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Just a little fun...

The parallels are too obvious to ignore, and the temptation too great, at this point.

I used to write dimestore gangster novels, but I now enjoy shredding Ayn Rand and people who invoke Adam Smith, and draw him like a gun, with nary a clue as to what a "free" market really is.  Curiously, I feel they are, in a way, all the same damn theme.

(I would put my novel-writing up against almost anyone, but I do apologize to actual scriptwriters everywhere)...

...just a few select scenes from GovFellas.....

EXT.  Night.  Three Bain Capital partners in a car.  Mitt is driving.
Muffled banging is heard coming from somewhere in the car.

MITT:  Jimmy.  Jimmy.  What is that?

The car pulls over, and the three Bain partners open the trunk, and are shocked to find a bunch of U.S. taxpayers still alive.  Brutally beaten, but still alive.

MITT [To trunk full of taxpayers]:  You pieces of shit!!!

TAXPAYERS:  No, Mitt, no!!  Please!

Mitt and his partners quickly and violently finish them off.

**************

INT.  Day.  A young and rapt Mitt is looking out of the window of his daddy's mansion.
Mitt narrates:   As far back as I could remember, I always wanted to be a vulture.  It's better than being President of the United States.  Hell, I'll own that cab stand someday, and put all those lowlifes out on the street to collect unemployment, and all that good government bullshit.

OPENING THEME MUSIC PLAYS:
You'll never go from from rags to riches

And you know I'll never care

And though your pocket will be empty

I'll be a billionaire

Your clothes may still be torn and tattered

But in my heart I'd be a king

Your pittance is all that ever mattered

Your payments everything

You will forever be a beggar

Whose golden dreams you'll never see

You'll never go from rags to riches

Your fate is up to me!

**************

INT.  Night.  Mitt and his Bain partners are making money.  Lots of money.  One of Mitt's lesser partners explains how, in his voiceover narration:

Now the guy's got Mitt as a partner. Any problems, he goes to Mitt. Trouble with a bill, he can go to Mitt. Trouble with the cops, deliveries, liberals, he can call Mitt. But now the guy's got to come up with Mitt's money every week. No matter what. Business bad? Fuck you, pay me. Oh, you had a fire? Fuck you, pay me. The place got hit by lightning, huh? Fuck you, pay me. Also, Mitt could do anything. Especially run up bills on the joint's credit. And why not? Nobody's gonna pay for it anyway. And as soon as the deliveries are made in the front door, you move the stuff out the back and sell it at a discount. You take a two hundred dollar case of booze and you sell it for a hundred. It doesn't matter. It's all profit. And then finally, when there's nothing left, when you can't borrow another buck from the bank or take any more Federal bailout money, you bust the joint out. You light a match.

***************

INT.  Night.  A restaurant that serves no alcohol.  There's a party going on.

PRESIDENT BARACK OBAMA: Just don't go busting my balls, Mitt, okay?

Mitt: Hey, Barack, if I was gonna break your balls, I'd tell you to go home and get your shine box. [to his Bain partners] Now this kid, this kid was great. They, they used to call him Spit Shine Barack.  Make your shoes look like fuckin' mirrors.  Hey, Barack, salut!  Nutella's on me!

Jimmy:  Nutella's on the house, Mitt.  On the house.  Hey, you got a little out of line yourself.  You insulted him a little bit.  Little bit.

Mitt:  Nahh, I didn't insult anybody.  Nobody's gonna ruin my coronation party.

President Obama:  Piece of shit!  Keep him here.  Keep him here....till November......

****************

INT.  Night.  Campaign HQ.  The party's over.

EPILOGUE:
It is now after November.  The election's over.  It's all over...
for Mitt...

Mitt narrates:
See, the hardest thing for me was leaving the life. I still love the life. And we were treated like movie stars with muscle. We had it all, just for the asking. Ann, Seamus, Tag, everybody rode along. I had satin bags filled with jewelry stashed in the kitchen. I had a sugar bowl full of truffles next to the bed. Anything I wanted was a phone call away. Free cadillacs. The keys to a dozen hideout flats with car elevators all over the city. I'd bet ten thousand dollars in a second and then I'd either stash the winnings in Grand Cayman or go to the government for a bailout. Didn't matter. It didn't mean anything. When my portfolio lost half of one percent I would go out and rob some more. We ran everything. We paid off regulators. We paid off lawyers. We paid off judges. Everybody had their hands out. Everything was for the taking. And now it's all over. And that's the hardest part. Today, everything is different. There's no action. I have to wait around like everyone else. Can't even get decent food. Right after I got here I ordered some Kobe filet mignon and tender baby quail, and I got 'Dragon vs. Phoenix.'

I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life like a schnook.

Just another powerless billionaire.

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Comment Preferences

  •  Tip Jar (0+ / 0-)

    Aldus Shrugged : The Antidote to Ayn Rand. @floydbluealdus1

    by Floyd Blue on Mon Jul 16, 2012 at 03:41:41 PM PDT

  •  I love where you started out with this (0+ / 0-)

    but where you ended up sounds a lot like "the two parties are the same" bullshit, or like you're saying "government is the problem."  Neither is true, obviously.  High marks for your taste in movies though.

    "I'm going to rub your faces in things you try to avoid." - Muad'Dib

    by Troubadour on Mon Jul 16, 2012 at 06:02:21 PM PDT

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