Carpetbagger

(And now for a preview from my upcoming book "Carpetbagger")

CHAPTER 1: F.Y.P.M

It was a frenzied crowd, the congregation of dazed onlookers and city emergency personnel packed the streets. Rubberneckers one and all, but who am I to criticize? I'm a journalist, that's who. Jeremiah Price, to be exact, and without my camera crew, about to make a written report. A written report on a man who I later learned was the, until recently, personal assistant to Roy "Minister of Offense" Boyington. I had every right to rubberneck, and every intention of getting a quote from Mr. Boyington himself. Boyington intrigued me; he was something out of an Ayn Rand novel, and something out of hell, which I know can be touted as being one and the same. Still, no one real estate or business giant could compare to Boyington, the Liberal "Donald Trump." Which of course if you did compare Boyington to Trump, he would have you killed, vice Trump merely swearing at you. In many ways, they were much alike. Both of which were born into a vast real estate fortune and were both business geniuses. However, Boyington was a supporter of civil rights, the Democratic Party and a widely outspoken "Cold-Blood Liberal." He'd shaken the hand of President Obama several times, and refused invitations to dinner events with President Bush several times more during his administration. As a man, you really couldn't tell Boyington anything without facts and information that supported your claim. He was not an "objectivist" but he looked at the world objectively and took every good idea into account. Boyington would seem like a rather likeable character, but he wasn't. As the crowd grew larger, someone noted that Boyington was also in the crowd with some of his aides, including Amy Park. Park was a shrew of a woman and a strong-willed over-achiever from a prominent Korean-American family that had no sense of humor when it came to making money. She was brushed aside when first looked upon as an assistant to Boyington. However, right about now, Park was glad she had been. Park stared up at Boyington's previous assistant, standing on a ledge about to take the proverbial "plunge." One couldn't help but wonder what drove him to the brink of such a horrifying act? I wondered this, elbowing my way through the throng of downtown Pittsburghers, several of whom called me a "jagoff" but I brushed it aside. I was willing to get trampled to get the oratory gold that was veined in the mouth of Boyington. Never had anyone ever encountered such an outspoken businessman and anything he said was news-worthy; if not to inform than to entertain. Squeezing through my last group of suicide spectacle revelers, I made it to Boyington around the same time a plain-clothed police officer approached him. I remained silent as the police officer, a short and slim man years past retirement in a cheap gray suit, asked "Mr. Boyington, I know you know this man. We called you down here in the hopes that you could possibly talk some sense into the boy." Boyington, taking a swig of his iced tea after a mouthful of popcorn, replied. "No thanks, let him jump."
"Can I quote you on that?" I shouted to Boyington. He nodded, saying "sure," with a disinterested shrug as if I'd asked him if he wanted french fries with his burger. The old police officer stood in dismay, still trying to hand the megaphone to Boyington. Boyington looked at him with a paternal gaze of disapproval, somewhere between pity and being sick of him. "Well I can't make you do this, sir. Just thought you had some more respect for human life." Boyington, growing slightly annoyed, said "I respect human life. That man, on the other hand, is a grabasstic piece of human wreckage who almost cost me a fortune. He was problematic, and he couldn't make coffee to save his fucking life. I mean, who does that? Who in fuck's name can't make a decent goddamn cup of coffee in addition to his other mistakes? So yeah, I respect life and trees and shit, but not him." Turning to me, he said, "Off the record, but that kid can eat dicks in Hell for all I care!" Behind me, amidst the chaos, I heard a small female voice screaming "Do it, faggot!" I