Fly, Redux

Note: Fly made his first appearance on the Balcony on April 15, 2011.

Greetings. Fly here, still stuck in our nation’s capitol where the people are truly cuckoo. After my experience in John Boehner’s office, all I wanted was to return to the suburbs of Northern Virginia and the simple joy of stalking backyard BBQ’s.

One thing I’ve learned about DC: it’s easy to get in and hard to get out, which might explain why some of these political hacks remain for decades.

Anyway, I was buzzing along K Street, waiting for a prevailing breeze to carry me to the burbs, when I passed an open window in a nondescript office building where the odor of junk food was overpowering. I ducked in for a quick peek and saw this rotund gentlemen (OK, the truth is, he was a fat slob, at least 290 pounds) eating lunch at his desk. And what a feast it was: two Big Macs, French fries, king-size Dr. Pepper, a half pound bag of peanut M&M’s, and a vanilla shake. Nirvana! I dived, flew a tight loop around the shake, and then made a perfect landing on the French fries. The fat man paid no attention to me because he was looking at porn on his computer.

I dined slowly, savoring every delicious morsel, while the fat man gobbled his burger and watched two Asian women do things to each other that I dare not describe. And people think my kind dirty and disgusting! When the fat guy began fumbling with his belt buckle I flew to the far side of the room… As much as I love French fries, there are some acts I can’t be witness to.

My host quickly minimized his computer screen when there was a knock at the door and a man poked his head into the office. “Wassup Greg? Hey, French fries!”

“Help yourself.”

The newcomer’s name was Mark and he was as skinny as Greg was fat. Mark helped himself to a handful of fries and settled in a chair, all arms and legs, elbows, and an Adams apple the size of a golf ball.

“Is that a Dr. Pepper? I’m thirsty.”

“Mitts off. What time are you meeting with Senator McConnell?”

“Three-thirty. What you got for me?”

Greg cleared space on his desk. “OK, first thing is to remind the Senator that American Millionaires for Fair Taxation support the GOP’s efforts to revive the economy by cutting spending on wasteful entitlement programs – “

“No,” Mark interrupted. “The first thing is to remind the Senator of all the dough we’ve contributed to his re-election campaigns and those of his pals. OK, proceed.”

“Right. AMFT also supports further tax cuts – corporate and individual – because everyone knows that Americans are overtaxed. We’re encouraging our contacts at the New York Times, the TV networks, and the business press to print or air stories about the struggles of wealthy Americans. Average people don’t appreciate how stressful being fabulously wealthy can be. It’s not easy to maintain seven houses, a private plane, a helicopter, a fleet of BMW’s, a string of polo ponies and a private petting zoo.”

“Absolutely correct,” Mark said, stretching his long legs and helping himself to more fries. “Not to mention how hard it is to find decent domestic help. The wealthy are carrying the burden of jump-starting the economy and should therefore be rewarded for their heroic efforts. Good angle. I’m sure Senator McConnell will be happy to carry our message to his colleagues. Can we book him on Face the Nation?”

“Piece of cake, buddy. We control that agenda. M&M’s?”

OK, my friends, I’m on the wall thinking, OMG, WTF, again with this Kool-Aid? Is everyone in this town insane? Do they ever get outside the bubble and rub shoulders with real people? When have tax cuts for the rich ever produced jobs for the poor? I’m just a common, insignificant fly, but if I can understand how spurious that idea is, why can’t you?

“We’re also launching,” Greg continued, “an aggressive billboard campaign in selected cities. Check this out: photo of a man with blueprints tucked under his arm in front of a new office building, with the caption – ‘I’m a producer. I’ve earned my tax relief. Have you?’”

“Brilliant,” said Mark, helping himself to more M&M’s. “What else?”

“’Entitlement programs only produce debt.’ We’re thinking the photo will be of a fire hydrant spewing red ink.”

“Hunky-dory,” Mark said, unfolding his long body from the chair. “Keep producing this wonderful crap. God help us if the voters ever wake up and realize they’ve been fleeced. It will be like Greece, only ten times worse.”

“No chance,” Greg said. “Voters are irrelevant. Fist bump, dude!”

Before I flew out the window I crapped on Greg’s French fries. Take that, fat man! I should have jumped on the wind and gone straight to the burbs but I wasn’t through with DC yet. Somewhere in this former swamp there had to be someone who understood that the American people were being mugged by their elected representatives on behalf of plutocrats and vicious ideologues, and I was determined to find that person.

Fly will be back!