Kiss My Country's Assets
by iPam

The initial chapter opens with the graphic murder of a brown-skinned man by two odious Alabama rednecks. This heinous act is quickly followed by a meeting of multiple degenerates. Some of them claim to be billionaires. They engage in a fusillade of tirades against the state of affairs in America. Decidedly right wing, their screeds attack government, taxes, welfare, entitlements, education, and more. They would owe their socioeconomic philosophy to Ayn Rand if any of them knew who she was. However, that possibility seems remote. The narration is written in a chaotic, semi-literate style seemingly to match the dialogue, which attempts to approximate unsophisticated Southern slang, realism that is heavily soaked in grammatical and punctuation errors. Eventually the murderers plan what appears to be a coup d’état, but based on what precedes it, we expect it to be unsuccessful or misguided at best. A wild, bloody ride appears to be ahead for the reader.


Chapter One

Eight a.m., Alabama forest on May third, “Shoot him between the fucking eyeballs, Cam,” the tall green eyed male ordered in baritone timber, standing next to the old limestone quarry pit.

Decades ago, the open-pit quarry had dumped massive rock chunks into numerous dump trucks, hauling the limestone to several different locations of rock crushing stations in central Alabama for the creation of concrete. The vanilla colored mixture was currently used in road bridges, private driveways, and traffic roadways throughout the great State of Alabama.

In the 1970s, a heavy violent thunderstorm rained down upon the tiny city of Moville for four days straight like a Bible event, flooding the limestone quarry forever. So the Moville City Council members voted to shut down the quarry site, preserving the land and creating a deep man-made pond for the wildlife wanderers. The man-made pond helped Mother Nature provide both food and water to the deer, coyotes and rabbits.

The final geographical landscape allowed the local teens to visit the water-filled quarry during the late evening hours, hanging out for body swimming, smoking illegal cigarettes, drinking illegal beer, and pretty much, goofing around a fresh water concrete pond nearby a forest full of green woodlands.

“O…okay,” Cam was a young man and aimed his hand gun at the dark skinned forehead.

The short brown eyed male sobbed with his tears from two red swollen eyelids, running snot from his broken nose bridge. His hands were tied behind his back spine, kneeling on the cool grassy ground. He looked up to see heaven, pissing a bright wet stain onto his faded and torn blue jeans.

Jared leaned down to the short male with a sour frown. “Hey, bubba. Listen to me?” He slapped the cheekbone of the male, leaving a red mark. The male grunted. Jared waved the American flag in the bruised face, saying with a stern face. “Ya can kiss this flag or kiss that gun? Decide now, asshole?”

The short brown eyed male drooled red blood between his busted lips, “Flag.”

Jared eased the flag to the male and jerked it away with a grin and a laugh. “Too late.”

Cam fired the single bullet at the kneeled male. “Fucking foreigner.” He raised a smoking gun from the perfect shot and mouth spat on the dead body.

The dead body rested sideways over the grass. His eyeballs stared up in heaven.

“Strip them naked, take their personal clothes, and personal gold and silver jewelry back to their families in Hometown. Tie these paper notes to them paper bags of jewelry,” the tall green-eyed male said, providing a wads of paper to Jared.

Jared accepted and read the paper note. “You. Are. Next.” He looked up with a puzzled brow to see Cam. “Hmm. Should it be in them there foreign words?”

Cam shook his skull, staring down at three dead bodies. “Naw. Them peoples will get the message, silently and softly.”

Jared was a young man and kicked the closest still body with his boot toe, shaking his baseball cap, “Ain’t carrying them boys naked in my clean truck bed. I just washed it this morning.”

A second tall male with blue eyes moved from the pickup truck and stopped, placing the last of six covered metal buckets on the ground dirt. He pointed to the first dead body. “Drag them bodies over yonder there deep into the land brush and strip them naked and cover with this stuff.” He tapped the bucket with a boot toe and a chuckle.

Cam flipped the lid out of one of the six buckets and leaned down, stupidly sniffing the whitish-pasty contents. “Shit. It smells like shit. What’s in here?”

“That one’s my mama’s bacon grease. Ya best be real careful when cursing at my mama, boy?” The tall green eyed male jabbed as finger down to the open bucket.

