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Fauntleroy and Flossy – To the Victor
“Get him here, I want him to kiss my ring.” He hung up the phone. Fauntleroy had learned that one way to get people to do as you tell them is to hire them. It works at all levels. He would now get the man from Utah to shut up about him, just like he got Rafael from Texas to kneel and then make calls for his campaign.
Fauntleroy looked over his list. ‘Chaos for Transportation – how apropos,’ he thought and took another spoonful of Wheaties, The Breakfast of Champions. ‘Now, what else needs undoing?’
He sat there with a stack of three by five cards. He flipped through reading them, Social Security, Medicare, Secretary of Defense, in parentheses written Defiance, and Miss America. He tucked the last one in his lapel pocket with his gold phone. ‘When you are famous you can do that.’ He finished his breakfast. “OK, what do you have for me?” He called out.
His gold phone rang. He listened, ‘Daddy there is protesting outside the Puck Building. Can’t you put them in their place?’ It was a Model T. “Did you notice that there are fewer cabs? The cab drivers are afraid to be mistaken for Hispanics and don’t want to drive during the daytime.
His secretary stood waiting for the call to end. “Sir, you have a meeting on the Hill. P.R., insists on time with you today. He has reams of budget material he wants to share with you. Your car is waiting.”
“Get Model T and Mini T over there to the meeting, I’ll be bored to death, with someone as small as P.R. Find out who his handlers are, I want to know who I am actually talking to as well.”
“Yes, Sir.” She turned, and left the room talking on her cell with Model T.
Fauntleroy tweeted, “We’ve Only Just Begun” #TheRealFauntleroy
Connie, Fauntleroy’s blond, long legged advisor was standing there waiting when he left for the meeting. She trotted next to him, as he was walking fast. “Sir, I need a meeting before you see P.R.”
He glanced at her, wondering how she knew, as he only knew a minute ago.
“I’ll drive over with you, that will give us some time together.” She continued, “Please stop Tweeting about our disagreements. I groomed you the last weeks of your campaign. I told you what to say and how to say it, so that every time you spoke, you did not leave a bad taste in the rabble’s mouths. And it worked. Your numbers steadily improved as I went on TV and told people what you meant to say. I am sort of your unofficial translator. Now, this meeting with little P.R., just remember, he would not even speak your name throughout your victorious campaign. At first, don’t give him anything he asks. Let’s make sure it is good for your team before letting that tiny soldier march all over the place. My understanding is Model T and Mini T will attend, that’s good. And when we get in the car, please don’t grab me. It was shocking the first couple of times. Now, it is something else entirely. Do you grab the other Generals?”
His gold phone rang, “Morning Errdick. What’s on your mind?”
“I was thinking about stock in First Group who owns Greyhound. If my math is right, we are going to see 220,000 bus trips to Mexico in the first year and the stock price should do well. What do you think?”
“I’ll have Model T look at the numbers and if the two of you agree then pull the trigger. Just a small position, no more than 100,000 shares. You might look into Continental or Trailways, also.” As he hung up, the phone in his sock rang.
“Yes, Putt-Baby, how are you, comrade…” he stopped. “Putt-Baby…” He listened.
“No Rommel, I don’t want another Rommel.” The phone went dead.
“Make it hard for the man from Utah to reach me for a while.”
The car pulled up to the side entrance where they were to meet.
Fauntleroy exited the vehicle. Connie pulled out her phone and tapped into Tweeter. ‘Send Rommel back to the wilderness.’ #BadAssBlond And then, “No raw deal, Rommel, back to the sawmill.” #BadAssBlond ‘I’m made for this job,’ a smile broke her face.
At the Towers Model T and Errdick sat at a table, with a calculator. After punching in numbers, Model T said, “We may do better buying up abandoned businesses and vacated houses. Remember the money that was made buying confiscating Japanese property in California.”
Errdick sighed, "you are probably right."
Model T stopped, “Call Ruliana, and tell him to bring us a pizza.”
This is a fictionalization of a dramatization. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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Crash results may vary.
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If the feeling persists, consult your psychoactive artificial cannabinoid families of products: including but not limited to, Black Kush, Blaze, Bliss, Canja and Doob. This is not a recommendation of any product fictitious or real. Consult your local legal dealer for details.
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