonde/gray hair.
Trent and Shelly voted, loudly to Rich their security concerns about holding, together Wade and Dalton in the same state, much less the same tiny room in back of a gas station before WWIII commences with colorful fireworks. Dalton would act, of course, like his true “country asshole self” while Wade forgot where he started in life.
Dalton stands, swiftly & belches, loudly. “I need a Coke. Any body want something…like coffee.” He eye burns Wade. Wade eye burns Rich & frowns, ugly. Dalton chuckles, lightly. “I’ll play waitress…for the day.”
“You’re not pretty enough, Dalton. But, do bring me Dr. Pepper.” Trent orders, nicely. Male is 40ish, blonde skull and facial hair, aqua colored eyes on hard weathered tanned skin. Dalton stomps off to the North wall for beverages.
Rich continues, calmly. “That means…there are 643 billionaires, net worth over $2 billion, that totals $3.1 quadrillion dollars. When you add the numbers, ya got $4.3 quadrillion dollars…”
“What are ya planning to do with $3 quadrillion dollars, Rich?” Holt inquires, deceptively & eye burns Rich. Rich smiles, fully.
Wade toots, loudly in alto oboe. “May I remind you, rednecks, here in Alabama that net worth includes assets of land, houses, buildings, equipment, and businesses exclusive of …the cash. The monetary but imaginary $3.1 quadrillion dollars aren’t piled high like chimney stacks in the local banks…”
“Thanks for the lesson in Economics 101, waddling.” Holt injects, sourly & sips, nosily coffee.
“Coupled with the 8.8 US millionaires who total $44 trillion dollars, the grand total…”
Rich raises hand, uprightly stopping Wade from injecting, again. “…of documented wealth…” Wade nods, once. Rich continues, briskly. “is…$3.5 quadrillion dollars at our disposal.”
Ann inquires, curiously in soprano flute. “Disposal, for what exactly do we need $3.5 quadrillion dollars, Rich?” An elder lady tall at 5 feet, 9 inches with silver hair, blue eyes and soft pale skin.
“Pay off the corruption, greed, selfish shitty folks that’s destroying America, Americans and good ole US of A.” Trent spits, hotly & drinks, nosily coffee.
“Government officials lying to Congress and Americans about…financial facts. Money…” Cole projects, logically.
“Lack of money.” Shelly states, simply.
“The lack of money leads to decline of our country and more decline of our culture…American.” Molly expresses, personally.
Trent laments, loudly. “Americans have lost honor, humility and dedication of personal pride, given by our forefathers 200 years ago, hope for fragile Colonists becoming the United States of America.”
“Americans believe their well-being is someone else’s responsibility.” Sylvia comments & tings coffee cup.
“Ya mean problem…that the Federal government can fix.” Cole expresses.
Beatrice offers. “No morals. You forget that item on your list, Molly. Morals is definitely absent in social setting throughout America.”
Albert talks. “Every one cheats at everything and cheats each other starting with government officials, corporate leaders, school teachers to church preachers drugs enhanced professional and college sports players.”
“Not Bama, Roll Tide!” Dalton shouts, loudly.
“Shut it, Dalton!” Rich orders, commandingly.
“Cheating, the new American way.” Penny labels, correctly.
“Ethos, American style…” Rich proclaims, swiftly.
“Ethos doesn’t play here, Rich.” Wade comments, surly.
“Aristotle defined ethos as the ability in each particular case to see the available means of persuasion.” Albert talks, academically.
“Correct, Trent! Ethos doesn’t play in the discussion of American economics.” Wade sounds, logically.
“I disagree, Wade. The dictionary tells ethos as the distinguishing character, sentiment, moral nature, or guiding belief of a person, group or institution.” Cole reads, loudly.
“To cheat, you need guiding belief of dishonesty, I believe a person does that, not cats.” Beatrice argues, logically.
Albert explains, academically. “Ethos displays persuasive appeal of one’s character, especially by means of speech. I cheat!”
“…and damn proud of it, if not caught.” Shelly adds, wittingly.
“American ethos changes from us to me…two little letters.” Holt exclaims, bravely.
“Going to change those two little letters from m.e. to w.e…” Rich proposes, freely.
“That one letter, Rich.” Shelly notes, smartly.
“What…w.e….we, Rich?” Trent inquires, surprisingly.
“So, it is.” Rich states, simply & smiles, wickedly.
“To me, welfare, education, crime, and politics are robbing American’s economy.” Penny expresses, personally & nods, once.
“Welfare, education, crime and politics are raping American’s economy…ya mean.” Cole substitutes, nasty.
“Manners, Cole, ladies are present.” Holt reprimands, swiftly. Cole touches, gently Molly’s arm & nods, once. Molly nods back.
“What about the huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’ ?” Ann quizzes, brilliantly.
Albert offers, academically. “It doesn’t exist, Ann. Some people argue poor Americans never can attain the American dream without aid or help, the wealth Americans owe them resources…”
“These resources are called money, taxpayers’ money in forms of government benefits which are called entitlements.” Cole declares, loudly.
“Entitlement is fair if you are needy.” Ann voices, sadly.
“War on Poverty started by President Lyndon Johnson in 1960s created the entitlement concept and it has never ended.” Trent boasts, freely.
“Blew it with Army field tanks…” Dalton injects, silly.
“Rocket launchers?” Holt substitutes, brilliantly.
“Wait, space shuttle lasers.” Dalton suggests, outrageously. Holt laughs along with sniggers from other billionaires.
“Good idea gone sour…sourly wrong. Americans believe entitlement is given because you are born into a rich country, other people owe you something if you can’t get it, yourself.” Molly lectures, seriously.
“Not right!” Holt yells, loudly.
“Damn right, Molly!” Dalton yells, secondly.
“The entire concept undermines the assumption that successful Americans haven’t rightfully earned their wealth.” Trent suggests, strongly.
“My wealth?” Wade injects, sternly.
“Don’t follow waddling!” Dalton cautions, carefully.
Rich explains, completely. “The assumption implies that successful Americans haven’t rightfully earned their billions…” Billionaire laugh, lightly. “…and wealthy Americans have taken all the money and are obligated to give it back to non-wealth Americans…”
“Hey, that’s democracy, right?” Penny voices alto clarinet, happily.
“Only if you…ain’t a billionaire.” Holt grins, wickedly.
“We’re changing the assumption.” Rich proposes, mysteriously.
“Ass of you and me, works fine and dandy for most Americans.” Trent remarks, bravely.
“Entitlement is the product of Federal government, not American workers. The government thinks Uncle Sam can fix the problem by taking money from working Americans and giving to non-working American. Bang! Damn! The problem is solved.” Cole explains, personally.