Cam closed his eyelids, bowing his skull. “Pardon me. I’s apologize to your mama.”

The second tall male with a pair of blue eyes pointed to the open bucket. “There be three pails of olive oil and three of bacon grease. Cover them bodies from their pretty cow licks to their shitty toenails. Got it, Cam?”

Cam nodded, staring at the first dead body. “Yes sir.”

Jared viewed the forest of trees. “Didn’t mean any disrespect here. But them boys might be found, pretty soon.”

The tall green eyed male said with a chuckle and a grin. “Coyotes, snakes, and maggots will pick that body clean five days tops, if’an the weather holds,” he looked up a scruffy blonde whiskered chin to the skyline, scanning with his emerald green eyeballs, seeing the baby blue sky and tons of white clouds.

The second tall male with a pair of blue eyes said in his bass timber with a chuckle and a smile. “Heard tell? There’s pack of vicious wild dogs, running and hunting for food around these parts.” He turned with a grin to see the woodlands.

“Dawgs’ll eat them dead bodies?” Jared pointed down to the dead body.

“Covered in my mama’s bacon grease, they will,” the second tall male with a pair of blue eyes laughed with his Bama buddies.

Nine a.m., Alabama retail store, “Where am I?” The obese man stood from the limousine, staring with a sour frown at the old gas station.

Three men moved from a parked limousine to a weather beaten side door of a dull concrete rectangular building.

The door opened.

They stomped inside one at a time to country music song that blasted from a set of nine different plasma television screens.

The screens were black colored without a picture.

An older man stood from his chair at the rounded table, extending a smile and a handshake. “Welcome, gentlemen. Please join us around the table. No need for intros. I believe we know persons or reputations.” Rich was sixty something years old.

Two of the guests stomped and sat at the table into a pair of empty chairs.

The obese man stood in the archway, scanning the interior room. “Why are we here? Is this a conference room here? It looks like a gas station from the outside sign and presentation to me. Am I in the correct meeting?” Wade was an American billionaire, who royally stood like a prince. He viewed the four dull beige walls, and the six tall pillars of stacked un-opened brown cardboard boxes of soft sipped and beer bottles. He turned and stared at nine active television monitors with no sound, a solo playing guitar in a leather chair, the ceiling, the tile floor, and finally the occupied metal chairs.

“Please sit down, Wade. All your questions will be answered shortly.” Rich motioned to an empty seat.

The door closed.

Wade moved and straddled in an uncomfortable position inside a hard non-padded metal chair. He was five feet and nine inches tall, weighing in at 304 pounds of soft muscles which was elegantly crammed inside a New York City tailor-made business suit. He had graciously accepted both a verbal invitation and a physical private jet ride, coming from the city of Boston and down to a rural country town of Moville, compliments of Rich. Rich had suggested a more leisure attire for the small town gathering in rural Alabama.

However Wade always dressed business-like for a business appointment.

This particular informal private single meeting consisted exclusively of billionaires, sitting in the rear end of a concrete rectangular room of some un-named American birthed Mom and Pop gas and food station off the highway. The primary purpose was fixing the pain-in-the-fucking-ass to many social, legal, and financial problems in America for the poor hard-working American people.

Wade looked over his collar bone to see the closed door, asking a touch of city slicker snobbiness. “Where are the beverage and food waitresses, waiters? I require coffee before an enclosure of the agenda minutes conducted at this early morning business meeting.” He turned with a sour frown to see the host of the event, Rich.

Holt stood at six feet, five inches in a mesomorph body type. His naturally wavy blonde hair bounced over his broad squared shoulders. He possessed a rectangle face with a square jaw. Emerald green eyes beamed on his perfect olive skin. He cleared his throat, pointing to the wall. “See that there north wall? There’s coffee, sugar, crème, and cheap-ass paper for recycling the cups under the earth dirt for ya’ll. This is a self service bar. That means we serve ourselves like my great great-grandpa did in the year of 1863 during the American Civil War between the States.”

Wade turned with a sour frown to see the wall and Rich.

