Politics and Somewhat Offensive Jokes

In Which there Politics and Somewhat Offensive Jokes, Although the Offensive Jokes are Not About Politics In Any Way Shape or Form

Clearly it was time to move on. I almost expected the group to be a bit shaken, perhaps, at what had happened to one of their number, but they were fairly philosophical about it. I believe it was the spoilt girl herself who put it best.

She said, "This way, when Mommy goes, I inherit everything all at once!"

"That's right," I said approvingly, and in fact there were murmurs of agreement from all others present except perhaps Mr. Nebbish. Nebbish the Third was clearly heard to wonder if they would ever put out a video game in which you could dispose of people the way the spoilt girl's father had been; I think it very likely, myself.

We made our way back to the Great Glass Elevator and hopped in. Well, I hopped... most of the others sort of tripped. Maybe I should put some sort of sign up... "Mind the Gap." Or "Mind the Three Foot Difference Between the Edge of the Floor and the Edge of the Elevator." Then again, this would really take the fun out of things for me. I can't be held responsible for people who just don't pay attention; I just get amusement from the things that happen to them.

The Elevator was still broken. Nebbish the Third attempted to dismantle it with a hammer that he kept in his back pocket; strangely, this didn't help. Mandy leaned back against the side and declared that her feet hurt and she had no problem with staying there for a while, to which my response was, "Say, have you ever worn pajamas with garden gnomes on them?"

"No," said Mandy, looking discomfited.

"You sure?"

"I sleep in the nude," she declared.

I frowned slightly. "I sleep in a bed."

"I sleep on a futon," offered George Becky. "Its big... enough for two."

"Is the futon in the nude, with Mandy?"

"Well, sometimes I don't use sheets—"

"Nude futon?" said Mandy, trying not to laugh.

"Got me there!" I said cheerfully, and then had to do a quick sidestep when she seemed to take this as an invitation. Everyone was looking completely baffled by this time, so I reckoned that my work there was done and led them back out into the hallway, smiling slightly at the sounds of many of them missing the step down and falling.

"Okey-dokey. We tried the Great Glass Elevator and it failed us mightily. Therefore it is now time to try the Mediocre Wooden Staircase."

"Does it fly?" asked the gum-chewing girl noisily.

"Nooo..."

"Does it make interesting noises?" asked the spoilt girl.

"Can you hit it?" asked Nebbish the Third.

"Don't know!" I said cheerfully. "This is it. Why don't you try and find out for yourself?"

Nebbish the Third frowned in what might almost have approximated thought and then, rashly, reached out and struck the banister with his hand. I whapped him upside the head with mine.

"Ow!" He turned to me in indignation, but I just shrugged.

"Wasn't me," I said. "Must have been the stairs. Okay, people— people— walk— up the stairs."

I ignored the chorus of groans from the children; I'd become used to them over the course of the day, anyway. Leading the way, I swung my cane energetically, but they'd gotten used to this in turn and knew enough to duck, except for Mr. Nebbish. It went hard with him, since he had less protection on his head than most people and the cane tip landed squarely on his bald spot.

"Hey!"

"Indignation gets you nowhere," I called back. "Once a victim, always a victim. I'm sure Einstein would have said the same thing. Now, here is the room we were looking for." I turned to them just in front of the door and raised a finger to my lips to shush them. "Be vewwy vewwy quiet."

They leaned forward. "Why?" Mandy whispered.

"Because," I whispered back, "I'm hunting wabbits."

Basking as usual in their puzzlement, I pushed open the door.

There was much photograph taking and things of that sort going on inside. The Oompa Loompas adore taking pictures of themselves, sometimes in provocative or compromising positions. Oddly, when I tell people this, they look slightly sickened. However, I had invented something rather ingenious, if I do say so myself— and I believe I just did.

I paused by a camera.

"Wonkavision!" I said. "TM. Its Wonkatastic! C with a circle around it. It'll knock your eyes out! Patent pending."

"What is it?" asked the gum chewing girl, chewing gum.

I paused for a moment, blinking at her. "Wonkavision!" I said. "TM. Its Wonkatastic! C with a circle around—"

"What does it do?" interrupted Mr. Nebbish. I glanced at him.

"Why, it takes you and puts you into the TV program, of course! What else?"

"What does that have to do with candy?"

A long pause. I admit that I didn't have this quite worked out yet.

"Everything, you silly goose! I'm amazed you can't see it yourself. But enough squabbling. How about a demonstration?"

The Oompa Loompas carried in a giant chocolate bar, which I attempted to explain.

"Its got to be real big—"

"I'll bet it is," came the silky whisper of Mandy behind me, and a satin giggle from George Becky, whose mustache had been lost somewhere along the way and was looking most definitely not like a man at all. I tried my best to ignore them.

"—real big so it won't—"

"What," asked Mandy with a sort of cotton politeness, "exactly is the surprise in the Nutty Crunch Surprise?"

"That's it!" I exclaimed, and leapt at her. Swiftly I wrestled her to the ground, using only my fingertips. I think the fact that I was tickling her worked in my favor.

"Oooh stoppit stop stoppit stop..."