“Hell, no.” Dalton yells & shakes, sideways black hair.
“Taking money from American workers and giving to non-workers is economic explosion, reduces capitalism…and capitalists…like us.” Beatrice expresses, unpleasantly.
“Management 101, the money you take from productive workers, the less productive they become….” Shelly offers, educationally.
“That’s socialism, right?” Holt laments, brilliantly.
“Right, Holt!” Shelly nods, once.
“What’s the outcome of entitlement?” Ann inquires, curiously.
“Lazy fucking sonobitches and asshole lickin’ bastards who don’t work for nothing!” Dalton talks, stunningly.
“I like Dalton’s creative thought processes.” Trent points, rudely & chuckles, lightly.
“I like Dalton, totally. Are you married, honey?” Beatrice asks, seductively & winks, flirtingly.
Dalton turns, swiftly strawberry red colored over face, swallows mouth saliva hard & shakes, vertically black skull. “Yes, ma’am. Happily…” Billionaires laugh, hardy.
Rich reacts, fatherly. “Don’t embarrass the child, Beatrice! What happened to husband number six?”
Beatrice neck spins to Rich. “Number five, he’s working on the railroad in Oklahoma. Are you married, Rich?”
“Very.” Rich states, simply & grins, toothy.
“What’s the outcome of entitlement?” Albert repeats, twice.
Wade answers, boldly. “I believe Dalton’s thoughtful reference translates into massive destruction of healthy and safe suburbs and rural communities in Americans in terms of high crime and deadly violence.”
“You’re a racist, Wade.” Ann calls out, bravely.
Trent defends, boldly. “Wade’s pinpointing some information facts, Ann. High crime is committed by one particular race…”
“Black people, God, use the right term.” Holt injects, clearly.
“Horseshit to both, Holt and Wade. Helping people, black, white, red or yellow restore dignity and structure to their lives is human….root word from humanitarian.” Beatrice defends Ann.
“Ann is very human.” Holt injects, briefly.
“Shut it, Holt.” Trent orders, commandingly.
Wade explains, informationally. “Based on research, Houston, Texas, inmates come from 10 zip codes out of 75. In Philadelphia jails, prisoners make up 11 neighborhoods. New York City 24 out of 200 neighborhoods are locked up in prison.”
Ann expresses, personally. “I concur with your research, Wade.”
“I don’t, waddling. Show me them reports.” Dalton sounds, loudly & smiles, wickedly.
“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich orders, commandingly.
Ann talks, sadly. “Overwhelmingly poor people from low income neighbors are the have nots and will resort to un-acceptable…”
“The word’s illegal, Ann.” Trent offers, freely.
“To find food and shelter.” Ann continues, empathically.
“And drugs and other entertainment for shit and giggles.” Cole adds, honestly.
“So, when the communities are not safe, schools are not safe, then crime ramparts into the healthy neighborhoods. What can be done?” Shelly inquires, curtly.
“Education. Educate the un-educated.” Penny offers, freely.
“We have free, don’t pay…public schools all across American teaching by college educated teachers basic academic subjects such as reading, writing, math, history, literature and economics…” Cole explains, educationally.
“I failed economics.” Dalton talks, silly.
“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich orders, commandingly.
“Hey, when a person can’t read, write or add, ya got lots of ignorance folks.” Shelly concludes, plainly.
“Called dropouts, ain’t employed and sent to jail by American taxpayers’ money, again.” Rich substitutes.
Trent adds. “Or go on welfare with American taxpayers’ money, again….or end up dead.”
“I like dead.” Dalton remarks, wickedly.
“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich orders, commandingly.
“So, crime’s created when lack of education leads to bad behavior because mama didn’t get gooey chocolate chips as breakfast entrée for her little boy.” Dalton’s analogy.
“Look at in reverse, student does not learn in school. Student drops out, has baby gets on welfare, never employed by corporation earning big bucks and beautiful fringe benefits. Student B drops out, robs for food and fun never wanting to work for the big corporation, big bucks and fine benefits.” Holt’s analogy.
“You’re mentally disturbed just like Dalton, Holt.” Wade insults, purposefully.
“Thank ya.” Holt nods, once & smiles, toothy.
“I bet you didn’t know that there are 7 million folks in prison.” Trent proclaims, loudly.
“In the US?” Shelly pitches high tenor trumpet.
“That’s 2.28 percent of Americans.” Wade calculates, precisely.
“Seems low to me.” Holt voices baritone trombone & grins, toothy at Dalton.
“Land of the free loaders and home of the criminal brave hearts.” Dalton exclaims, loudly. Billionaires laugh, lightly.
“OK. We have learned spending taxpayers’ money on welfare and more education hurts the economy and America. How so?” Trent inquires, thoughtfully.
Albert explains, academically. “When an American gets educated and voted into political office, first promise is help the community by pushing new taxes onto businesses and homeowners to pay for that promise. Raise capital to spend on schools, roads and employ the un-employed.”
Rich continues, freely. “Then, the educated politician gets powers and starts telling people where to live, what to build and what business open or close, where cash is sent to people for training, education and healthcare.”
“But, we, Americans didn’t like being told what to do or how to live.” Cole pokes, curtly.
Rich exclaims, loudly. “Bulls eye! We fight back. We riot. We protest. We can’t win, we leave. We pick up our possessions and leave the city. Head west young, man!”
“Not right! Low income and poor people can’t leave. Poor people didn’t fight back. They stay.” Molly debates, finely.
Rich emphasizes, strongly. “….and they wallow in misery, self-pity leading to crimes and violence because true grit hard working Americans find their own way to live their own life without government interference.”
“Right on!” Holt spits, lively.
Rich talks, simply. “The educated politician pours taxpayers’ money into the dying city to aid the folks month after month, year after year and decade after decade.”
“Economic ruin.” Trent talks.
“Economic rubbish.” Cole substitutes.
Beatrice concludes, accurately. “Taxpayers’ money leads to new government jobs, government contracts along with secret abuse of power, bribes, corruption…”
“Social injustice for taxpayers, workers…Americans.” Molly adds, sadly.
“Man, I see the light.” Dalton remarks, wisely.
Albert comments, academically. “The light shines brightly on Americans, when the government taxes workers, creates stupid jobs of nothing and pour money into empty schools, you destroy the heartland capitalism in America. The federal government quashes American freedom, creates dependency of citizens and deters investment in businesses, bogging down US economic growth. All this leads to…collapse.”
“The collapse of the great US of A.” Shelly pitches low tenor trumpet.