Dalton was thirty something years old, standing at six feet and five inches tall with an athletic bronze toned body from his many outdoor activities. He possessed a head of black shoulder length hair plus a dark dusting of cat whiskers on a face and was not shaved purposefully. His baby blue eyes danced to Wade’s happy un-comfort. “Why did ya invite ‘Waddling’?” He sipped the soda. Dalton only liked soda and beer, not coffee or tea. He was here to personally kick with a right, maybe a left boot toe too into the asshole billionaires for supporting Rich’s grand idea, saving the USA.

Wade sneered to Dalton. “Who are you, sir? Why is he here at all? Why I am here? Is this the proper outlay for a business meeting?”

“Dalton.” He stood and extended a handshake to Wade. Wade grunted, ignoring the gentleman’s gesture. Dalton chuckled at Wade’s snobbiness.

“IT, as in information computer, and telecommunication, Dalton is the ‘IT prince’ with a capital P.” Holt pointed to Rich. “Rich is the IT king.”

Wade said with a sour tone. “I know this young man by visual sight and nasty reputation. I want to know. Why am I here, Rich?”

Holt pointed to each billionaire with a cute-ass nickname that was created by him and his Bama-buddy Dalton. He said with a nod and a smile. “Dalton is called the ‘IT prince’ for his billion-dollar envision of computers. Rich is ‘IT king.’ Miss Molly is ‘food princess.’” He turned and smiled to Molly.

Molly batted her eyelashes at Holt, friendly and flirty like an old southern belle. “Why thank you, Holt? That’s the kindest remark any male has complimented me, since 1983.” She was sixty something years old.

“You’re welcome, Miss Molly.” Holt pointed around the table. “Shelly is the ‘construction king’ and Miss Ann is the ‘retail queen.’ Trent is the ‘candy prince.’ Cole is the ‘real estate prince.’ Miss Beatrice is the ‘trucking princess.” And Miss Penny is the ‘shit princess.” He grinned, nicknaming his southern rebel friends and raised his palms with a laugh. “I sorry. Miss Penny is the ‘shit queen.”

Penny was forty something years old. “I am the ‘shit queen.’  I am for clarification the owner of numerous cleaning services. Yup. I clean up nasty smelly shit left by a pair of assholes like Holt and Dalton.” She turned and winked at Dalton.

Dalton raised his arms with a chuckle. “Yeehaw, ya’ll.”

Wade slammed both his palms on the wooden table. “I keep informed on an hourly basis of every single latest and greatest business event, occurring inside the US, sir. However, the current question why am I here.”

Dalton twisted an empty glass bottle between his fingers, saying with a sneer to Wade. “He’s an asshole, Rich. Told ya not to invite ‘Waddling.’”

Trent smiled. “Waddling, you’re the ‘Wall Street prince’ and now part of our new club formed right here in Bama.”

“My name is Wade…”

Dalton said with a sour tone. “First off, we ain’t using last names, ‘cause we don’t want any necessary attention. Okay? Second off, next meeting, ya dress in jeans and boots like Holt.” He pointed to the rattlesnake boots in pretty dark maroon hues on Holt. “Got that, Wade?”

Nods came from the other billionaires.

Rich sipped on the warm coffee, scanning each face around the wood. “In the US, there lives 1,243 billionaires which is an American increase of 9.1 percent from last year.”

“I passed my fourth grade math. Please get to the point. Why am I here?” Wade frowned.

“There are 600 billionaires which are represented by an average of 2.1 billion dollars of personal net worth, giving a granddaddy total of 1.2 quadrillion dollars.” Rich smiled.

Holt chuckled. “That’s a whole number with fifteen zeros, Wade.”

“I know that. I passed out of elementary grade into middle school and into high school and graduated college, sir.” Wade said with a sour tone.

Dalton chuckled. “The whole number is front of the zeros, Waddling.”

“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich shook his skull.

Trent and Shelly both voted their security concerns about holding friendly or hostage-like both Wade and Dalton in the same US state, much less, in the same sixty feet square room in the rear of a gas station, before World War Third commenced with a full array of colorful fireworks.

Since Dalton would act like a true country asshole, while Wade would try to forget his birth spot of life on planet Earth.

Dalton stood and belched, turning with a smile to see Wade. “I need a soda. Anybody wants something like coffee. I’ll play waitress for the day.”

