Nola’s Back… In the way that the debt crisis is averted.
We once again return to the Oval Office. Barack sits, smoking a Newport and listening to the radio.
Barack: You’re still cool baby. You’re still cool.
He turns on a radio and let us now listen in:
Hola y recepción a otra tarde de secuestre la radio.
Obama: Oh Jesus. Can I get a translator in here?
(from Radio) Nola: No need for a translator O, I’m taking over the radio show tonight. Tell Archuleta she can go back to falsifying the voter registration cards.
Obama: Can you hear me? See me?
Nola: No O, I’m on the radio. I can’t hear you or see you. I just know you that well. Which is exactly why I thought it was time to get in touch.
Obama (to an agent) cancel Archuleta, make sure this line is secure. Cut feed to any other signals.
Nola: And don’t worry about cutting feed to any outside signals. Nobody, save a few sad Colombians, is listening to this program. The hours are dreadful and the show is a bit – ugh, hopeless, if you know what I mean. Oh – hold on we need to play a request right now Call in and we can talk.
Cut to the radio station in Bogota. Nola sits in an old disc jockey booth playing 8 tracks. A line of Columbian women and children stand at the door waiting for their turn to talk.
Nola motions to an old woman to step up to the mic:
Poor Colombian woman: Hola, mi nombre es Guadalupe Manore y quisiera decir mi marido Jose que aunque él puede todavía ser perdido en la selva con los gorilas I ámelo y esperanza que él se volverá pronto.
Nola: That was Guadalupe hoping that her crazy husband Jose will stop playing around with the Gorillas in the jungle and come home and help her raise their 58 children. Now I’m going to take a call from a sad and desperate man who is mourning the loss of his cajones. Go ahead O, say hello to the Colombians.
Obama: Nola! I am still your President. You can’t talk to me that way.
Nola: My president? O, in case you forgot you and your party totally abandoned me after the Whale trial. And everybody knows your balls are at this moment sitting in Boehner’s briefcase.
Obama: Nola, there were some non approved extracurricular assignments you involved yourself if you remember correctly.
Nola: Ah, the terminal tot squad. We were ahead of our time.
Obama: Where have you been?
Nola: O, we don’t have time. I’ll be back soon and explain everything.
Obama: In great detail I’m sure.
Nola: Sorry, hold on, gotta play another request:
(radio voice Nola) This song is dedicated to all you hostages out there in the jungle from all your women back here in Bogota. They’re just trying to survive papis just like you. And to the little mamisetas, I hope you’re hugging Sancho tight tonight:
I don’t practice Santeria, I aint got no crystal ball…
Nola: O, okay back to you. This debt ceiling. No way you can do it without some revenue. I don’t care that you guys made poor Giffer come down there and vote. It isn’t going to help O. We’re broke.
Obama: Nola, it’s dead. No revenue. I can’t utter the word tax without Boehner crying like a little bitch.
Nola: Has anyone found his secret room yet?
Nola: He has one O, I’m telling you. Classic signs of a pervert. He cries too much. Anyway, this debt issue – You’ve got to outsmart them. Remember that time we were at Old Ebbit’s and you wanted to leave the waiter a 10% tip and we argued?
Obama: I just don’t think what she did was worry of more than 10%.
Nola: You’re half black, I get it. You don’t have to constantly remind me. But, more importantly, what did I say when you said ‘what is it with white folks and tipping’
Obama: It’s the way we pay for our white guilt quietly, without having to admit to white guilt.
Nola: Bingo! O hold on- I just won.
Let us cut to Nola’s radio station/Bingo Hall
Nola is waving her Bingo card in the air while 100s of angry old Columbian women stare her down.
The bingo caller tries to wave off the bingo
Nola yells: Escucha el asshole, yo quiere el pollo. I don’ cuidado de t si I’ m en el teléfono. Jugaba y pagué mi botella de Tequila mi tarjeta. ¡Quiero mi pollo! ¡Gané!
Sorry O, little mix up on the bingo game. Any who, You’ve got to level with these white rich people. You’ve got to speak their language. You can’t raise taxes. You have to call it taxes with a tip – or TWATs
Think about it. Who tips for everything?
Obama: Rich white people.
Nola: They tip at least 20% on everything. 20% to the Koreans for their nails even though they never do them quite as good as white people. 20% to Starbucks baristas even though they mostly screw up their super simple and not at all obnoxious ‘half skim, 2/3 decaf, steam to 500 degrees then put in the ice’ coffee-esque concoctions. 20% to the guy who washes the car even though they have to kindly remind him he missed the tires again. 20% to the guy who checks their coat. 20% to the guy who parks their car, the guy who mows the yard, the maid who cleans the house, the door guy who stands in front of their apt, the Persian who tailors their clothes, the dry cleaners, the fruit stand guy, the homeless people. The only people white people don’t tip are their families and other rich white people (their doctors, CPAs and lawyers) because as they say they ‘already pay for his second home in Barbados.’
You know that part of the reason tipping is structured into our culture? Because white people along time ago loved feeling like they were doing something for somebody above and beyond. They love that feeling more than anything else in the world.
And… it’s a win/win because it just so happens that those on the receiving end of the tips are people in a lower status. They can unload some of their white guilt and at the same time gain feelings of power. It’s really brilliant, actually. We just need to use it for our purposes.
So here’s your proposal. You add a federal Income tax tip bracket. You make these ‘tips’ visible to the public. I’ve already talked to Buffett
Obama: How are you in contact with Buffett? In Colombia?
Nola: Oh, O, there are a lot of things you don’t know about Buffett. Anyways– he’s on board. Once he starts tipping on his taxes – and twatting about the TWATs , they’ll all start tipping on their taxes. The one thing the richies can’t stand is for someone to tip more than them. You know Steve Wynn will ask his accountant ‘how much did Forbes tip on his taxes’ It’s just in their nature.
Obama: I can’t thank you enough. When are you coming back?
Nola: Not sure O, not sure. I’m rather enjoying this gig. I’m learning a lot about how to overthrow a government.
Nola: Relax, in 2012 you’re going to thank me because you’re not getting reelected.
Obama: I think it’s up to the people.
Nola: That’s actually the problem.
Obama: Anyway, thanks so much my Sweet, Pretty, Young Nola. Anything else that could help my chances in 2012?
Nola: You have to push for Universal Healthcare. I know, I know you think the people hate it. But listen, you aren’t selling it right. What you need to do is present it to the folks like this: Universal healthcare means filling out only one New Patient form – ever. If that don’t get the old folks along for the ride I don’t what could. Ciao for now Comrade.
(radio voice) Let’s get back to soft hits with Nola ‘the kidnapped-love doctor’ Shumway.
Nola: Has your love been kidnapped by rebel guerilla forces? Are you missing your government sympathizer tonight? Come down and send them a message tonight on Kidnap Radio Bogota. (looks at pic of kidnap victim) I mean this guy just has the face of a hostage you know.
Back at the Oval office:
Barack: Get Carney in here. And get me the VP.
William Daley: Biden? I haven’t seen him in months.
Barack: Not Biden you idiot, my veto pen. We’re taking this thing back. Oh, and go get Boehner’s briefcase, I’ve got to get a couple of things out of it. And Daley?
Daley: yes, O?
Barack: Prepare the Lincoln bedroom, I suspect Nola will be around soon.