“Americans, today are economically illiterate allowing more taxes of their hard working income, elected official voting for higher debt of US and influx of foreigners who suck and bleed Americans of their own government services, freely.” Cole explains, completely.
“Americans are experiencing economic failure, unemployment, protests, crimes, and corruption and dependency on the Federal government.” Rich concludes, plainly.
“All of this has to stop…eventually.” Holt proposes, flatly.
Wade injects, boldly. “Rich, your lecture has not touched on unions, government employees, transfer payments…”
“Good point for later discussion, Wade.” Rich remarks, positively & nods, once.
“Finale, folks. America has become pocketbook for poor, gold mine for rich, fake paper money for government and legal financial credit notes for middle class folks.” Shelly finishes, swiftly.
“That’s not capitalism, its socialism.” Cole remarks, personally.
“That’s not socialism, either. When the Federal government makes up 40% of GDP, we are definitely Government-dominated society.” Albert clarifies, educationally.
“So, that’s fascism, then?” Trent thinks, academically.
Albert shakes, sideways bald head & explains, clearly. “No, the dictionary defines fascism as political regime of a certain race who dictates…”
Dalton expresses, personally. “Americans is a race.”
“Dalton’s right but wrong.” Holt agrees to disagrees & grins, wickedly.
“We…the people…the Americans…” Dalton sounds, annoyingly.
“Shut it, Dalton.” Trent orders, commandingly.
Rich continues. “American has changed into new type of government fueled by fake worthless shit filled toilet paper money, $14 trillion and beyond debt and sweet walking and talking faceless corruption seen by hard working folks who can’t stop it.”
“What’s that called, Rich?” Penny inquires, boldly.
“Rich, is it totalitarian form of government?” Trent asks, curiously.
“No, Penny, that’s a government needed when people kill each other with guns and martial law is declared so a new president can be elected to rule the country.” Cole clarifies, quickly.
Rich adds. “Our new government produces money for private profit, feeding the government official who create chaos for workers and chain them to their desks or homes.”
“Americans fear that government will take over when the economy collapses and security conditions deteriorate.” Penny reports, sincerely.
“Don’t think so.” Shelly shakes, sideways blonde skull.
“I agree with Shelly but Americans must choose their fate, fascism or freedom?” Beatrice voices alto clarinet.
“Americans will always choose personal liberty, our birthright set by our forefathers, Washington, Jefferson.” Cole expresses, freely.
Dalton shouts, loudly. “Damn right, with their personal assembly of guns. Did ya know there are 270 million guns registered by Americans? That’s about 88 guns per 100 folks including children.”
“Only Dalton could quote that factual tidbit, accurately.” Holt shakes, sideways blonde skull & chuckles, lightly.
Dalton continues, un-stoppable. “America’s ranked number#1 country possessing more guns in their houses than any other nation on Earth.”
“Rich, what’s the new type of government for Americans?” Trent inquires, curiously.
“Billionaires.” Rich pauses, dramatically & smiles, toothy. “We…ladies and gentlemen are taking back the United States of America from the fat, greedy assholes who don’t do nothing but waste taxpayers’ money feeding their fat asses while the ‘real’ Americans go hunger and starve.” Billionaires nod, continuously.
Dalton stands, swiftly hands over heart & shouts, loudly. “Yeehaw.”
“What new type of government will be established, Rich? We are currently and hopefully for another 1,000 years be a democracy for free people and free enterprise.” Cole remarks, seriously. The mid-aged man of 50ish possess black hair with brown eyes standing 5 feet, 10 inches on
Wade shouts, loudly in high octave alto oboe. “You plan to take over the government in an armed coup, commit high seas mutiny against the President of the United States and hold all us….billionaires, hostage to pay off the $14 trillion dollar debt accumulated by greedy and incompetent government leaders. That’s the purpose of the today’s business meeting….”
“That’s a great idea, Wade.” Rich nods, once & offers, peacefully in tenor saxophone. “But…sadly, no.”
Dalton corrects, completely in bass drum. “We…are taking back American, not…taking over, ‘waddling.’ Told ya, not to invite the ‘wad of shit’…Rich.” He shakes, sideways shoulder length black hair & plays, entertainingly with Coke bottle.
Holt chuckles, lightly & points, rudely at Wade. “Wad of shit, that’s real good, Dalton.”
Rich explains, boldly. “At first, an authoritative body controlling the…newly…government which will be selected…” He points, rudely around the table. “…from our little group.”
“I wanna be president.” Dalton raises, upwardly hand & intersects, rudely.
Shelly reprimands, mildly at country hick & grins, fully. “No, Dalton.” Young male of 30ish age with reddish/blonde hair, light mint eyes, 6 feet, 4 inches slender muscular tone with bronze complexion.
Dalton debates, intellectually. “Why not, Shelly? I’m smart….smart enough to make billions, I can run our …new and improved American country.”
Trent injects, sarcastically & sniggers, lightly. “I vote for Albert. He’s smarter than you, Dalton.”
“We’re the same age…and intellect.” Dalton eye burns Albert & poses, equally.
Holt remarks, calmly. “Dalton insulted ya, Albert.”
Albert scans, studiously his notes & ignores, totally howling hicks. “So he did.”
“Back to business.” Rich offers, peacefully.
“Berrington.” Dalton yells, loudly.
“Mangrove.” Holt follows, smoothly & grins, toothy.
“Who are you…Albert?” Wade inquires, curiously & eye burns Albert, mysteriously.
“Albert is not a billionaire…” Rich starts, slowly.
“I thought you mentioned that only…billionaires belonged in this backwoods hick club.” Wade addresses, snotty & eye burns Trent. Trent smiles, pleasantly.
“Albert is one of our many advisors…” Rich clarifies, incompletely.
“Advisors, they got the US in our current troubles to begin with, I didn’t think…” Wade complains, boldly.
“You don’t think…wad of shit. Rich is leader, specifically for that very reason. Now…let’s hear him out.” Holt injects, viciously & eye burns Wade. Wade neck spins to the North wall glancing at the lineup of beverages.
Shelly inquiries, curiously. “What about taxes in our new and improved government, Rich?”
Rich shakes, sideways skull & reports, honestly. “No taxes. We don’t collect a penny from any American citizens.”
“So…the illegal aliens pay to…us in our new and improved country.” Trent chuckles, heavily with the ridicule notion.
Albert states, academically in tenor horn. “Monetary taxes simply transfer wealth from poor to rich called ‘Reverse Robin Hood Theory.”
“Reverse Robin Hood Theory, I’ve never heard of that management concept.” Wade chimes, wonderfully in alto oboe.
“My theory, sir.” Albert nods, once.