"Give up?"

"Just stopstopstopstop gah!"

I held on grimly till she was breathless from laughter, then stood up, dusting my hands off, and turned to the rest of them. "Alright. Who wants to give it a try?"

Becky's hand went up immediately.

"Not that," I said, pointing downwards at the still prone and panting Mandy. "I mean the TV thingie."

"But we didn't even see the demonstration," pointed out the spoilt girl.

"Dun't matter!" I proclaimed. "Who wants to try it?"

As I had rather anticipated, Nebbish the Third raised his hand immediately. A gleaming white smile spread across my face, much like a bared mouthful of teeth. However, what I wasn't expecting was what happened next— Mr. Nebbish pushed his son's hand down and stepped forward.

"Me first," he said, and his volunteering didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.

"Why, Mr. Nebbish, you sound downright suspicious of my fine achievement!" I said. "Why don't you let your son—"

"I'm positive its dangerous," he said. "I'll go first. Just in case."

"Just in case what? It gets you hurt in some way?"

Mr. Nebbish shifted uncomfortably and I fixed him with a steely stare. Like Steely Dan. Except completely different.

"Well," he said at length, "actually... the truth of the matter is..."

"Yes by all means, lets have the truth..."

"...I've always wanted to be on TV," he finished quietly.

I thought about this for a moment. "Well, then, sir, who am I to stand in the way between a man and his destined glory?" And I stepped aside. Because I had been standing in the way. Which means, I guess, that I had been the man standing in the way between a man and his destined glory, so the question is, who am I?

Whilst I pondered this, Mr. Nebbish got zapped.

The camera sent him deep into the heart of TV Land, where he encountered, in quick succession, in a variety of different settings, on various channels, in several ways, people. Some of them were nice, and some weren't, which is I suppose how things go on TV, but things were really going just fine until he got in the middle of a presidential debate.

Now, I'm not stupid, so I avoid politics. Seriously, a man with my talents and intelligence and good looks and charisma and leadership abilities and musical skills and moral code and standards and ethics would stick out like a sore thumb. Also, I have really cool hair. Mr. Nebbish, on the other hand, has none of that, and so he decided to take certain politicians to task.

I won't tell you which side he agreed with.

But someone got annoyed, and what happened next was kind of scary. You know, being famous ain't no picnic, which, since that was a double negative, means that being famous is actually fairly easy. Being a politician is dangerous, though, and if you try to do it without any real idea of what you're actually doing, there's a good chance you could get elected president. Which is almost what happened to our Mr. Nebbish, except for the opposing team got all het up about something or other and

Sudden thought, "all het up" about something, what exactly does "het" mean?

Uh, never mind. Where was I?

The opposing team got all het up about something, most likely that Mr. Nebbish wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place, and they decided

Maybe "hetero"?

No?

Just a thought.

They decided Mr. Nebbish needed to be taken care of. I don't mean like given a dental plan and a nice severance package, I mean that they

Maybe its like when gay people decide suddenly to go back into the closet? They get all het up?

Uh. They decided to kill him, not to beat around the bush.

Frightening things, politics. The Oompa Loompas were almost somber when they took the floor. Well... maybe "somber" isn't quite the word for it—

Overjoyed?

"What we know about Mr. Teevee

Could fit on a page or three

We know he's old, we know he's bald

We know that no one stands enthralled

Of every single move he makes

In fact we find, it seems to take

A while for him to move at all

And when he does, he often falls

He's just a klutz, it seems, and yet

There's not a reason yet to fret

The big break for Mr. Teevee

Is soon to come, apparently

He's on the tube, he's famous and

His lifestyle is now truly grand.

The problem here, as you will find

If you choose to voice your mind

You'd better be open to people who

Disagree with everything you do.

You'd better accept that they might

Defend what they believe is right.

And while its bad to be smashed beneath

A bunch of fans (it causes grief)

Its even worse to be made late

By those who look on you with hate.

Its not a crime of love, you see

That ended our Mr. Teevee

He should have known when he first came

That's just the standard price of fame."

We stood and watched the square of screen where recently Mr. Nebbish had been so alive and tiny and Wonkavisionafied. TM.

"That kind of sucks for him," observed his son astutely.

"Ah well," I said. "He will live on in reruns." Musing to myself about the transient nature of fame and also certain varieties of Scottish cheeses, which decompose extremely rapidly and leave little green mouldy and disturbingly alive-looking things in your refrigerator, I moved along, followed by a bunch of children. It was at this point, I believe, that I actually realized I was being followed by a bunch of children, and was forced to act accordingly.

"Gah!" I shouted, backing away from them in horror, waving my hands. "Guh— gah! Aiiii! Back! Away!"

They looked at me with uncompromising stoicness. Which, I have just discovered, isn't actually a word.

I stopped waving my arms and simply looked at them, wide-eyed and wild. "Where's your p— keepers? Owners? Where are they? How did this happen?"

"But, Willy," said Mandy, blinking innocently, and her father, whom I think isn't truly her father at all, nodded in agreement, "we're the only ones left."

Suddenly the enormity of this situation hit home.

"Oh, fudge," I swore.