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Steve Likes to Curse
Writing, comics and random thoughts from really a rather vulgar man
The Fatcats Club: “Organized Outrage” 
Tuesday, June 16th, 2009 | 02:17 pm [fatcats club, fiction, humor, politics, writing]

The Fatcats Club:

“Organized Outrage”


They gathered a few minutes ago in their favorite spot, the place in New York they always go when they’re all in town. They got together to eat and to drink, of course, but also to celebrate, and to strategize. Most of them were there already — Sean Hannity, Mark Levin, Ann Coulter, Michael Reagan, Glenn Beck. A few still hadn’t shown up, but those who had were in a lovely mood, all beaming smiles and laughter.


“What’s keeping Rush?” Michael asked, turning around and eyeing the entrance.


“He’ll be along,” Sean said. “Where’s Liddy?”


“I couldn’t get a hold of him this morning,” Ann said. “I think he’s off on one of those stupid motorcycle rides he does.”


“Good god, does he still do those?” Glenn asked with rather more incredulity than the moment required. “What is he now, like a hundred and ten?”


“He’s up there, but he can still go with the best of them,” Ann said. “You’d be surprised. You think he must be out of gas at his age, but trust me . . .” An odd, sly sort of smile crossed her face. She remembered herself and glanced quickly around the table. “Nevermind.” She cleared her throat and took a long drink of wine.


“Anyway,” said Mark, placing his hand on his glass, “I don’t think we need to wait on Rush to get here in order to address the business at hand. So, with that in mind, here’s to victory!”


Mark and everyone else lifted their glasses. “To victory!” they all said, and drank deep.


“I knew Letterman would cave sooner or later, that spineless lib, that so-called ‘comedian,’” Sean said.


“Their side always does,” Michael said. “They have no principles, unlike my father, President Ronald Reagan.”


“If he had any principles he wouldn’t have told such a hideously offensive joke to begin with,” Ann said. “Imagine, making fun of someone’s child like that! I mean, shouldn’t some things just be off-limits?”


“I wonder how these so-called ‘comedians’ would feel if someone made fun of them. Or their children,” Sean said.


“Yeah,” said Glenn, “I wonder what Letterman would do if I just walked up to him and nailed him with some cutting witty remark about his kid! Like, ‘Hey, Letterman! You had your son out of wedlock!’”


They all laughed.


“‘Oh and, ah, by the way, Mr. Letterman, that is one poorly tailored suit you’re wearing!’” said Mark, drawing a fresh round of yucks for himself.


“‘Yeah, Mr. Letterman,’” Glenn said, “‘where’d you get it — Nordstrom?!


Oh, how they all laughed.


Sean unfurled his napkin to dab up the wine that had shot from his nose after that last zinger from Glenn. “You’re the funniest guy on the planet, you know that? I mean, seriously, you are as funny if not funnier than Mark Lowry. No — no — Jeff Allen.”


“Wow!” said Glenn.


“You make Richard Pryor look like Richard Lewis, my friend,” Mark said.


“I don’t know who those people are, but it sounds like a compliment!” Glenn said.


“You’re the conservative Dane Cook,” Ann said.


Glenn smiled and shrugged and held up his hands. “I guess that’s why I’m the hottest success story in the news-talk format!”


They nearly died from laughter at that one.


A hulking figure in a dark hat and overcoat pulled out the chair between Michael and Glenn and sat down. He pulled off the hat and shrugged the coat onto the back of his chair, revealing himself to be Rush Limbaugh. “Hello everyone. I apologize for my fashionable lateness,” he said, smoothing back his hair. “I didn’t miss the appetizer, did I?”


“No,” Sean said, “we told the waiter to w—”


“To wait on you!” Glenn ejaculated, laughing giddily for a few seconds afterwards.


“Good,” said Rush when everyone else’s laughter had abated. “I didn’t miss it, then.”


“We were just discussing the great victory won by our movement last night,” Mark said. “I bet all the rest of those so-called late night ‘comedians’ will think twice before they mess with Sarah Palin again.”


“They’ll be sure to leave Sarah alone once they know that if they make anymore rude, mean jokes about her, we’ll all rise up like those people in Tehran!” Michael said. “Right, buddy?” he said, squeezing Rush’s shoulder.