Dalton injects, rudely & waves, upwardly hands and arms. “Don’t matter. We’re the new and improved Robin Hoods. We’ll be giving back to the poor from the rich.” All skulls nod, once.
Rich explains, fully. “Correct, Dalton. We’re going to take back American giving jobs, food, houses and pride to all American people, especially the homeless living on the streets, in parks, in bus stations, under bridges and other places not meant for human habitation….”
Beatrice adds, sweetly. “….and children, the children living in streets. They’re going to get homes, food and education though our new and improved America.” An elder lady of 60ish has straight brown with natural gold highlights hair, heart shaped face, pale skin and turquoise eyes.
“Amen.” Shelly voices in tenor trumpet.
“Albert, explain please…” Rich motions, horizontally hand to begin.
“Why’s he the business advisor?” Wade barks, attentively.
Albert defends, academically. “I possess both law and finance degrees, serving on college boards of…”
“Albert’s credentials ain’t for your scrutiny, wad of shit. He’s part of club selected by our leader Rich.” Dalton barks, violently.
Rich points, rudely left to female. “This is Sylvia...”
“Who?” Wade hoots, loudly.
Rich leans, sideways invading her space & whispers, loudly. “Ya have to forgive my redneck friend, Sylvia.” Rich fingers Wade. Sylvia nods, once & grins, toothy. “He’s trying really hard to be an asshole.”
“Grade A.” Dalton yells, amusingly. Wade stands, swiftly & eye burns Rich.
Dalton orders, commandingly & pulls, surprisingly Colt .45 into air with right shooting hand. “Sit down Wade, before I shoot your fucking toes.” Dalton leans, deeply & invades Wade’s personal space, then grins, evilly. “Then, you can limp out that damn door while I target your fat ass. I’ve always wanted to complete that particular wet dream, boy.” Dalton snorts, loudly & smiles, fully.
“Wade, in or out?” Trent questions, sternly.
“In.” Wade talks, softly & sits, slowly. He eye burns Dalton, seriously.
Dalton snorts, lightly & spins, rapidly loaded hand pistol on table. He yells, mildly. “Yeehaw.”
“Sylvia’s my new captain.” Rich announces, informatively.
“What’s your new title, Rich?” Cole inquires, wildly.
Rich talks, singularly. “Commander.”
“Wimpy, Rich, ya should be a full starred general with four stars.” Dalton argues, pointlessly & spins, amusingly hand gun.
“How about ten stars? There are ten of us, each representative of a shining star.” Holt suggests, strongly & laughs, hardy.
“Great idea, Holt.” Dalton compliments, friendly & nods, once.
“I like the word commander.” Rich talks, briefly.
“Commandant.” Trent tosses, playfully.
“Naw. Sounds like damn German krauts.” Cole reacts, swiftly.
Albert lectures, educationally. “The Commandant of Marine Corp reports directly to the US Secretary of the Navy…”
“Don’t start your professor crap, Albert. Dalton gets antsy with the trigger finger on the gun.” Holt reprimands, humorously. Dalton chuckles, lightly.
“I like kraut ‘n’ beans with a hint of dill pickle.” Shelly offers, peacefully & grins, toothy.
Rich calls, loudly. “Back to business…”
“Berrington.” Dalton shouts, loudly.
“Mangrove.” Holt follows, mysteriously.
Molly questions, seriously. “What are the three topics of concern for Americans?”
Trent lists, swiftly. “Jobs, school and health.”
Rich clarifies, purposefully. “Specifics?”
“Food, shelter, and protection.” Penny adds, basic necessary.
Trent reacts, funny. “Right-o.”
“That…that’s British talk, Trent.” Holt retorts, begrudgingly.
“Bloody right-o, duckie.” Trent imitates, poorly in British timber & chuckles, lightly.
“Shit, speak American…or Southern. The only two official languages allowed in the new US of A…now…” Dalton lectures, purposefully.
“Or Dalton’ll shoot your fucking toes.” Holt adds, funny & chuckles, lightly. Dalton sniggers, mildly & poses, uprightly the gun.
Albert informs, educationally, correcting the country hick. “There are numerous American dialects. New York. New Jersey. California. Texas.”
“Texas’s a Southern state the last time I viewed a map on my cell…” Trent points, rudely to tiny screen. “See right…here.”
“Arizona. Montana.” Albert lists, purposefully & smiles, toothy.
“Albert’s smart.” Trent compliments, brotherly & nods, once.
Dalton tosses, forcefully hands in air. “Fine. Yankee talk. Southern twang. Western slang and West Coast jive.”
“Who uses that word…” Trent chuckles, lightly. “…jive?”
“I do, buddy.” Dalton talks, rapidly & twirls, swiftly hand gun, again.
“Might…I point out that there are nearly 13 million people who speak Spanish residing in the US.” Albert instructs, educationally.
“Illegal fucking aliens.” Dalton trashes, quickly.
Wade expresses, personally. “I can understand why Albert’s one of our advisors. He’s smart, well-mannered, and calm unlike….”
Holt injects, curiously. “Wade, do you speak Spanish?”
“Yes. I pride, myself on learning new talents.” Wade poses, regally.
Dalton points, rudely & shouts, loudly. “That’s proof, my point, aliens do exist and they speak in a foreign language.”
“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich orders, swiftly.
Molly debated, nicely. “Wade’s not Southern. I read you graduated from Princeton.”
“Albert came from Princeton, too.” Dalton adds, quickly.
Albert corrects, swiftly. “Harvard. I graduated from Harvard Law School.”
“You’re from here, right, Albert….Alabama?” Holt emphasizes, purposefully.
Wade insults, fearlessly. “But…still managed to graduate from Harvard. That’s absolutely amazing…what an accomplishment.”
Cole compliments, friendly. “I’m impressed with ya, Albert.”
“Wade insulted ya, bro.” Holt notes, cautiously.
Albert scans, studiously his notes & ignores, totally the howling hicks. “So he did.”
Dalton continues, insultingly. “And waddling dresses like a corporate CEO.” He neck spins to Wade. “Are you hot, man?” he chuckles, lightly.
“Wade’s forgotten his acquired redneck ways…as well.” Holt adds, post-morbidly & chuckles, lightly.
“He’s a Yankee…now.” Dalton tosses, dirty.
“He’s a traitor to the a….” Holt accuses, plainly.
“…not to the USA.” Trent defends, swiftly.
“To the Alabama flag…the great state of Bama.” Holt clarifies, sharply.
Wade talks, flatly. “…my home of country tobacco chewing, gun waving backwoods rednecks.”
“Yeehaw.” Dalton yells, loudly & claps, childishly.
