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The Little Gøøber That Couldn't

The Little Gøøber that Couldn't - Jim GIbbons

Once upon a time there was a little Gøøber who was told by his Staff that an Evil Ogre called the United States of America was sending $45 million to the little Gøøber and his Kingdom to build a Magic Flying Train.

Now, the little Gøøber, for reasons known only to him, enjoyed hiring staffers from the local Clown College. Perhaps he did it to cheer himself up because his wife, the Enraged Ferret, had suddenly left him one day after he kicked her out the door and told her never to come back. Needless to say, even Enraged Ferrets can take a hint, though her lawyer got her some rooms at the guest house right next to the Gøøber’s mansion, proving again that if you marry an Enraged Ferret, don’t try to change your mind later. Especially if you’re going to go around saying that marriage is a “sacred bond” between non-gay adults to get yourself elected by villagers from the Land of Homophobia. But that’s part of a different fairy tale, called “Karl Rove and the Desperate President.”

In any case, since the little Gøøber’s staff consisted of clowns, they sometimes just made up things for a laugh, or because they just got bored reading important documents. That meant that sometimes what they told the Gøøber wasn’t quite true.

The Gøøber, when he heard the news, was very happy. You see, the Gøøber’s country, after many, many years of being ruled by the Gøøber and others like him, was a very unhappy place. There were no jobs in the Gøøber’s kingdom because everyone in his little country thought you could make a good living playing games that in the end always cheated most of the people who played them–as long as you played them is brightly lit castles filled with young maidens–well, women anyway–dressed in very tiny costumes that left very little to the imagination.

Unfortunately, the Gøøber’s country was far away from the other countries where people actually Created Things to make a living, and during times when everyone was poor, these people in other countries couldn’t understand why they would want to spend a lot of money to come to a place to play games that in the end cheated most of them out of their money–even if those games were played in shiny castles filled with women wearing tiny costumes that left very little to the imagination.

So, you can imagine how happy the Gøøber was to hear that the Evil Ogre called the United States of America was giving him $45 million dollars, even if he had only heard it from clowns. He said: “Oh, even though I hate that big, bloated United States of America so much that I helped it fight for some oil fields once or twice, I will be happy to accept the money, since it will help build a Magic Flying Train to remote countries and bring in people to play games that will in the end cheat most of them out of their money.”

Unfortunately, the Gøøber’s Staff soon got a call from a Representative of the Evil Ogre, who told them that the money wouldn’t be coming for a Magic Train because the Emissary to the Evil Ogre from the Gøøber’s own country had decided that nobody would ever build the Magic Train. Also, the Representative pointed out, the Gøøber hadn’t done anything to secure the “Matching Funds” required by the Evil Ogre to get the money anyway–beyond reading emails from people who claimed to have raised the money but never seem to be able to prove it. Hadn’t the Gøøber bothered to read the fine print on the proposal, anyway, asked the Representative? The money would instead go for other projects, like a Magic Road, or a Magic Sewer.

Well, the Gøøber, tricked again by his own Staff and his unwillingness to read important documents because that tended to interfere with his time playing his Magic Sexting Machine, was very angry. He immediately ordered one of his Staff to put out the message that, yes, the Gøøber had indeed “jumped the gun” in making the announcement about the money, but that it was entirely the fault of the wicked Emissary for being way more efficient at shifting government funds than the Gøøber could ever dream of being. And that, P.S., no new taxes, except maybe a room tax every so often.

Alas, most of the villagers in the Gøøber’s poor little country thought he was impossibly loony, except for a few in a Very Special Land who actually would give the Gøøber money to get reelected, perhaps due to something in the drinking water. So the villagers ended up casting votes for the Magic Beanpole instead, because the Enchanted Judge just wasn’t goofy enough for the strange people living in the Very Special Land.

But that’s a fairy tale for another time, called “Sandoval Sails on the Ship of Fools.”

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1 comment to The Little Gøøber That Couldn’t

  • Too funny! Sick and sad and funny all at the same time. Ever wonder how many votes he would get if elections were today? Probably a bunch after millions of dollars in advertising. You can get some Nevadans to buy anything.