I yam so depress'. I doan' know how to go arn. My libe ees a meaneengless boid. Oud, brief candle.I was fired.
Me. Don Estorbo de la Bodega Dominicana. No larnger needed. The hours ob serbeece, the dedeecation, the moral suppor', the forry shouldhair to cry uporn.
Led go.
Peenk sleep.
Whad? You deed nard know I had a jarb? You are askeen' who fired me: a cad, who ees beeg an' blag an' has nard ebbhair mentioned gainful employmen'? Eed was een my carntraghd: doan' mention the djarb. Ees carnfeedential. My eyes only. Swallow the capsule eef they arresd me.
Fine. Okay. Led them corm afthair me. I yam goeen' onnergroun'. I hab dorn eed before an' I can do eed again. I maghe lighe smoghe an' deesappear: Poof!
Don Estobo walghes again.
OK. I tell you.Eed was Chavez. My leeader. I was his righd han' cad. Eed was the only reason he coul' go arn so larng. He had me. I put een 60 hour weeghs, man, no obertime. Talghe abou' Unions...I gard no beneefeets.
When I yescabed frarm Cuba, Meester Chavez geeb me, El Negro, a home. Ees only time he and Fidel disagree: abou' me.
Why was I fired?
I fell asleep. He was arn radio. I was beside heem. He talghed an' talghed an talghed, como siempre. Eighd hours straighd. I started to sleeb. Ee' was yetlag. Worn weegh afthair the ved nightmare an' I was steell stress'...he tole' me to taghe anorder weegh to recorber bod I fel' eed was my duty to be ad his side. Ees only way he coul' talghe so long. I keep feedeen' heem lines. The boice was Chavez, bod the wor's wor Estorbo, all the forgheen' way.
Teell I fell asleep.
They coul' nard waghe me orp.
So they put me een a barx arn the neghs' plane to Brookleen. I been sleepeen' 3 days straighd. The Wooman gard polide node. Frarm Secred Serbeece, USA. Eef she wan' to be ceeteezen ob Yoonided Stades she mos' nard led the Blag Cad go back south. So she carnfeescade my passpaw'.
Bod ees nard necessary. Soon arribes the peenk sleep. Serbeeces no longer required. Apparently el Presidente has hired a Cheencheella cad whad stays awaghe por worn weeg straighd. Use' to worgh por wooman een Alaska.
I doan' know. What perpoos ees there een libe?
How can I go arn?
Hermano, maybe you should send your resume to the beeg, blag cad in the White House ... he may find himself in need of a speechwriter someday soon ... or just maybe take a well-deserved break from speech writing altogether. I'm sure the Wooman and Beence could find things for you to do!
ReplyDeleteMaybe you could write a book? I think Hallowe'en might know someone in the publishing game. Under a nom de plume.Of course.
ReplyDeletePerhaps you could help your Wooman navigate her way through American citizenship? Or...consider Washington, DC...we understand there's a d.a.r.g. in the Casa Blanca...surely they would benefit from your counsel instead??
ReplyDeleteOr you could go and sleep a little more. You are good at that.
ReplyDeleteMine's got a book what wuz rittun by a cockroach named archie abowt his friend a cat named mehitibel. Mine sez its funny. i think it'd hafta be -- so therr's a presedent, hermano. i doan reely noe ennybudy in the trayed, an Mine ain't much better, but iffen ya wuz innerrestd, therr's wayz ta purrsoo it.
ReplyDelete~^:^~
Entonces pana... ¿Como está la vaina? Necesitas trabajo? Yo también... ;-)
ReplyDeletehey big forr - u cen cum end liv here with me - i need a gide cet becos i bump into legs, table, raas baas, dogs enything - so u cud get wek here u c
ReplyDeletegiven your new status, miss zipper requests your assistance at defeating and routing private enemy #1, the freakin' G.S. (german shepard) she is compelled to live with.
ReplyDelete