“Please don’t start the Rebel yell this early before lunch, Dalton.” Cole reprimands, authoritatively.
Albert changes, swiftly topics. “Sylvia, you’re a physician based on my limited datum…so far.”
“Surgeon by trade and will be…” Sylvia eye burns each billionaire & smirks, amusingly “…commanding all medical, health and clinical relations.” Tall women is 6 feet, 1 inch, slender ectomorph thin body type with golden blonde straight thin, brown eyes and peach-colored skin tone.
“What about family pets, domestic animals and wildlife?” Trent asks, curiously.
Sylvia answers, honestly. “If the biological, genetic, or chemical life form breathes or reproduces, I rule it, totally.”
Dalton calls, attentively. “I can breathe and reproduce at the same time.”
Holt teases, funny. “Dalton’s an outer space alien.”
“Yeehaw.” Dalton yells, wildly & chuckles, lightly.
“And an asshole.” Trent adds, surly.
“That’s Wade’s awarded title, don’t confuse the cabinet members, bro.” Dalton winks, teasingly at Trent. Holt & Trent chuckle, lightly.
Shelly proposes, logically. “I don’t like us being a cabinet. Cabinets are crafted finely wooden furniture holding my grandmother’s decorative china. Can’t we be a…a committee or …”
“Department.” Trent substitutes, mildly.
“Council…” Dalton offers, lively.
“Like a Jedi council.” Holt corrects, smoothly.
“Ya a sci-fi fan, Holt?” Shelly inquires, thoughtfully.
Holt announces, proudly. “Big time science fiction fan, I’m from Huntsville, home of the outer space center and all those big long white rockets that soar upwardly into the cold black trusses of heaven.”
Trent rumbles tenor trumpet. “I never heard of a sci-fi redneck.”
Albert poses, studiously & grins, widely. “I think that’s regarded as an oxymoron.”
Holt announces, wildly. “Wade’s a moron.”
Dalton raises, thankfully both hands in air with pistol. “Double draw, moron and asshole.”
“How about board, panel, chamber, group, body, party, force….” Albert injects, quickly subject change before the topic becomes too heated and too dangerous for Wade.
Trent suggests, mildly. “I vote for force.”
Cole agrees, quickly & nods, once. “Yeah…a task force.”
“A life force.” Holt calls, loudly.
Dalton challenges, boldly. “A death force.”
Cole yells, loudly. “For God’s sakes. Shut it, both…you fools.”
Rich calls, seriously. “Back to business.”
“Berrington,” Dalton shouts, loudly.
“Mangrove,” Holt hollers, mysteriously.
Cole invades, rudely Trent’s space & talks, privately. “Is that a code?”
“Redneck code between them boys.” Trent answers, curtly. Cole shakes, sideways black hair not understanding.
“The topic is healthcare.” Molly facilitates, briefly.
Rich encloses, logically. “Medical health care will be free to all Americans in the new US of A.”
“Who’s going to announce this to the greedy doctors?” Trent questions, mildly.
“Dalton is…waving the American flag in his left right and loaded pistol in the right.” Holt concludes, illogically & chuckles, lightly.
“Yeehaw.” Dalton yells, wildly.
“Captain Sylvia, what’s your role in the new and improved America.” Trent asks, seriously.
“I plan to solve the healthcare issue…forever.” Sylvia concludes, sternly.
“Sylvia is the former Assistant Surgeon General and Chief of Staff, past vice president of the American Medical Association Board of Trustees...” Rich begins, slowly.
“Rich?” Sylvia greets, friendly.
“Yes, ma’am.” Rich responds, mannerly.
Sylvia addresses, seriously. “I’m honored you want to share my accomplishments with the boys and girls. But, I feel this meeting should be concerned with addressing the primary issues, immediately.”
Cole agrees, quickly. “Concur, secondly, rich.”
“Thirdly.” Shelly offers, logically.
Trent asks, personally. “You from Bama, Miss Sylvia?”
“Yes, born and raised in Black Belt before I ruled the Assistant Surgeon of the Core.” Sylvia offers, personally. Trent nods, once.
Albert lectures, purposefully. “In 1798, the US Congress established the U S Marine Hospital, known today as the US Public Health Service. The services provided health care to sick and injured merchant seamen. In 1870, the Marine Hospital Service became the first national hospital system under a medical officer and given the title of Surgeon General. Dr. John Woodworth, was appointed as first Supervising Surgeon in 1871…”
“You’re a boring person, Albert.” Holt shakes, sideways blonde bangs & chuckles, lightly.
“Thank you.” Albert sings, musically & nods, once. He stands 5 feet, 5 inches, black thick hair, dark brown skin and intense light brown eyes.
“I believe the point’s here is that the Assistant Surgeon of the US oversees the military, not ordinary Americans.” Wade summarizes, swiftly.
“Wade gots a brain just like the scarecrow.” Trent jabs, silly.
“God…that’s why he’s a billionaire.” Holt teases, amusingly & sniggers, lightly.
Albert begins, slowly. “Actually, there are more than 6,500 officers actively participating in the military including the Bureau of Prison, US Coast Guard, EPA, HCFA and…”
“You’re a very boring person, Albert.” Holt pokes, kiddingly.
Rich lectures, educationally. “Ah! The real mission of the US Office of General Surgeon provides rapid and effective response to health care needs including sick folks with visual leadership and advancement of health science.”
“We are going to buy hospitals for all the sick people in the new US of A, Rich.” Shelly inquires, curiously.
“Naw, we’re going to steal them…all of them.” Dalton answers, swiftly before Rich.
“Figures.” Wade huffs, flatly & eye burns his new manicure.
“Rich likes that word “steal”…way too much.” Trent observes, wisely.
“We create the new and improved US of A and provide free healthcare for everyone and what else, Rich?” Shelly asks, purposefully.
“We take over the trucks, hauling goods back and forth across America.” Rich proposes, interestingly.
Penny lectures, informatively. “The trucking industry involves the transport and distribution of commercial and industrial goods across the US…” Women of 40ish stands 5 feet, 6 inches, mocha skin tone, short dark brown curly hair & brown eyes with golden specks.
Wade questions, logically. “Rich, what about the animal carcinogens in diesel fuel?”
Albert answers, swiftly. “In 1988 by National Institute for Occupational Safety and Health and again in 2002 by US Environmental Protection Agency…”
Trent corrects, mildly. “Just say EPA, Albert, every one knows the EPA.”
“Not illegals….” Dalton trashes, directly.
Trent spits to Dalton. “Every American knows the E.P.A.”
Holt compliments, nicely. “Good clarification, Trent.”