Wade frowned at Rich.

“You’re not pretty enough, Dalton but do bring me soda, any kind.” Trent smiled. He was forty something years old with a short cropped dirty blonde hair plus matching facial scruff, a pair of aqua colored eyeballs on a hard weathered suntanned skin. The candy prince liked the outdoors too.

Dalton turned and moved to the wall for the required beverage order.

Holt raised his hand with a chuckle. “What ya planning to do with 1.2 quadrillion dollars, Rich?” He did not reveal the secret of why all the southern born and breed billionaires were conveniently gathered together in the rear room of an old country store. The country store really did sell gas and food items in an isolated backwoods town off of Highway 79 in Alabama.

Wade said with a sour tone. “May I remind you, rednecks here in the backwoods of Alabama? Net worth is financially defined, including all the assets of the land, many houses, lots of buildings, yards of equipment, and any other business company products, exclusive of the cash. The monetary but imaginary 1.2 quadrillion dollars are not piled high like a chimney stack outside the local Third National Alabama Bank.”

“Thanks for the academic lesson in US economics 101, Waddling.” Holt sipped the coffee.

Rich said. “When you add all them great big numbers on a calculator or in your brain, ya get 4.3 quadrillion dollars. The 8.8 millionaires of the USA possess a cash net worth in monetary dollars plus any and all physical homesteads of 44 trillion dollars, making for a grand total of documented wealth of 3.5 quadrillion dollars at our disposal.”

Ann smiled. “At our disposal for what exactly? Why do we need 3.5 quadrillion dollars, Rich?” She was an elder lady billionaire retail queen.

“To pay off the corruption, the greedy, and the selfish shitty folks that’s destroying America, Americans, and the good ole US of A.” Trent sipped the coffee.

“Since all the government officials and congressmen are totally lying to Americans about the true financial facts, regarding their hard-working money.” Cole was fifty something years old billionaire real estate prince.

“Lack of money,” Shelly sipped the soda. He was the billionaire construction king, thirty something years old.

“The lack of money leads to a decline of our country and more decline of our culture known as the great and mighty America.” Molly frowned.

Trent frowned. “Americans have lost honor, humility, and dedication of personal pride given to them by our forefathers over 200 years ago. That pride was formed from the hope of the fragile colonists, and became the great United States of America.”

“Americans believe their well-being is someone else’s responsibility.” Sylvia stared into the empty coffee cup.

“Ya mean someone else’s problem that the US Federal Government can fix.” Cole nodded.

Beatrice was sixty something years old and frowned to Molly. “No morals. You forget that item on your list, Molly. Morals are definitely absent in the current social setting throughout America.”

Albert was short with a bald skull. “Everyone cheats at everything and cheats each other, starting with the US Federal Government officials down to the corporate leaders, down to the church preachers, and down to the school teachers. A school coach will allow drug enhanced professional and college sports players to cheat with each other. It makes my head spun in a circle.”

“Not in good old Bama, Albert. Hell no.” Dalton shook his curls with Holt.

“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich ordered with a fatherly tone.

“Cheating, the new American way.” Penny frowned.

“Ethos, American style,” Rich said.

“Ethos doesn’t play here, Rich.” Wade frowned.

“Aristotle defined ethos, as the ability, in each particular case, to see the available means of persuasion.” Albert said.

“Correct, Albert. Ethos doesn’t play in the discussion of American economics.” Wade smiled.

“I disagree, Wade. The dictionary tells ‘ethos’ is the distinguishing character, sentiment, moral nature, or guiding belief of a person, group, or institution.” Cole read from his mobile telephone.

“To cheat, you need a guiding belief of dishonesty. I believe a person possesses the accomplishment to cheat.” Beatrice said.

Albert said. “Ethos displays a persuasive appeal of one’s character, especially by means of speech. I cheat.”

“And damn proud of it, if not caught,” Shelly chuckled.

“American ethos changes from us to me with two tiny little alphabetic letters.” Holt nodded.

Rich waved his hands for attention. “And American ethos is going to change back those two little letters from m.e. to w.e.”

Shelly frowned. “That’s one letter, Rich.”

