Wednesday, January 14, 2009


It was a regular Saturday evening, only a few years from now.

I was sitting on my fauxvinyl sofa, about to endure another UFL "game," wishing they would go back to awarding points for touchdowns so we could tell who wins.

Wins. That's a faux-pas if there ever was one.

A faux-pas to match my fauxvinyl sofa on my fauxwool carpet over my fauxconcrete subfloor.

But I'm not complaining. No, not me.

Why, I feel so loved, so cared for, so fulfilled.

It's Big Jee, you know.

They have such compassion for my every need.

After the economy collapsed back in December of 2011, and the country went bankrupt, it was Big Jee that came along and bailed me out of my despair.

They really do take care of me.

Nobody's working, but it doesn't matter.

Big Jee has just installed ultra high-speed presses to keep up with the demand for money.

The knock at the door broke my focus on the "game."

"Hello," said the staccato voice. "My name is Jeeman, Yewess Jeeman.

"I'm here to conduct the annual Big Jee home audit. Step aside, while I come in."

"Uh, but I was busy watching the 'game,'" I objected. "Can't this wait until tomorrow?"

"No sir!" His tone was fervent. "We don't work on Lardsday. Since the closing of the last church, we have discovered the value of having one day off per week for renewal and re commitment to Big Jee.

"Now sit quietly while I have a look around."

He examined everything, going over each item with a fine toothed comb.

"Your fauxmarble counter top is getting pretty scratched up. It's time for a replacement."

"Wait a minute," I broke in. "I just put a new one in about eleven months ago."

"Well, you got it from Big Jee," retorted Mr. Jeeman. "You can't expect miracles, you know.

"Besides, not to worry, Big Jee will put you in line straight away for a new fauxtop. It shouldn't take more than six or eight months."

"Humph!" I humphed, "I'll probably have to wait that long for my pace maker implant, anyway. I sure am glad Big Jee will take care of that one...I sure couldn't afford it."

"Ah...the implant!" said Mr. Jeeman. "There's been a little delay on that. It will probably be twelve or fourteen months before we have one for you."

"Twelve months! I'll be dead by then."

"Don't be so upset," he said, "Big Jee will cover all of the expenses for the funeral."

"But I don't want a least not so soon..."

"Mr. Joe," said Mr. Jeeman, "You can't rush the process. With Big Jee covering health care, you have to learn to run on their schedule."

"What's this?"

His tone was more like "Eureka," than a question.

"You have an incandescent bulb in this lamp!" It was the one back behind the corner stool. No one ever went in that closet.

"Do you know the penalty for having an Edison-style bulb?"

I didn't like the way his eyes lit up as he was talking.

"Look," I started to say, "I don't even use that lamp. Why I had forgotten it was even there."

"Tut-tut, my dear Mr. Joe." He was so very condescending. "We can't have these bulbs around. Global climate change and all that, you know."

Never mind that the oceans are so frozen one can walk half way to Europa.

"The penalty will be deducted from your next Jee-check.

"And by the way, you'll be sent to the back of the line for that pace maker."

"Well, that about does it for today.

"Here's my card. If I can be of any service to you, call my voice mail."

"After all, I'm from the Big Jee, and I'm here to help."


shoprat said...

And some would call that paradise.

Mark said...

Funny. But all too possible now that His Majesty is in office.