Rush shrugged him off. “Yes, well the people of Tehran have one advantage that we conservatives do not,” Rush said.


“What’s that?” Sean asked.


“They have Hillary Clinton on their side.”


“Yeah,” said Glenn, “I’m sure they all appreciated hearing her read her statement of support in that nails-on-a-blackboard voice of hers. ‘Let the will of the Iranian people be heard! . . . Oh, and take out the garbage!’”


“Just think, that dying-owl screech was the last sound poor Vince Foster ever heard,” Ann said. “Besides the gun-shot, I mean.”


“No wonder Chelsea hasn’t gotten married yet,” Sean said.


“Yeah,” Mark said with a wink, “no wonder.” He elbowed Sean, who slapped him away.


“Get outta here!”


The waiter finally appeared. “I’m guessing you’ll all want some more wine, but now that Mr. Limbaugh has arrived, can I interest you in any appetizers?”


“None for me,” said Sean.


“None for me,” said Glenn.


“None for me, I’m fat enough already,” said Ann.


“I’ll take an order of crab fries, if you please,” Mark said.


“Give me a single order of the crab dip, please,” Rush said.


“Actually, just make that a large order of the crab dip,” Michael said. He scooted over a few inches and placed his hand on Rush’s arm. “We’ll share.”


The waiter scribbled on his pad and returned to the kitchen. Rush yanked his arm away from Michael. “You’re paying for that crab dip,” he said.


“Fine, fine.”


“I don’t feel right about us meeting here anymore, anyway,” Rush said, folding his arms in front of him on the table. “Not since I’ve subtracted myself from New York in protest of its draconian tax code.”


“Maybe we could start meeting somewhere else,” Sean said, “like Florida or Texas.”


“Or California,” Michael said. “Flying all the way over here every time we have lunch is killing me. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to afford it.”


Rush glanced at Michael from the corner of his eye. “Let’s keep it on the east coast,” he said.


“Say, Rush, have you lost weight?” Glenn asked.


“I have,” Rush said with a proud smile, smoothing his hands down the front of his shirt. “Four pounds since last Christmas.”


“Congratulations,” Sean said. “And you do it all without exercising?”


Completely,” Rush said. “I never exercise. I have a sprawling estate with acres and acres of oceanfront property, and I have never once taken a walk on the beach.”


“Good for you, my friend,” Mark said.


“Absolutely,” Michael said, eyeing Rush up and down. “You haven’t looked this good since my father, Ronald Reagan, was president.”


“Anyway,” Rush said, shifting in his chair to face the rest of the table. “My friends, we’ve won the first round against Letterman, but I say the time has now come to initiate round two. Sure, Letterman’s apologized for his joke. But why should we let it die there? Why should we rest before we manage to get Letterman drummed off the air completely?!”


“But what could we do?” Sean asked.


“Well, Sarah did say she wouldn’t want to trust her daughter in the same room as Letterman,” Ann said. “What if she was on to something?”


“You mean . . . frame Letterman for a child sex crime?” Glenn asked.


Sean shrugged. “It’s been done before. Look how the media framed the entire Catholic Church a few years back.”


“We could rally the troops just like we did over the joke,” Mark said. “Between the six of us, we’d have fifty million people all stirred up demanding Letterman’s head!”


“And that’s just the first step,” Rush said, smiling. “Once he’s off the air, we can push for a criminal prosecution.”


“Oh, that’s great!” said Glenn.


“If convicted on a charge like that, why, he might spend the rest of his life in prison,” Mark said.


“Yeah, and maybe we could rig some kind of katric ark to catch his soul and imprison him for eternity!” Glenn said.


“That’d show those other so-called ‘comedians,’ like Wanda Sykes and Stephen Colbert,” Sean said.


“And Jon Leibowitz!” said Mark.


The waiter arrived with the appetizers. Glenn stopped him before he left the table and pointed at Mark’s plate. “Excuse me, but why aren’t these called ‘crab fried’? I mean, ‘crab fries’ . . . isn’t that, like, present tense?!”


And how they laughed! Oh, how they all laughed.

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