Trent said with a sour tone. “What w.e?”

Rich stared at the far, pondering Trent’s statement. “So, it is.”

“To me, I feel that the continuous useless programs of welfare, education, crime, and politics are robbing American’s economy.” Penny nodded.

“Welfare, education, crime, and politics are raping American’s economy. Bingo.” Cole said.

Holt pointed to Cole. “Manners, Cole. Ladies are present.” Cole turned and nodded Molly. She nodded back a silent forgiveness to Cole.

“What about the huge gap between the ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots?’” Ann nodded.

Albert said. “It doesn’t exist, Miss Ann. Some academicians argue that the poor Americans never can attain the American dream, without the aid of the wealthier Americans. The wealthier Americans own and distribute almost all the mad-made and natural resources of the land.”

“The single resource of the land is and represents the hard-working American taxpayers’ money. Money, a blinded format of US Federal Government benefits called ‘entitlements’ but also nicknamed as ‘free handouts.’” Cole nodded.

“Entitlement is fair, if you are needy.” Ann nodded.

“The US Federal Program was nicknamed the ‘War on Poverty’ and started by the US President Lyndon Johnson in the 1960’s, creating the entitlement concept. It has never ended and it continues to conceive and reproduce itself like a one-celled ameba, surviving into the twenty first century.” Trent frowned.

“Blow it up with them big battle field tanks,” Dalton laughed with Holt.

“Rocket launchers?” Holt said and fist bumped with Dalton. “Wait, use the space shuttle lasers.” Both Dalton and Holt giggled like a pair of high school farts.

“A good idea gone, sourly wrong. Present day, some Americans believe that an entitlement is given, because you are born as a US citizen. Simply because, the other US Americans owe you something, if you cannot get it yourself through hard work.” Molly nodded.

“Not right.” Holt shook his curls.

“Damn right, Molly.” Dalton nodded.

“The entire concept undermines the assumption that the successful Americans haven’t rightfully earned their wealth.” Trent nodded.

“Are your referencing my personal wealth?” Wade frowned at Trent.

“Don’t continue to follow, Waddling.” Dalton chuckled at the snobbiness of Wade.

Rich jabbed a finger in the wooden table. “That right there, the assumption presented by Trent, implies that the successful Americans haven’t rightfully earned their billions. And the wealthy Americans have taken all the available free-flowing money and are financial obligated to give it back to the non-wealth Americans,” he shook his skull.

“Hey. That’s a democracy, equal is for everyone. Right, Rich?” Penny smiled.

Holt said, “Only if, ya ain’t a billionaire.”

Rich slammed both his palms down on the wooden table. “We, w.e sitting around this table are changing that asinine asshole assumption.”

Trent shook his skull. “Assume that means ‘an ass of you and me’ which works fine and dandy for most Americans.”

“Entitlement is a product of the US Federal Government, not the US American workers. The government thinks Uncle Sam can fix the problem by taking money from the hard-working Americans and giving it to the non-working American. Boom. Bang. Damn. The problem’s solved.” Cole shook his skull.

Dalton banged his palms on the wooden table. “Hell naw.”

“Taking the money from the American workers and giving to the non-workers, is an economic explosion which reduces capitalism and capitalists like us.” Beatrice nodded.

“Management 101, the money you take from the productive workers, the less productive the workers become. The end.” Shelly nodded.

“That’s socialism. Right, Dalton?” Holt smiled.

Dalton nodded. “Right, Holt.”

“What’s the true outcome of an entitlement?” Ann inquired.

“Lazy fucking sons of bitches and asshole licking bastards, who don’t work for nothing. Don’t wanna do for nothing, ‘cause the fucking US Federal Government bleeds their US working American citizens drier than a vampire slayer.” Dalton nodded.

Trent nodded. “I like Dalton’s single expressive creative mental thought process, since he reads way too many science fiction novels.”

Beatrice turned with a wink and a smile to Dalton. “I like Dalton, totally. Are ya married, honey?”

Dalton turned red-colored with a nod. “Yes ma’am. Happily.”

The billionaires laughed at Dalton.

Rich smiled. “Don’t embarrass the child, Beatrice. What happened to husband number six?”