whipped round to see a small blonde who introduced herself as Christine Wagner after I asked about her seemingly "personal" acquaintance with Garrison. As it turned out, Wagner was an intern who was consistently hounded and bullied by Garrison for everything from her work ethic, to her tacky shoes. "Fucker even said he wouldn't date me even if he was straight; the bastard." Giving credit where it was due, I did note to myself that her shoes were indeed tacky. "Were you trying to pursue something with him?" I asked as innocently as one could ask such a question. Wagner scowled at me, saying "No, why would I? With that big ass Jew-beak he calls a nose?" I frowned at the sexist and racist intern before asking "So, may I quote you on any of this?" Wagner shook her head, apparently a closeted racist/homophobe, and replied "Well, there is one thing that I'd like people to know about him, that Garrison was always afraid of someone stepping on his toes. He got jealous real easy. Nobody liked him anyway, he was a douche bag and he always got in my ass about 'taking too much initiative'." Wagner took a brief moment to screech "Jump" at the top of her lungs. She then turned to me, saying "The way I see it, don't get butthurt at me for having the testicular fortitude to take the initiative you apparently could not; you know what I'm saying?" I nodded, taking note of her massive metaphoric "balls." I noticed that after Wagner, everyone began to chant "jump-jump-jump." It was a group dynamic effect, whipped into a fever pitch. I can almost swear I saw a firefighter mouthing the words "jump" and as I turned my gaze upward to see the silhouette of Garrison against the overcast sky, he dove. Screams, cheers, jeers and noise erupted from the crowd as they watched Garrison. As if he had a second thought, Garrison's arms and legs flailed wildly before coming to terminus on the pavement below. Boyington raised his arms in triumph. Turning to me, he asked "Do you think he heard the 'thud' he made before he died? Because you know he's dead!" Boyington laughed boisterously; Park chimed in. "It was more of a pop if you ask me, I can't tell but I think his skull probably got busted open!"
"I swear to fuck that kid bounced; that was awesome." I couldn't help but stare at Boyington, rejoicing in a private victory or so it seemed. I couldn't help but wonder if a little part of me had just died inside. I pondered this, while simultaneously hustling over to get a quote from him as the rest of the media closed in on him. But Boyington pointed to me as the rest of the media gathered round him. He said "You, the short fella, you get to ask me the first question; I like your style." I smiled in acknowledgment. Hurriedly, I asked Boyington "How do you feel about the outcome of this?" Boyington shrugged happily. "Everything went better than expected." Another journalist, a redhead in a crummy red blazer raised a hand. Boyington pointed to her, asking "Yes, Red?" The redhead cleared her throat, obviously perturbed by his remark, then asked. "What makes this a victory? If it is indeed a 'victory'?" Boyington shook his head bitterly. "Garrison was a stoolie and selling our organization's secrets to the highest bidder; bidders who would like nothing more than to see me go under."
"What kinds of secrets?" One young journalist asked. "Well if I told you then it wouldn't be a secret, Einstein." The young journalist clammed up, his eyes downcast in a sort of "no, duh" shame that only a rookie can feel. "Will there be a memorial service, and who will be holding the service?" yet another reporter shouted. Boyington shrugged and replied "I dunno, his family I guess" with earnest apathy.
After fielding a few more questions, Boyington unceremoniously left for his car, escorted by his security. In the hustle, I managed to get the attention of Park, who looked me up and down bitterly. I smiled, making a vain attempt to put on the charm and asked "Will Mr. Boyington be attending the memorial?" Park shook her head and replied "According to executive scheduling, we are always having better shit to do anyway." With that, she brusquely turned and followed Boyington into his car.

