Dear Dirty America

DDA

If You Aren’t Rich, and Women Don’t Like You, It’s Your Fault!

November 24
02:02 2011
ADAM MICHAEL LUEBKE, NATL Correspondent, Los Angeles”It’s Thanksgiving and no girls like me because I have to wear this goddamned costume every day. It’s the only job I can get,” the tall man said. His great bulbous rabbit head was uncomfortably tucked beneath his right arm. His bright yellow trousers were fastened around his chest, at nipple-level, and he wore a tiny pink top, which was tucked into the yellow trousers.

See Fat Family Says It Will Be Hard to Eat Even More During Thanksgiving

The rabbit was on its ten minute break, and during those ten minutes, it turned into a very desperate, sad man who hadn’t been laid in years because he couldn’t find a job, and now that he did, he made only eight dollars an hour and looked like a moron for that many hours a day.

I don’t get girls either, I told him, but I know a Libra who thinks I’m swell, so I’m blessed. But I don’t know what you’re going to do. If I dressed like a giant rabbit in a pastel-colored suit, my Libra would probably be disinterested.

“Fuck, I’ll probably kill myself,” he said, putting the rabbit head onto his own.

I jumped backward. I hadn’t seen him in full costume yet. I had run into him on my way to my friendly neighborhood dollar store in Koreatown. I hadn’t been there for months, so when I came around the corner and saw a strange character out of some poor man’s version of Alice in Wonderland, I was startled. I first asked if he was security, but he said he wasn’t. The rabbit was there to attract new customers. The Koreans loved it.

Cars honked their horns when they drove by. I shrunk away as my new friend resumed doing his job. He waved his hands, jumped up and down, and tried to create a stir. Busy Western Ave was suddenly more dangerous because of this pink and yellow eyesore.

This shouldn’t be the only job available, I shouted at him. There should be more jobs for people, but the government can’t get itself together to even pass a jobs bill when there is a real unemployment rate of around sixteen to twenty percent.

The rabbit pumped its fists in the air and then motioned for people to come to the store.

Even the super committee can’t get its act together. They failed to come up with a deal, and they failed America so miserably they promised they would kill themselves. It makes sense, I said, when politicians can’t help their country, but only hurt their fellow Americans, they should kill themselves. That’s the honorable thing to do.

I’m in debt $300,000 because a major bank sued me after I wrote a very successful article saying they were treating every American to a free massage. But don’t worry about me. I won’t pay it. Washington is going to bail out its citizens real soon. It’s only fair. They gave trillions to the banks and multi-national corporations. We’re next, I said. The Fed’s going to print a few trillion for the tens of millions of hurting Americans. I slapped the garish bunny on the backside. Hang in there, the economy’s turning around!

The rabbit hopped three steps left, then he turned and hopped three steps right. Car horns honked. Somebody shouted an obscenity. They love you, I said. I clapped my hands. This is Herman Cain’s version of capitalism, I said. If you’re desperate enough, you’ll take a temporary gig that pays eight an hour and make yourself into an absolute fool. And then you’ll pay it all back in taxes because under his 9-9-9 plan, people like you lose their tax breaks.

No government assistance. Everybody works like a fool for Godfather’s Pizza, or any other big corporation, and grovels in the kitchen or stands on their feet all day hoping for a raise, hoping for a promotion, so they can stop making $15,000 a year, and start making $16,000.

If you aren’t rich, and if women don’t like you, it’s your fault! I said. Sixty million unemployed or underemployed Americans aren’t doing something right because not only are they not rich, they don’t have a job, and aren’t going to get one anytime soon.

The rabbit stopped hopping. It said something very nasty about Herman Cain. I motioned that it repeat what it said. A muffled voice from deep inside that layered fabric skull said, “I would pop Herman Cain in the mouth.”

You’ll get reamed in the ass for saying something like that, I said. He’s got security now. He’s called too many women “sugar tits” and now they’re coming back around again in full force. It’s hot in the kitchen, I said, and tensions escalate until there is a little sexual innuendo floating around from the boss to a few of his female workers. But those claims are baseless! I shouted at the rabbit, and so is Herman Cain’s 9-9-9 plan.

I left the rabbit. It wasn’t interested. It just wanted to hop around all day and get its paycheck at the end. You bastard, I yelled. Pay attention when I’m talking. I’m a very serious blogger! I have solutions as well as condemnations, even if Roseanne says I don’t.

I pulled down the rabbit’s yellow trousers to reveal a pair of skinny hairy white legs. The sight of a half rabbit, half man frightened me so much I ran down the sidewalk. Car horns were honking now, and people were laughing and shouting out their car windows. The half rabbit creature tried to chase me down the sidewalk, but the trousers interfered with its man-legs and tripped it up after only a few feet.

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