Beatrice turned with a wink to see Rich. “Number five, he’s working on the railroad in Oklahoma. Are you married, Rich?”

“Very.” Rich grinned.

“What’s the true outcome of entitlement?” Albert looked to see each face.

Wade nodded. “I believe that Dalton’s thoughtful reference translates into the massive destruction of safe suburbs and rural communities, inside America, in terms of statistically high crime and more deadly violence.”

“You’re a racist, Waddling.” Ann frowned to Wade.

Trent nodded. “Wade is pinpointing some documented and recorded and very important informational facts, Miss Ann. Statistically speaking, of course, the highest percentage of crime is committed by one particular race…”

“Black people. Gawd damn it, Trent. Use the right fucking ass term.” Holt ticked the toothpick between his lips.

Beatrice pointed with a sour frown to Holt and Wade. “Horseshit to both ya’ll, rednecks, Holt and Wade. Helping people, who are colored black, white, red, or yellow skin tones, restores both personal dignity and social structure to their lives. This is called ‘human’ from the root word of humanitarian.” She patted on Ann.

“Miss Ann is very human.” Holt smiled at Ann.

“Shut it, Holt.” Trent ordered for switching sides in the fight.

Wade viewed Beatrice. “All the scientific research which is collected and gathered by the US Federal Government, can be easily illustrated with an example in the city of Houston, Texas. The found guilty and imprisoned inmates come from ten selected zip codes out of a possible seventy five. In Philadelphia, the jailed prisoners are made up of eleven neighborhoods, accounting for ninety nine percent of the crime rate. And in New York City, there are 24 out of 200 neighborhoods that currently locked up in a local or federal prison system.”

Ann nodded. “I concur with your research, Wade.”

“I don’t, Waddling. Show me them reports.” Dalton chuckled with silliness.

“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich ordered with a fatherly tone.

Ann said. “Overwhelmingly, poor people from the low income neighbors are the ‘have nots’ and will resort to un-acceptable…”

“The word’s illegal, Miss Ann.” Trent frowned.

“…for finding adequate food and needy shelter.” Ann said.

“And mega tons of drugs, and other illegal entertainment sources and resources for their shit and giggles.” Cole chuckled.

“So when the communities are not safe, and schools are not safe, and crime ramparts quickly into the healthy neighborhoods, what can be done?” Shelly inquired.

“Education. Educate the un-educated.” Penny nodded.

“We have free don’t have to pay, ya’ll. Ten of thousands of public schools for every single American and non-American kid stands along the dirt of the USA. And might I add? These kids are taught by college-based educated teachers in the basic primary academic subjects, such as, reading, writing, math, history, literature, and economics.” Cole frowned.

“I failed my college economics class.” Dalton grinned.

“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich ordered with a fatherly tone.

“Hey. When a person can’t read, write, or add, ya get lots of ignorance folks.” Shelly nodded.

“Called dropouts, who ain’t employed, and are sent into four-by-four jail cells which is also paid by the hard-working American taxpayers’ money, again.” Rich nodded.

Trent said. “Or goes on the US State welfare system paid with more of the hard-working American taxpayers’ money again, until they all end up dead which can be days, or decades.”

“I like dead.” Dalton smiled.

“Shut it, Dalton.” Rich ordered with a fatherly tone.

“So the crime is created when the lack of education leads to a bad behavior, because his mama steals only four gooey chocolate chips as a breakfast entrée for her little boy.” Dalton grinned.

“Look at it in reverse, the student does not learn in school. Student A drops out of school, has a baby, and gets on American welfare. She is never employed by any business corporation, earning a set of big bucks and an array of beautiful fringe benefits like vacation and sick paid time off. Student B drops out of school, and robs for their food and their fun, never wanting to work for a big corporation with the big bucks and fine benefits. Since they both can steal, take it all for free.” Holt nodded.

“You’re mentally disturbed like Dalton, Holt.” Wade said with a sour tone.

“Thank ya, kindly.” Holt chuckled.

“I bet that ya’ll don’t know this true fact. There are seven million folks inside the prison system.” Trent read from his mobile telephone.

Shelly frowned. “In the USA?”

“That’s 2.28 percent of all Americans.” Wade nodded.

