On the House

Stories, poems, humor and other shards of literature. Help yourself.

Elijah Creek, Senatorial Candidate, addresses a rally of enthusiasts

HELLOOOO!  CAN YOU HEAR ME? What's that, sonny? Are you sure? If you say so. They tell me I can just talk into this thing here ... don't have to shout to make you hear me. Pity. I enjoy shouting. Always have. I used to say to my wife, "HELLOOO! CAN YOU HEAR ME?" And she'd say, "You damned old fool, I'm right here beside you!" And she usually was. In fact, there she is now. CAN YOU HEAR ME?

When I'm elected, I promise to shout on your behalf. I'll go to Washington and shout at Washington for you, so you don't have to. Now, I know my opponent will say, "You damned old fool, Washington's dead!" But do you know that for sure? I haven't seen any reports about that. Him and his cherry tree.

Just the other day, I was wandering around this great state of ours, looking for things to be appalled at. That's kind of a hobby of mine, wandering and being appalled. Stems from a childhood accident, but they tell me the less said about that, the better. My childhood or the accident, either one. After a while, I started to notice a lot of signs, a lot of downright discriminatory signs ... signs of discrimination, you might say, although I just did, so no particular reason for you to, I suppose. But it led me to ask a very fundamental question of myself and several passerby ... just who is this Dutchman, Van Accessible, and why does he get all those reserved parking spaces?

Well sir, when the Officer couldn't find anything on me I didn't have a prescription for, he took the handcuffs off, and I went about my business. Which they're reminding me to say is your business ... my business is your business ... or your business is my business? What about that feller they collared at the airport the other day, with monkeys stuffed down his pants? If he's a voter, does that mean monkey business is my business? I hope not ... don't like monkeys much. They bite, especially if they're stuffed down your pants. Take it from me.

Some young wiseacre with a notebook asked me the other day about foreign policy. Don't know why. If some foreigner wants to have a policy, I don't see where you and I come into it. None of our business. Most of the foreign people I've met seem to come from other countries, anyway. And far as domestic policy goes, seems like a pretty tame idea to me. If you're going to have a policy, a wild one sounds like more fun than a domestic one. Maybe I'm just old fashioned ... come to think of it, probably wouldn't dress like this if I weren't.

But anyway, let me leave you with this thought. If it comes down to a choice between voting for me or stuffing monkeys in your pants, go with what you know is right. Or what the voices say, anyway. You won't be wrong more than half the time, and neither will I.
Copyright 2015, ProcArch Press Sen. Elijah Creek

The Chair recognizes the Senator from Michigan.

I should hope so. Hell, I've been sitting around here for the last two weeks, and I sure recognize you. You're that loudmouth with the hammer or whatever it is. Let me just ask you privately, what good is a wooden hammer?

Now, the young people who follow me around and tell me what to do assured me that this is my maiden speech before this body. I find that strange. Been quite a while since I knew anything about maidens. Looking around me, I don't see all that many here. Maidens. Nor do I see many others who might have had any commerce with maidens anytime recently. Maidens are in somewhat short supply, both in my constituency and in my experience. I knew a maiden once, back in Michigan. In the non-biblical sense of the word.

And I have to point out, that's the only way you can use that word. Michigan. Non-biblical. The word Michigan does not appear in the Bible. No, sir. I have been through the Bible, cover to cover, both the hard bound and paperback versions. Both the King Louis and the Prince Albert editions. And Michigan does not appear. Which is odd. Tennessee certainly does. And there are repeated allusions to Texas. Especially in Leviticus. But no Michigan. You would think there would have been something. "And God created Michigan on the twenty-eighth day, in the image of Ontario," or something like that. But no. Probably an oversight.

I want this group here to take note that Leviticus is an important thing, an ailment or more precisely a part of the human body where an ailment can take root and fester. I have suffered for many years from a pain in my Leviticus, as have many of the people who voted for me. And yet the congress of the United States has never taken up a Leviticus and examined it, at least insofar as the record shows. I feel that it is crucial to the security of the union that we expose the Leviticus to the scrutiny and ... exposure ... that it deserves and that the people of Michigan deserve so richly.

And so, to build on that thought, it is my intention to introduce a bill. A bill for four hundred and thirty-six dollars. This will just about cover the cost of having my Leviticus lanced. And it will provide for a federal home for maidens, in my constituency. I anticipate that administration of this home will come under the aegis of The Secretary of Commerce ... the better to deal with commerce with maidens.

Parenthetically, I should add that the aegis is a smaller part of the body, somewhat to the left of the Leviticus.

Once we have assembled sufficient maidens ... making use of the many idle assembly facilities in my great state ... we will institute a program which will put them to work ... the maidens ... rewriting the Bible, so as to ensure that every State has its proper representation therein. And with the publication of this new version, it will no longer be necessary for any member of this body to stand here before you and admit that it is impossible for him to know his constituency in the biblical sense.

And I yield the rest of my time to the Senator from Mars.
Copyright 2015, ProcArch PressSen. Elijah Creek

Received with Honor
US Military Rubber Stamps of the Vietnam Era

"We flew into Da Nang in August, 1965. The transport touched down, and I mean, we hit the ground running. I'm looking around, like, in a panic. I've got the whole field office package with me – the folding desk, swivel chair, my black typewriter, 500 rounds for the tape dispenser. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing or where I'm supposed to be. I'm trying to get my stamps set up, trying to get 'em into the little spring clips on my stamp rack, you know? But this Master Sergeant takes 'em away from me. He says, 'You don't need that shit, troop! We only use one stamp here!' And he issues me my FYVM. I spent the next twelve months stamping 'Fuck You Very Much' on transfer requests." 

It was bitterly cold in Valley Forge that winter. In the miserable huts and tents that served as the headquarters of Washington's Army, the ink froze in the quill pens, and his ragged staff had to force unwilling fingers to scrawl "Forry, not poffible" on each day's ever-larger batch of hardship leave and section eight applications.

History has drawn a curtain across the exact details of that bleak season, but we know that with the spring of 1778, necessity had given birth to a great invention. Some half-frozen clerk, nibbling idly on a raw potato, had conceived the idea of carving it to form a crude "NO". The rubber stamp, mainstay of the US military bureaucracy, had been born!
J. F. McLuggage

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