Albert lectures, educationally. “Components of diesel exhaust have been linked to health effects of lung cancer, chronic bronchitis and aggravated asthma along with greenhouse gas contributing to global warming throughout the world.”
“Albert’s smart.” Holt compliments, continuously.
“What about air pollution, Rich?” Wade asks, interestingly.
Albert defines, educationally. “Air pollution is intros humans and other living creatures of chemicals, particulate matter or biological materials…”
“He means anthrax…” Trent substitutes, brilliantly.
“He means nuclear toxic waste.” Holt adds, sharply.
Albert talks, onwardly. “Biological materials that cause damage to the natural environment…”
“Nuclear bomb does that, too.” Dalton injects, flatly.
“How about a nuclear war?” Cole suggests, curtly.
Albert lectures, theorically. “All these are a threat to humans, Earth and life in general.”
“Albert’s not an optimist.” Holt calls, funny.
Albert explains, incompletely. “Major primary pollutants produce Sulphur oxides, Nitrogen oxides, Carbon monoxide, Carbon dioxide, toxic metals of lead, cadmium and copper, Chlorofluorocarbons, Ammonia…”
Holt states, worriedly. “My maid uses ammonia on the floor…way too much.” He neck snaps to Albert. “Am I going to die, Albert?”
Albert ignores Holt & finishes, quickly. “Odors such as garbage, sewage and radioactive pollutants.”
“Albert’s too smart.” Holt compliments, brotherly.
“You’re going to die from a nuclear explosion caused by a radiation decay of radon from the local nuclear plant in North Bama.” Dalton remarks, theoretically.
“Penny, please explain the trucking industry, currently.” Rich eye burns her & asks, politely.
Penny nods, once & huffs, quickly. “Trucking industry pays $120,000,000 in paychecks to employees.”
“Retail stores, hospitals, gas stations, garbage disposal, construction sites, banks and other stuff depend upon trucks to distribute and delivery.” Albert adds, educationally.
“If you bought it, a truck brought it.” Penny quotes, brilliantly & smiles, fully.
Albert talks, quickly. “In the commercial freight activity, the primary mode of transportation is trucks hauling 11,712 tons estimated by the Bureau of Transportation Stats of 2002. These stats compare to 2,000 tons for rail; 1,700 for water and 3,500 by pipeline and 600 by airplane.”
“Albert’s smart.” Holt compliments, brotherly.
“Truckers delivery daily or weekly to retail, commercial and government entities to keeping merchandise on hand. Hospital employ “just in time” inventory systems for medical supplies. Gas stations require deliveries of fuel several times per day. Grocery stores have perishable food items deliver every two or three days.” Penny lectures, academically.
“Lots of deliveries…” Rich adds, swiftly.
“By trucks.” Penny says, repeatingly & grins, broadly. “The trucking industry contributes about 5% to the Gross Domestic Product of the US economy providing goods to manufacturing, construction, wholesale and retail trade industries. Over 80% of cities rely on trucks to deliver their fuel, clothing, medicine and other consumer goods. That’s 10 million drivers of trucks out of 300 million…people.”
“Great pun, Your Highness!” Dalton honors, respectfully.
“What about railroads and rail cars?” Wade postures, thoughtfully.
Beatrice explains, fully. “Railways in the US are used, primarily for bulk quantities of cargo over long distances and secondly, distribution centers don’t have direct access to railroad stations which could be miles from the plants or facilities.”
“Unlike Europe, where people use public transportation for every trip around the town.” Albert adds, educationally.
“Americans like their pretty toys and imported oil.” Rich summarizes, amusingly.
“So, the trucking industry is about to change in our new and improved US of A.” Wade voices, worriedly.
“Wade’s smart.” Holt compliments, friendly.
Rich starts, slowly. “We, gentlemen and ladies, are going to increase the use of trucks throughout the US for moving inventory to all businesses.”
“Using this simple and yet, economically sound strategy, the company receives goods, sells merchandise and reduces costs, thus employing more people.” Penny finishes, swiftly & smiles, fully.
“Making Americans happy campers.” Trent summarizes, completely.
“Yeehaw!” Dalton yells, happily.
Cole inquires, wisely. “Are we advancing electric hybrid semis, as well?”
Albert lectures, academically. “Electric hybrid vehicle stores energy by using batteries and regenerative brakes and going back to progressive shifting. This method forces the driver to shift through 10 to 18 gears to optimize power of the engine and fuel economy for longing hauls.”
Wade starts, slowly. “Might I point out….that the US Department of Transportation and Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration regulates the trucking industry in which drivers are limited to number of daily and weekly hours…”
Dalton clarifies, completely. “For safety of them and us! Think, man! We hire lots of people to drive and deliver lots of stuff around the country. People employed. Goods delivered. Americans happy and prosperous. The end.”
“Dalton’s the man!” Holt compliments, brotherly.
“Research has found automatic transmissions on semis have more benefits to machine and man than your ‘save the economy’ suggestion, Rich.” Wade warns, flaringly.
“You’re missing the point, wad of shit. WE…” Dalton points, rudely around the table. “…are working to get workers, drivers, employees jobs for America.”
“Amen.” Trent hollers, loudly.
“The American way…American.” Holt adds, supportingly.
“What about dividends from stocks invested in America?” Wade pinpoints, interestingly.
“From the Wall Street Prince?” Dalton hisses, curtly.
“What about dividends paying stocks, dividend holds? Dividends are the biggest contributor to cash and investment in American’s future and some investors enjoy cash from stocks paying dividends and avoid losses.” Wade lectures, boringly.
“His ‘wanted nickname’ is Wall Street Prince.” Holt offers, sweetly.
“Wade made his billions on Wall Street.” Dalton informs, thoroughly.
“So….you’re the unidentified 1% that Americans wants to hang by toes from my Grandpa’s 110-year-old oak tree.” Trent concludes, completely & chuckles, lightly.
Wade defends, surly. “I made my money by investing in old blue blood S&P companies and new spring chicks overachievers on Wall Street. I’m smart and wise with my stock options.”
“Damn lucky.” Dalton exhaled, breathlessly.
Wade rambles, unabatedly. “Some investors believe current operating companies will raise dividend payments boosting the stock prices, growing the economy.”
“And some like me…don’t…wad of shit.” Dalton snorts, lightly.
“What about Treasury bills, Rich? They are the meat of the US economy.” Wade neck snaps to Rich & questions, studiously.
“That’s for later discussion, Wade.” Rich informs, harshly.
“Go back to first base, I kinda lost. What about the ‘Reverse Robin Hood Theory’ you mentioned along with no collection or payment of taxes in the new and improved America.” Shelly narrates, freely.