“Seems low to me,” Holt grinned.

“Land of the free loaders and home of the criminal brave hearts.” Dalton chuckled.

Trent raised his palm. “Okay. We’ve learned that spending taxpayers’ money on the Federal welfare program and more Federal education hurts the US economy and the US Americans. How so?”

Albert said. “When an American gets educated and gets to vote their politician into a US State political office, the first promise of that elected politician is to help his own state or community. He pushes legislation for new taxes onto the businesses and homeowners to pay for that elected fake promise. Then the politicians are required to raise capital money to spend on the local schools, and the local roads while locally employing, the un-employed. Hence, it creates American jobs to fuel the American economy.”

Rich said. “Then the highly educated politician gets his power and starts telling his people where to live, what to build, and what business can open or close, where his cash is sent for training, educating, and providing jobs and healthcare into his pocket for his family unit and social friends.”

“But the damn Americans didn’t fucking like to be told what to do or how to live.” Cole chuckled.

Rich pointed to Cole. “Bull’s eye. We fight back. We riot. We protest. We can’t win, and we left. We pick up our possessions and left the city. Head west, young man.”

“Not right. The lower income and poorer people can’t just pack up and left. The poorer people didn’t fight back. Since they can’t fight and stay inside the criminal town.” Molly nodded.

Rich nodded. “They wallow in their misery and their self-pity, leading to a solo crime, and many solo crimes, and eventually to total violence within the elected politician’s community. Because, a true grit hard working American finds their own way to live their own life, without any type of government intervention, hence the acceptance of the entitlement concept.”

“Right on.” Holt tosses his fist, grinning.

Rich said. “The educated politician pours all the American taxpayers’ money into a dying city to aid the misery fools month after month, year after year, decade after decade, century after century.”

“Economic ruin.” Trent nodded.

“Economic rubbish.” Cole nodded.

Beatrice said. “The American taxpayers’ money leads to a set of new government jobs and new government contracts along with a secret abuse of new power, new bribes, and new corruption on top of all the current old power, bribes, and corruption.”

“Social injustice for the taxpayers, the workers called Americans.” Molly nodded.

“Man, I see the light.” Dalton smiled.

“Man, I see the dark.” Holt smiled and fist-bumps with Dalton.

Albert said. “The light shines brightly on the employed Americans, when the US government taxes the workers, creates a series of stupid jobs of nothing and then pours the tax payers’ money into a set of empty schools. The US government is destroying the very heartland of capitalism in America. Thus, the US Federal Government quashes the US American freedom, creates dependency of citizens, and deters money investment in businesses, and bogs down US economic growth. All these actions lead to collapse.”

“The collapse of the great US of A.” Shelly nodded.

“Americans today are economically illiterate when they allow taxation of their hard working income, elect politicians, who vote for more bank money debt of US and the influx of foreigners. The foreigners suck and bleed Americans of their own government services, freely, silently and deadly.” Cole nodded.

“Americans are experiencing all of the below situation economic failure, unemployment, protests, crimes, corruption, and finally dependency on the US Federal Government.” Rich nodded.

“All of this has to stop, eventually.” Holt nodded.

Wade said. “Rich, your lecture has not touched on the unions, the government employees, the transfer payments…”

“Good point for a later discussion, Wade.” Rich nodded.

“Finale, folks. America has become an open pocketbook for the poor, a gold mine for the rich, a forger of fake paper money for the government, along with a debtor of high and massive legal financial credit notes for the stupid middle class folks.” Shelly nodded.

“That’s not capitalism it’s socialism.” Cole nodded.

Albert said. “That is not socialism, either. When the US Federal Government makes up forty percent of the GDP, we are definitely a government-dominated society which is not called a democracy, either.”

“So, that’s fascism then?” Trent frowned.

Albert shook his baldness. “No. The dictionary defines fascism as a political regime of a certain race, who dictates…”

“Americans are a race,” said Dalton.

“Dalton’s right but wrong.” Holt grinned at Dalton.

“We, the people, the Americans are a single race.” Dalton nodded.

“Shut it, Dalton.” Trent ordered with a brotherly tone.

