[this is satire]
by Rocky the Diabolical Cat™
Our neighbor Lockjaw Jones was over again last night. After declining a ristretto made from Porto Rico’s Cafe Blend, he launched into one of his tales:
“So Ol’ Zass wuz walkin’ down the county road over by the house where he growed up. He saw his daddy’s ol’ Diamond Reo truck sittin’ in some tall grass, gittin’ rusty like everythin’ else in this here world, and he got sad, in the way a man gits sad when he thinks o’ poor ol’ Dale Earnhardt.”
Lockjaw’s jaw locked up, and there were a few moments of silence. Then he continued.
“The sweat was drippin’ down his forhaid like condensashun on a can a’ Mountain Dew. Up ’hind him drives some fellers in a new faincy car. They rolled along next to him, and one o’ them yelled, ‘Is you the one they call Ol’ Zass?’ ‘Yes I am,’ he sez. ‘Who you?’ One with a pointy haid said, ‘We cain’t tell you, cuz we is here on top secret guvermental bizness.’ Ol’ Zass was quiet as the night. And they kept on drivin’ right ’side him like a dog walks next to his master.”
Lockjaw’s jaw locked up, and there were a few moments of silence. Then he continued:
“Finally the one with the pointy haid sez, ‘Is you plannin’ to go to New York fer the ‘Publican Convenshun’? ‘No I ain’t,’ sez Ol’ Zass. ‘Is any of yer friends, or mebbe yer crazy cuzzin Saurau?’ ‘Nope,’ sez Ol’ Zass. ‘Is you plannin’ any acts o’ vilence?’ he sez. ‘No I ain’t,’ sez Ol’ Zass. ‘Is you a terrorist?’ he sez. ‘No I ain’t,’ sez Ol’ Zass. ‘We’s sorry, buddy, we’s jist out here lookin’ fer trubblemakers,’ the pointyhaid one sez. ‘If you’s lookin’ fer trubblemakers,’ sez Ol’ Zass, ‘mebbe you ought-a look over thar in Warshington Dee Cee and leave the rest o' us alone!'"