“No taxes, every.” Dalton repeats, loudly.
“Okay, Dalton says no taxes.” Shelly emphasizes, strongly. “So…we kick the IRS department out on the lawn to stop all tax operations, then what?”
Trent questions, seriously. “I like that idea but what about the other folks who have mortgages and electricity bills to pay.”
Ann includes, wisely. “They’re people with families, children, and mortgages.”
Wade voices, irritantly. “I’m in only, I mean only if….”
“Hold your spit, Wade.” Holt reprimands, viciously.
“That’s should be: hold your shit, Wade. Remember, he’s renamed ‘wad of shit’.” Dalton corrects, playfully & smiles, widely. Wade stands, slowly as chair bounces, backwardly.
Rich barks, authoritatively. “Sit Wade! Down Dalton, before I whip your ass with my belt.”
“You. Can. Try.” Dalton grins, fully & waves, upwardly gun in air.
Rich motions, horizontally hand at him. “Albert, this is your circus.”
Albert rumbles throat, nosily. “We will not collect federal, state, city, county, property or personal taxes against any…”
“Revenue is needed to support an economy.” Wade injects, boldly.
“I’m getting to that financial explanation if you’ll hold your spit, Wade.” Albert tosses, irritantly. “Required revenue will be collected…”
“What kind of revenue? You mean…money. My money?” He pauses, dramatically & frowns, ugly. “We’re back to holding billionaires hostage for riches” Wade fumes, nervously.
“Hush, Wade.” Rich orders, kingly.
Albert explains, theorically. “Revenue will feed the unemployed people…”
“…like the IRS folks…” Shelly adds, wisely.
“…and all other homeless and un-employed peoples.” Ann includes, wisely.
“We are going to steal the money.” Rich says, swiftly.
“Steal, from whom, Rich?” Cole asks, curiously.
“The Saudias, right? By military force, right? Can I have a gun like Dalton’s but bigger?” Shelly suggests, excitedly. Dalton & Holt laugh, hardy.
“Stand down, cowboy!” Rich orders, commandingly.
Shelly tosses, quickly. “Hey, I’m the redneck, here. Trent’s the cowboy from Texas.”
“What are you, princess?” Holt neck spins to Ann sitting on left & inquires, passionately.
“Your Highness, peasant.” Ann equips, playfully & smiles, fully.
“The Japs?” Cole offers, curtly.
“No.” Rich answers, softly.
“Who, then? Who do we steal from?” Shelly asks, curly.
“Break into Fort Knox?” Cole thinks, boldly.
“No need, we will owe it, when we’re rulers….” Dalton starts, slowly.
“…of justice and right.” Holt finishes, swiftly. Dalton fist bumps Holt. They chuckle, loudly.
“Rulers, like leaders? Like gods? Like dictators?” Wade assumes, honestly.
“Dick likes taters. Tater tots.” Dalton rambles, silly & laughs, hardy. Dalton fist bumps Holt, again.
Shelly orders, kingly. “Shut it, Dalton!”
Cole guesses, wrongly. “Break into the treasury department and steal all the new bills and coinage.”
“Not right, guess, again?” Dalton answers, swiftly & claps, childishly hands.
“I’m tired of guessing, Dalton.” Cole fumes, angrily. He eye burns Wade. Both men possess same thoughts, mentally.
“Rob banks.” Rich announces, boldly.
“Robbing…US…banks?” Cole stutters, shockingly.
“Naw, foreign banks.” Dalton clarifies, sweetly.
“O! I like…keep talking, sweetie.” Beatrice coos, softly.
“Our new army…” Rich explains, incompletely.
“No army, too military, rigid…” Trent waves, horizontally hand at new concept.
“Ole American.” Holt injects, purposefully.
“New task force.” Dalton talks, swiftly.
“Do not…start that shit, again.” Wade warns, non-threateningly & points, rudely.
“Okay, Wade. I mean ‘wad of shit’, ‘wad of panties’…‘waddled diapers dripping baby shit’.” Dalton insults, openingly.
“Is your nickname wad or Wade?” Beatrice inquires, playfully & smiles, fully.
“No.” Wade states, simply.
“No, which is it not, wad or Wade?” Ann equips, silly & smiles, fully.
“Back to business.” Rich orders, commandingly.
“Berrington.” Dalton cries, loudly.
“Naw. Mangrove calls it this round.” Holt corrects, properly.
“Who’s Berrington, Mangrove? Dalton keeps mentioning those names.” Cole inquires, curiously.
Dalton dumps, seriously. “Bad ass characters from an awesome novel called ‘The Quartet’. Berrington’s boss man and hollers at his billionaire bros when they create silly chaos during a meeting.”
“Like now…” Wade injects, smoothly & chuckles, lightly. He doesn’t recognize title of novel but he might pick up a copy for reading material after leaving this ridicule hillbilly meeting for the relaxing jet ride back to civilized Boston.
Holt translates, quickly. “Mangrove is CFO, second commander and does the same thing.”
Dalton debates, swiftly. “Not right, Holt. Gage is COO. He’s second in command of the Quartet.”
Holt shakes, sideways blonde skull & argues, eloquently. “Naw, Dalton. CFO is smarter and controls the money bags. He’s second. Sawyer’s third as the smartass lawyer.”
Dalton explains, clearly. “The properly business ranking for the Quartet is Berrington, CEO; Gage, COO; Mangrove, CFO and Sawyer, lawyer is last.”
“I completely disagree with ya, Dalton ‘cause…” Holt starts, slowly.
Rich hollers, really loudly. “We march into the foreign bank...” Dalton and Holt stop, suddenly. They eye burn Rich, together & then, snigger, lightly.
“Using the front door or back?” Cole asks, curiously.
“We march into the bank using the front door wearing masks.” Rich visualizes, formally.
Wade shakes, sideways brown skull & voices, loudly. “I’m not doing this.”
Dalton reacts, surly. “Ya chicken shit, Wade! Told ya, his true name and purpose ‘wad of shit’.”
“Not you, personally, asswipe, our new army will be robbing the banks.” Holt explains, thoroughly.
“O!” Wade mouths, silently & eye burns the table.
Trent orders, commandingly. “Please continue, Rich! And Wade, kindly shut the fuck up with your opinions until we all understand the fully loaded action plan.”
“March in, wearing masks with fake guns…” Rich continues, incompletely.
“Water guns are best suited, no killings…” Cole details, purposefully.
“No blood.” Ann calls, loudly.
“Only fainting, or crying.” Beatrice offers, smoothly.
“…and a couple of tasers.” Cole proposes, simply.
Dalton talks, swiftly. “I’ll use a taser. No one gets hurt.”
