Silly Social Scenes

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“Depends whose goose is getting gored.” The Editor

WNew & Improved Columnatorialist ASABI IN HIDING AFTER ROXBURY FIASCO – Local gadabout gadfly-general nuisance Walawahoohoo Wasabi is in hiding following an ill-advised foray into the Byzantine politics of Raspbury. After boasting that he was the person to do the talking in the back room, he blathered a Raspbury Candidate for Office into signing a contract for campaign services on the promise of ensuring the Candidate’s election. (Obviously the Candidate doesn’t read this fine journal, else he’d have been aware of Wasabi’s dismal track record. Only the fact that Wasabi attached himself, limpet-like, to Light Governator Skip Philpott saved him from being deported long ago as an Undesirable Consultant.)

Setting up a boiler-room operation in the basement of Chief Nylon’s Economy Diner, Wasabi used a crew of semi-illegal migrants to run a phone bank soliciting contributions from the aged, illiterate and unwashed. These tactics brought in more than $29 in receipts, which Wasabi invested in a Ponzi scheme run by trusteerial Maximus Glutinous. Ordinarily, such investors lose their shirts, but Wasabi, who is much smarter than Glutinous, hacked into the schemer’s computer and made off with $99,000 of the slime-master’s ill-gotten gains. These receipts increased the campaign fund to nearly $100 (the rest went into Wasabi’s Cayman Islands bank account). Most of the money went for commercials on Montreal TV stations and full-page ads in the New York Times. (The fact that nobody in Raspbury receives those stations and that no one in town reads the NYT was of no import to the wily counselor, who said he was grooming his hapless Candidate for The Big Time.)

When polls indicated that voters thought the candidate was either his own great-grandfather or his third cousin twice removed – or both – Wasabi sneaked into town in the dead of night and put up posters bearing the image of Pancho Villa with the slogan, “I yam who I yam.” This did the trick, and the next poll showed the Candidate rising from zero percent recognition to 100%, with a favorability rating in the high 90s. Alas, this was too little, too late (the story of Wasabi’s many campaigns, ranging from Donald Trump for president to the effort to make kale Vermont’s official vegetable [two campaigns not as unrelated as they seem, for both are inanimate objects]) and the election ended in a tie.

When a recount was held, Wasabi, whose name was mud in town, showed up at the High Clerk’s office to support his Candidate. Although disguised in a blonde wig, strapless evening gown, high heels and mink stole (relics of his days on the drag circuit), Wasabi neglected to shave his moustache, legs or chest (all of which went unremarked, as Raspbury women are famously hirsute). What did him in was his voice, which is two octaves higher than the average local female, leading the Lord High Constable to yank off the blonde wig and expose the imposture (Wasabi gave his name as Marilyn Monroe, which was believed). The Constable pulled out his handcuffs and snapped one onto Wasabi’s wrist, but the devious operative raced out of the Clerk’s office pursued by the Wild Man of Roxbury (the Constable being too debilitated for strenuous activity), waving a rusty hatchet and shouting imprecations.

Dashing into the Church of St. Harold Stassen (patron saint of hopeless candidates), Wasabi’s claim of sanctuary failed to impress the Wild Man. The jig would have been up right there had it not been for the timely arrival of the janitor, who sternly advised the Wild Man that rusty hatchets were not allowed in church, and that if he wished to flourish same inside, it would have to be shined up. The Wild Man grumbled, but went outdoors to do the shining, thus allowing Wasabi to dive through a window at the back and resume his sprint for safety.

Luckily, he was able to call We Can Help Personal & Professional Services, a wholly owned subsidiary of Chief Nylon’s Economy Diner. The Chief, who enjoyed seeing Wasabi in the soup, drove past the fleeing consultant, turned around, and drove ahead him, moving just fast enough to prevent Wasabi from opening the truck door. Finally, as the Wild Man made a grab at the mink stole, Bob the World’s Smartest Cat (who always rides shotgun with the Chief) leapt out of the truck and onto the Wild Man’s head, thereby bringing the pursuit to an end and allowing Wasabi to tumble into the bed of the truck (the cab is reserved for Bob and the Chief). There was considerable disagreement about the size of the fee, but in the end Wasabi coughed up all but a few of his twice-tainted dollars when faced with the prospect of being returned to Raspbury. For a small additional charge the Chief provided Wasabi with a hiding place and a change of clothes.

When advised by her spouse that he was in difficulty, the longsuffering Missus Wasabi declined to get involved, remarking that she was going to enjoy the peace and quiet.

2013-03-28 / News

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