(Coming Soon, tell your chums)

So You're Stuck in A Disaster Area?

With Hurricane Season around the corner, flash floods in the Southeastern U.S. and the Japan Megaquake, it's clear that we all have to prepare and stay prepared for a disaster. Water, food, a change of clothes and a change of underwear when aftershocks strike are only some of the things you'll need in the event of an emergency.

Unfortunately for most of us, especially our readers from the U.S., complacency is rather commonplace and foresight to some is "fo' suckas." But rejoice, you slacking-assed slobs, Rey has the key to your salvation! Here are five protips for staying alive, the Fawkes way.

1. ARM YOURSELF!

You've just left the shelter of wherever it is you cowered like a girl while everything you loved was swept away by the fury of an uncaring Mother Nature; congratulations! You're one of the few either too unmotivated (or cash strapped) to evacuate and your very survival is an affront to natural selection; you da' man! Unfortunately, looking out over the dilapidated horizon, a shadow of its former glory, what should you happen to find but minorities! Or worse, WASP's with a sense of self-entitlement and your ass is starting to look like opportunity!

One must remember that in the event of an emergency, your fellow man will revert to his base instincts and attempt to dominate you, sometimes sexually, in order to maintain his status quo and quality of life, however fragmented it is. To survive in this wasteland until the authorities show up, you'll have to key into your instincts as well. That means being well armed. Because the only way man managed to surmount the odds and control his environment was through brute strength, cunning and violence.

Some with you will advise you to help those in need, those distressed, hurt or hungry. Do NOT listen to them, for they are testing your resolve. If you help someone, your survival party's members will take your kindness for weakness and elect a new leader. Then, you will find yourself deposed by blunt-force proxy to the skull. Still, you must ensure that you are well-armed and ready to do battle with any survivors who wish to take what few stores you have until FEMA shows up.

...whenever that is...

Ensure you have a main weapon in the form of a hunting rifle, assault rifle or for those of you in an urban area, a shotgun in addition an accurate sidearm. The Beretta M9, is a heavy piece of shit, but it gets the job done and can be held by any idiot with opposeable thumbs (special care must be given to keep this out of the hands of chimpanzees as they are particularly trigger-happy.) If you should happen upon others with superior weaponry, avoid them or steal their weaponry; which leads us to the second part.

2. START LOOTING!

Your food stores won't last forever, and sooner or later your comrades will start to look like lunch (especially the fat one.) DO NOT EAT PEOPLE! Eating people will make you worse for wear and destroy your nervous system. You're not quite ready for hunting either, and you're going to suck at catching food. But even though it is only a shallow husk, it's still (mostly) civilization. Scavenging will become as American as apple pie and a favored pastime when disaster rears its ugly, gnarled head.

...as if it weren't American enough as it is...

Empty houses and old abandoned supermarkets will be the first choice for you and your fellow leaders. If you can find one, garrison that bitch up before anyone else gets to it. The first few days of finding and dominating supermarkets and food stores will be like playing capture the flag in hell and tantamount to guerrilla warfare. Do not hesitate to cap some fools in order to maintain your survival. Your reward: sweet sustenance and the hard-earned right to see another day. Small unit tactics will be key in this dark period in your hitherto insignificant life.

Speaking of insignificance...

3. PREY UPON THE WEAK!

Human evolution has been hindered by the fact that no matter how stupid, ugly, fat, out-of-shape and generally weak you are, some tool bag will stroll in and save you from your pathetic self. You will live again to tell the tale and your voice will rise in joy, a voice that so offends the ears of Darwin. Unfortunately, if yohttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifu can be lumped into the above category, you may as well stop reading and await the arrival of violent death from a stronger and therefore, better, force. But if you've got the killer instinct and the will to survive there may yet be hope.

In any ecosystem, the strong prey upon the weak. Even in our civilized society, there is always one more powerful who will consume the lesser beings without an afterthought. You may not be the biggest or most powerful, but as long as you avoid the stronger, you can prey upon the weak too! The best time to do this is at night, or in areas that don't provide a lot of cover, especially when its you and your survivor party against one or two. Stealing from the strong also helps if you're the weakest in your neighborhood. In which case, once again, it is best to operate at night. But if you're smart, you'll have some place to store your loot, so make sure you...

4. FIND SHELTER!

The elements are harsh and cruel. You witnessed their cruelty after (insert disaster here) wrecked your super-sweet, double-wide trailer. However, given this fact there's always the local Red Cross Shelter, right?

WRONG! You are so wrong! I want you to take a moment to slap yourself for entertaining such a foolish thought; I'll wait for you...

Now then, those shelters are merely watering holes for the antelope of society, waiting to be run down and savagely mauled by the urban lions that await nearby. When the feces hits the A/C, you'll wish you listened. The best shelters are abandoned homes. Homes that were abandoned in the suburbs typically, as they are large and easy to remain concealed within.

Another option is farm houses, but again no, because haven't you ever seen Deliverance? Your best bet is to take a cue from my favorite children's novel "The Girl Who Owned A City" and convert your old high school into a super-fortress, where you will rule! No more getting towel whipped in gym class for you; you're the Prom King now, dawg!

