Yes it is that time of year again, the time when humans, politicos and sheep dare to shop on Black Friday. Of course we know sheep shop for different things, but the struggle to maintain one’s grasp on a popular item is no different from what politicos deal with.
Bertha is sporting her shopping attire. That is, one sturdy pair of tennis shoes with steel toes, as if she needed them. She has a jacket designed to protect from those who might try to deflate her implants, front and back, has super glued her wig onto her head to avoid a weave war. Then there are the gloves, she is wearing leather over her hooves to give that firm grip needed to grab that bike pump used for titty inflation. In short, she is ready to tackle anyone and anything. Puppy is a little safer as his only desire is to grab the latest melons, squash, bleach bottles, carrots, and cigars. He just wants to sneak in, grab them and run.
Politicos are not as prepared as sheep. They have tax plans on the table, with the usual swing your partner routine. We know who will grab for the turkey, but who will want the green jello? Nobody wants the jello and it just ends up in a soupy mess, at the end of the table. If they expect all of their members to go after the turkey, will they also accept the jello? Will they be forced to accept the canned yams, or will they scrap the entire mess and get a pizza? Congress will probably accept the entire buffet, but then have to sell the rest to the senate, who have already said, they want neither. They want raccoon.
The public will be less fortunate. They will be left with the dregs, having to make do with the jello, the canned yams, and god forbid that sticky, slimy, orange stuff nobody recognizes. Yes we are talking taxes. Humans who are wealthy will get the cream of the crop, while the middle class will have to bend over, ask for how long and far, and accept the lack of deductions they may file. Poor humans will just get reamed, have to take it at both ends, without the ability to say “NO” to the Jello.
So, to help with the agony of the entire tax debacle, humans put themselves thru the unthinkable. Black Friday has become the Novocaine that helps take the sting out of daily events of Trump. Bertha is ready with her flack jacket to take on anyone who fights her for the tushy cream, bike pump, wigs, implants that others will fight to the death to obtain. They have never had to go up against Bertha, as she is willing to use all means to get the others to let go. This includes flaunting them, mooning anyone who gets in front of her, biting, and if necessary, giving a good, swift, kick in the toucas.
Puppy is along for the ride, and is not willing to share his produce with anyone. The idea of having someone else grab his squash is just unthinkable, even for the little guy. If “Melons” gets in the way, he will just go for a ride, slap them silly and need a cigar for later. He knows if she tries to report it, she is incapable of giving the police a straight answer, will drive them crazy with her half-baked responses, and end up groped and alone.
So Bertha wants to know, is it worth the grabbing, groping, biting and kicking? You bet. Those bargain items can’t be found anywhere else, or can they? Can two totally different political sides offer the same item, one that is better for the masses than the other? If Trump tries to intercede, will he end up with the Jello, or become the holiday rogue Turkey nobody wants. Bertha thinks the idea of trying to offer a buffet before the holidays without the benefit of compromise is uncouth. Whether its tax plans, healthcare, toucas or titty inflation, there has to be something for everyone.
Of course we will hear of the fights, biting, mooning, shot-gun wars, and that is just with Bertha. The walk outs will be many, the hisses and middle fingers will be seen, heard and nobody will get what they want, but end up with what they need. With all Black Friday wars, we know nobody comes out alive.