The Further Adventures Of Job Creator And Runyan, The Libertarian Wonder Boy
[The scene is a stall in a Goldman Sachs washroom where the dynamic duo change clothes as part of their crusade against socialism. They've just come from a party celebrating Goldman's escape from criminal charges related to a whizbang deal it pulled off a few years earlier. Job Creator and Ryan are changing from their usual country club attire into the working men's clothes they wear while raising the consciousness of little people voters...]
Give me a hand with this damn cummerbund, Wonder Boy. There’s some foie gras stuck in the clasp.
This clothing change stuff is hell, Job Creator. Do I really have to put this smelly flannel shirt back on every time we go out campaigning?
One does what one must, Wonder Boy. People such as ourselves have to show a common face when going among common people. Thankfully, it’s only every few years that we have to… hold on here. What is it, Wonder Boy? Are you crying? I didn’t mean you couldn’t launder that shirt once in awhile.
It isn’t that, Job Creator. It’s you, big guy. And these aren’t tears of anger. They’re tears of joy. I never told you this before but you’re my…you’re my…
I’m your what, Wonder Boy?
You’re my John Galt. The very embodiment of the hero in Ayn Rand’s great novel, Atlas Shrugged.
You mean, like Galt, I only respect rich people and have a great head of hair?
Yes, Job Creator. There’s that. But most of all you embody the kind of grab it and squeeze it and keep it all deal-making without which economies would grind to a halt and human life itself would not be worth living. I’m thinking if we don’t stop socialism in this country soon, the rich wealth producers might have to go on strike, like they did in the Rand book, just to escape paying more taxes.
Thankfully we’re not there yet, Wonder Boy. With Super-PACs we still might save things. Then we wouldn’t have to give up our citizenship and go to a place that really appreciates our kind. Or even have to buy our own country.
Our own country! A place where only the rich live! What a paradise that would be, Job Creator. A sort of country club served by robots that don’t expect days off. And we could still get even richer while living there with scavenger private equity and hedge funds that feed off the withering economies our own past efforts have produced.
A pleasant vision, Wonder Boy. No need to go there just yet, however. Let’s focus for now on getting America shaped up.
Right, Job Creator. I’ll get busy convincing people a voucher system to replace our present Medicare system is in their best interests because who, after all, cares more about seeing older people get the best medical care than for-profit private health insurers?
Who indeed, Wonder Boy. Who indeed. And your work with food stamps?
Oh, those things get me so mad, Job Creator. A junkie hooked on heroin, on cocaine, he maybe gets by with a single shot a day. Poor people get dependent on food and soon they need three fixes daily. And government is supposed to help them get it!
Maybe not much longer, Wonder Boy.
Right-O, Job Creator. Then it’s on to privatizing Social Security, trashing Dodd Frank, taking on those immoral woman’s health questions, then we…
Easy, Wonder Boy. Easy. There’s only so much I can do in the first hundred days.
I’m thinking about the next hundred, Job Creator.
[At this point they commence chortling loudly as Selig Cartwright, Goldman Sachs washroom attendant, enters the washroom unheard. Hearing the chortles from the changing stall he thinks to himself: If anyone actually took those country club blowhards seriously we could all be in very big trouble...]