Rich said. “American has changed into a new type of government which is fueled by a set of fake worthless shit filled toilet paper nicknamed as ‘money.’ The money totals today at 24 trillion dollars which is way beyond any historical world debt by other foreign country. The debt has been created by the back-walking and sweet-talking happy-faced corrupt politicians and their pissing minions. Every day, the hard-working Americans see them bastards on the screens of televisions, mobile phones, computers, or hear them on the radio and still can’t fucking stop, the rash of cash.”

“What’s that called, Rich?” Penny inquired.

“Totalitarian form of government.” Trent said.

Cole shook his skull. “Naw, Trent. That’s a government when people kill each other with legal guns and then martial law is declared by the gun toters, a new son of gun president is elected to rule the totalitarian country.”

Dalton smiled. “I vote we change from a democratic to a totalitarian one. Ya bring all the guns and I be the new sheriff. What’da ya think about my hot idea, buddy?”

“Stow it, Dalton.” Trent ordered with a brotherly tone.

Dalton and Holt chuckled and fist bumped.

Rich said. “Our evolved US Federal Government produces money for their private profit and feeds the US government officials with financial funding, that creates chaos for American workers, chaining them to their work desks, forever.”

“To add to your analogy, all Americans will continue to pay their earned money in the format of federal taxes in frightful fear that one day the US government might take over their profitable businesses. When the economy collapses, their personal security deteriorates, creating mega tons of human violence.” Penny said.

“Don’t think so.” Shelly shook his skull.

“I agree with Shelly. The US Federal Government will not take over the businesses, but all Americans must choose their fate, their fascism or their freedom.” Beatrice nodded.

“Americans will always choose personal liberty, our birthright set by our forefathers, who are known as George Washington and Thomas Jefferson.” Cole nodded.

Dalton raised his fist. “Damn right and with their personal assembly of guns. Did ya know there are 270 million guns registered by Americans? That’s about 88 guns per 100 folks, including small children,” smiling.

“Only Dalton can quote that factual tidbit, accurately.” Holt chuckled.

Dalton said. “America is ranked as the number one nation, possessing more guns in their houses than any other nation on planet Earth.”

“Rich, what’s the new type of government for Americans then?” Trent inquired.

“Billionaires.” Rich smiled. “We, ladies and gentlemen are taking back the United States of America from the fat greedy assholes, who don’t do nothing but waste taxpayers’ money, feeding their fat asses, while the ‘real’ Americans go hunger and starve.”

Dalton scoots his ass from the hard chair and stood, tossing both his hands over his heart, rebel yelled, because he liked too. “Yeehaw.”

“What’s this new type of government you plan to establish for the Americans, Rich? We currently and hopefully for another 1,000 years plan to be a democracy of free people and free enterprise.” Cole asked.

Wade stood. “You plan to take over the US Federal Government in an armed coup with hand guns and hillbillies like Dalton. Then you illegally commit high seas mutiny against our nation’s solo leader, the powerful President of the United States, and hold all us hostage. So you can pay off the 24 trillion dollar debt accumulated by our greedy and incompetent government leaders to the world’s foreign governments. This is the purpose of the today’s business meeting,” he shook his skull.

“That’s a great idea, Wade but sadly no.” Rich nodded.

Dalton laughed. “We’re taking back America, not taking over, Waddling. Told ya not to invite the Wad o’ shit, Rich.” He shook his curls, rolling a second empty soda bottle between his fingers.

Holt laughed. “Wad o’ shit, that’s real good, Dalton.”

Rich said. “Sit down, Wade. Listen to my idea. At first, there’ll be an authoritative body controlling the newly created US government with the little letter ‘G’ which will be selected from our little tiny group of assholes.”

“I wanna be president.” Dalton slammed his hand to his heart with a smile.

Shelly frowned. “Naw, Dalton.”

Dalton frowned. “Why not, Shelly? I’m smart, smart enough to make billions. So I can run our new and improved American country,” smiling.

Trent smiled. “I vote for Albert. He’s smarter than you, Dalton.”

“We’re the same age and intellect.” Dalton viewed Albert.

Holt smiled. “Dalton insulted ya, Albert.”

Albert frowned. “So, he did.”


book text © iPam

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