“Shut it, Dalton!” Cole orders, commandingly.
“…then we request, kindly all the money.” Rich concludes, softly.
“Alarms, police, real guns?” Trent lists, worriedly.
“Hell, the real bullets firing from the real guns that hurt and kill ya.” Cole details, vividly.
“Our, well-paid and personal contacts inside the bank will ensure no real bullets, no real deaths.” Rich advises, seriously.
“Not simple...to me.” Wade whispers, bravely.
“Too simple. Too easy! Too brilliant, buddy. Rich is the man.” Dalton congratulates, supremely.
“We rob banks using inside employees and grab all the money.” Trent repeats, clearly for processing his thoughts, mentally than anyone’s comment.
Cole waves, upwardly open palms & talks, directly. “O.K. O.K. We succeed. We get the monies, then what?”
“We’re trillionaires.” Dalton teases, silly.
“Shut it, Dalton!” Shelly orders, commandingly.
“We blew the banks.” Dalton injects, incompletely.
“Hold up! I do not like that idea.” Trent raises, upwardly hands in air & shouts, loudly.
Cole analyzes, purely. “Whoa, backup? Your plan just got people...Americans killed for monies that we don’t need. Secondly, people un-employed that already have jobs. Thirdly, people hurt and fired for no good reason.”
“Albert has the good reason.” Rich motions, horizontally hand to him.
“We hoard the monies, then pay people for new jobs.” Albert talks, plainly.
“What kind of new jobs, Rich? That’s America’s problem, no jobs, no money and no houses.” Shelly details, accurately.
Beatrice voices alto clarinet & shakes, sideways blonde skull. “For jobs? Ya mean death jobs like killing the bank managers of foreign banks. That’s wrong, Rich.”
Rich explains, briefly. “Jobs for new employees who work for us…billionaires…building houses, construction…at first.”
Cole summarizes, logically. “At first, I take it that there are more steps to get the new and improved America up and running full time, Rich.”
Rich concurs, secondly. “This is a short term project, most definitely. About what time frame do you guess, Albert?”
He scratches shaven face with manicured finger nails & frowns, ugly then talks, softly. “I’m estimating, roughly three months.”
Wade wiggles, upwardly hands & announces, sternly. “I’m getting very confused with all the steps and robbing the banks for money.”
“ ‘Cause you’re an asshole, Wade.” Dalton insults, quickly.
“What is the primary goal, here…Rich?” Cole asks, bluntly.
“Our…goal is to bankrupt the Federal Government.” Rich proclaims, proudly.
Silent, immediately.
“Bankrupt us. Americans?” Wade stutters, shockingly.
Dalton reacts, viciously. “No, wad o’ shit. We bankrupt the government of the USA holding the Americans hostage for…food, houses, jobs, clothing, gas and other precious items for living a normal life in good ole US of A.”
Cole talks, softly. “I can’t image what’da happen when we bankrupt the Federal government, Rich?”
“Albert, can you answer the man’s inquiry?” Rich eye burns Cole & directs, appropriately.
Albert inhales, then exhales, nosily & addresses, cautiously. “We don’t exactly know for certain but we can make some educated hypnotisms.”
Wade debates, purposefully. “You’re going to take a wild ass guess about the impact of bankruptcy on an individual American’s life and his family?”
“Actually, why didn’t you take a stab at it, Wade?” Rich offers, peacefully.
Wade blurts, rapidly & points, rudely counting on finger pads. “Checking and saving accounts gone. Nada. Zippo. Zero. Inflation hits. Bang! Boom! Zap!”
“I like his special effects.” Holt voices bass drum, stupidly.
“The $1.00 is worth 15 cents...” Trent adds, sharply.
“Or…less.” Cole calculates, mathematically.
“The Federal government…” Penny starts, slowly.
“Our Federal government…” Ann corrects, bravely.
Beatrice sums, correctly. “Our Federal Government will print more money when they can’t pay their bills to our creditors, the numerous foreign bankers in foreign countries.”
“And…the problem there is. Print more money, the money decreases the value from $1.00 to 5 cents.” Shelly talks, plainly.
Dalton nods, once. “Right, man.”
“Your bank account is wiped, cleanly when you spend all your money buying one loaf of bread for $200.00 based on 5 cents for every dollar.” Trent lectures, truthfully.
Rich nods, once & calls, continuously. “Very good. What else?”
Cole guesses, academically. “Well, if bread costs $200 and I need to feed my family, I will sell every diamond ring, gold watch, antique chair, soap flake and hairpin my wife owns.”
Shelly adds, theorically. “Copper is already popular cash cow. Hell, gas will be $200 dollars a gallon…”
Holt adjusts, correctly. “Or…more.”
Dalton talks, subjectively. “Shit, folks’ll suck it straight out of the tanks.”
Wade injects, stupidly. “For drugs?”
Holt explains, completely. “People will siphone gasoline from cars to drive automobiles, Wade. I thought you attended Harvard.”
“Last chair.” Dalton insults at Wade, laughable.
Albert comments, humorously. “I’m first chair, buddy and it only applies to lawyers and musicians.”
“Folks’ll be bantering for food, services, and medicines…pair of shoes for coat. Glassware for coffee.” Cole lists, descriptively.
Ann explains, un-pleasantly. “People will get depressed and sad, drinking alcohol, consumption of drugs.”
“Or beating their poor wives, children…pets.” Beatrice offers, vividly.
“If our government goes bankrupt, Americans will not be happy campers. Rioting, looting, violence, and killings for items to trade for food.” Shelly talks, accurately.
Holt adds, truthfully. “Because local police is paid by local government money from local taxpayers and didn’t work for free.”
Wade visualizes, completely. “Dangerous lifestyle.”
Dalton talks, truly & holds gun in air. “More like deadly lifestyle, the new American way. Glad I own a gun.”
Penny includes, correctly. “Federal Government will increase Federal taxes, immediately. Government needs to pay president, congressmen, senators, military, 2 million employed Federal employees…”
Molly talks, additionally. “Not including government employees at state and local levels, either.”
Trent sums, perfectly. “The elderly and poor people will receive no more Medicare, Social Security, welfare, food stamps and other similar government assistance checks.”
“The Federal government doesn’t have money so the Federal programs cease, halt, stop…forever.” Shelly concludes, honestly.
Cole predicts, plainly. “As taxes and inflation escalate, the US economy will crawl into a hole…”
Holt adds, dramatically. “And die.”
Wade explains, clearly. “US will dive into a mega depression with businesses closing, stock markets tanked, unemployment everywhere throughout the country.”
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(Pages 1-50 show above.)