Follow or Face My Wrath

Thursday, January 16, 2014

Writing Exercise 1/15/14

The ingredients this time:
George Clinton
Bill Clinton
Kangaroo
Brownies

This one is straight up embarrassing, but here goes nothing!



The Semi-Annual Conference of the Society of Evil Clintons had really gone downhill, George thought. It just wasn't funky since Bill took over as Grand Poo-Bah of the Clinton assembly. Everybody knew that Hillary was really in charge; when the proceedings were done, Bill was all hot-dogs and beer, never a word of the dastardly plans he'd outlined during his presentation.
Back when George was in charge, the SEC made evil fun, it was alive, it was jumpin'. They brought down entire subcultures with subliminal messages in his album The Mothership Connection, and the collaboration with his Techno alter-ego had made Mortal Kombat one of the worst assaults on the viewing public since the Chataqua days. These days it was all cloak-and-dagger politics, covered-up affairs designed to destroy the public's confidence in their government, and now Hillary was running for president as a ploy to confuse the liberal feminist movement with her powerful execution of terrible ideas.
George had had enough of this soul-less non-funky evil.
He sidled up next to Captain Kangaroo.
“What are you doing here?” the Captain asked. “I thought they blacklisted you?”
“Hell no, baby, they can't keep a good Clinton down. How 'bout you? You know you ain't belong up in here?”
“For the thousandth time, my middle name is Clinton. Bob Clinton Kangaroo. How many times do we need to do this dance, George?”
“Lookie here, man, I ain't looking to un-funk your funkin' up all these kids you know, but I just been feelin' these Politico-types are running this mothership into the ground with all this jive-turkey talk. I been sayin' it, it's time we put the soul back in soulless evil.”
The Captain sighed and rubbed his mustache. “I know thing's haven't been the same. You should have heard about the nightmares we gave kids back in the Howdy-Doody days. We werew on top of the world, we-”
“I ain't be needing no anecdotals here, Cap. I came prepared, I just need a little help, you know because they lookin' for me.” George looked over both shoulders, then pulled a large tupperware from his gigantic mink coat. He lifted his top hat and pulled down a remote control.
“How did you get food in here?” The Captain aked. “You know Bill and Hillary scan everything!”
“You don't think this big coat is just for show, baby?”
“So what's the plan?”
“Them there brownies ain't just your ordinary brownies. They be stuffed to the roof with high-grade cannabis, just the type of funk we missin' in here. You put them out on the buffet, you know Bill won't be resisting, Hillary won't be desisting. Once everybody is dosed up real good, I hit this remote and bring the funk back alive, baby.”
Captain Kangaroo opened a corner of the tupperware and sniffed at the funk issuing from the brownies. “Those are a pretty potent potion, I'll admit, but what's this going to achieve, George?”
“Well, we-” George froze. “Look out, baby, it's Clinton Kelly at your six.”
Clinton Kelly glided up, floating on his usual cushion of air.
“What's going on over here? Bringing food and not sharing? I thought you were a classy customer, Kangaroo. And George, are you supposed to be here?”
“How's it hanging, Kelly?” George extended a hand.
“No touching, you're blacklisted George, I heard from the techno George Clinton. Look, I know you don't mean any harm, but you should go before Bill and Hillary get done in the Dirty-Dealing Back Room.”
“Kelly, why don't you float off and mind your own business?” the Captain said.
Clinton Kelly scowled at him. “You're just jealous you're not gay, so you don't get to fly like a real Evil Genius.”
Kelly glided away, a trail of glitter filling the air behind him.
“Okay, Kangaroo,” George leaned in close, “We gotta do this before Kelly blows the whistle.”
“That guy's always blowing somebody's whistle.”
Captain Kangaroo scurried away toward the buffet table, where a group of finance moguls that shared the Clinton name were schmoozing. The Captain opened the tupperware, and noses perked up all around the room. George watched as people gravitated towards the buffet, desperate for a taste of that funky junky rama lama ding dong. Now this was what evil should look like.
Within minutes everybody was feeling George's vibe, and he hit the remote. The roof crashed open and the Mothership came down, carrying the P-Funk All Stars, already locked in a seriously groovy jam. Bill and Hillary rushed out from the Dirty-Dealing Back Room, but it was too late.
“We got the funk!” George hollered at them. “Forget about that junk!”
He pointed his crystal pimp cane at the Clintons and a blast of Green Funky Evil shot out, bringin the Clintons down to cinders.

The crowd cheered. Now Evil was fun again.

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