Scranton Lives Matter! Ch. 14

Wearing a tight puckered face right out of an OIC television commercial, Timmy Kelly confessed.

I hate Joe Biden, he said, especially when the dorky bastard jogs that gawky dash he makes with his arms pumping psychostimulants or whatever juice he’s on to show off geriatric dexterity.

Earl piped in.

What is he, 100?

The president is 78, Timmy said.

Earl spit dip juice into an empty Budweiser bottle.

I can’t tell anybody I hate Joe Biden, of course, Timmy said.

You told me, Earl said.

That’s because you’re threatening me with an electric volt cattle prod. If anybody finds out I cracked under pressure my new career as a professional Joe Biden impersonator will go right down the shitter. I can kiss all them Atlantic City casinos goodbye.

Timmy ramped up his whine.

I’m younger and look better than him, too, like a youthful Joe Biden. I’m like Elvis in the Aloha from Hawaii concert. Trim. Fit. I’m a little nervous. But when the bars get packed again after the COVID’s all cured I ought to do OK with the crowd. This is my last shot. Just like Joe.

Let me hear you do a Joe Biden, Earl said.

C’mon, give me a break, man.

Earl raised his eyebrows.

You sound just like that goof.

Guys like me don’t matter much anymore, Timmy Kelly said.

Yeah, Black lives matter, Earl said.

That’s why my mayoral campaign slogan is Scranton Lives Matter! You like that? I bet you do. Can I count on your vote?

You can count on me sticking this joy stick where the sun don’t shine if you don’t help me and Zerelda attack the government.

I thought the rioters already did that.

They did in Washington. We’re attacking the Friendly Sons dinner. They’re going virtual this year. All the elected government officials will be online watching when we hack into the stream and show porn movies about Irish priests and Wolfhounds. Because we matter, goddammit.

Timmy already had his virtual ticket for the dinner. Still, he got so excited he started waving his arms around and stepping dangerously close to the electric prod.

Cats and dog lives matter more than us white guys, he said. Local television news reports consider pets dying in house fires to be breaking news. Parakeet perishes in apartment inferno; film at eleven. A piss ant garners more respect than Timmy Kelly.

Time to rise, Earl said.

Timmy hyperventilated.

Earl put down the prod.

You want to join the Bugaboo, Mr. President?

What’s the Bugaboo?

Our revolution, Earl said..

Pounding rattled the glass panes in the front door.

I know you’re in there, Timmy Kelly, Shannon said.

Earl rushed to the foyer and tore open the door.

May I help you, sister?

I’m Timmy Kelly’s sister, not yours. Where is he?

Would you like to come in?

Is that rifle you’re carrying loaded?

It is.

You know how to shoot?

I do.

You interested in work as a political assassin?

Who’s the target?

Former Mayor Harry Davies.

Republican or Democrat?

Pardoned by Trump.

Trump got yellow and let the people down.


So count me in.

Can you do two hits for the price of one?

Who’s the second target?

Some crooked Polack judge named Dumbroski.