SUMMARY:

Congratulations! If you've followed this guide to the letter, you're now the most powerful person in your bombed out and depleted husk of a town. When emergency services finally arrive, they will bow to your might and resourcefulness. Do not be surprised if they beg you to return to civilization to share your wisdom and noble savage leadership; most likely at a new-age fitness center.


-FAWKES OUT-

Intern With Boyington United

By Anthony Boyington:

HEY! Need to make the connections that will bring you into the corporate world with not a bang, but a spectacular explosion? Are you a high-speed and motivated college student with an unstoppable desire to succeed that borders on obsessive? Then why haven't you looked into an internship with Boyington United?

I'll tell you why: You're afraid. Afraid that you're not worthy or unable to handle the challenge of operating under some of the greatest real-estate and business professionals in the United States. Why are you afraid? Because you don't know. But as the old after-school specials tell us, "It's Easy When You Know How." But how will you know if you don't try? You WON'T know, and you'll spend years wondering what could have been. Then, you'll have a tragedy on your hands and you DON'T WANT THAT!

Some of the values you'll learn are:

-PRIDE

-PROFESSIONALISM

-INTEGRITY

-AGGRESSION

-DEDICATION

-LOYALTY

-COFFEE-MAKING

...and so much more. Not only that, it's accredited, so no amount of the vital, economy stimulating work you do will be in vain!

You want to know about job placement? JOB PLACEMENT? Get serious! After completion of your degree you'll be able to snap up any entry-level business position IN THE KNOWN GALAXY. We're talking extra-terrestrial job experience, kids! But the Internship of all Internships is not for the faint of heart, before or after a semester with us! It takes tremendous fortitude to serve, even at a minor level, with us. Your resume or application at any job will become catnip for managers. Start with us and you'll be issued a baseball bat!

That's right, a BASEBALL BAT to keep away the droves of companies trying to employ you! I wish I were kidding...

So don't wander the campus of YOUR COLLEGE wondering what you're going to do with your life, mired in a existential crisis due to your fear and lack of ambition! Give us a call at (412)555-1325, and get your credits TODAY!

Boyington: "Everything Went Better Than Expected" In Lieu of Employee's Suicide

(From the Fawkes News news desk, Story by Jeremiah Price)

PITTSBURGH, PA: Hundreds gathered outside a local office building in downtown Pittsburgh today as Jason Garrison, personal assistant to Pennsylvania real estate heir Roy Boyington, plunged the ten stories to his death in a gruesome suicide.

"Everything went better than expected." said Boyington following the death of Garrison. "Garrison was a stoolie and selling our organization's secrets to the highest bidder; bidders who would like nothing more than to see me go under."

The incident, about five blocks from the U.S. Steel building, attracted revelers from blocks around. Shortly thereafter, authorities gathered round to convince Garrison not to jump, even going to the length of asking Boyington to say something to him. Boyington, eating popcorn and drinking a carton of iced tea, replied. "No thanks, let him jump!" This proclamation led the bloodthirsty crowd to a crescendo, chanting "Jump" almost ritualistically. Christine Wagner, an intern within Boyington's organization, said "Nobody liked him anyway, he was a douchebag and he always got in my ass about 'taking too much initiatve'." Wagner also added, "The way I see it, don't get butthurt at me for having the testicular fortitude to take the initiative you apparently could not; you know what I'm saying?"

Five mintues into the chanting, Garrison relented and lept from the tenth floor. Revelers cheered as his body hit the ground with a sickening thud. Some however noted that it was more of a "popping" sound than anything else. When asked if Boyington truly had such feelings against Garrison, even in death, he replied "Garrison was a post-coitus anal discharge, the sort that can not be generated without outside application; I trust this does not bear illustration. He got what he deserved, fuck Garrison!"

A memorial service will be held next week for Garrison. Boyington's new assistant, Amy Park, said that neither he or anyone else would be attending in lieu of their organization "having better shit to do anyway."