Friday, December 3, 2010

Sikh and Tired of Being Sikh and Tired


A Sari Interview with the Haley Transition Team

by Jaroslav Dampfstain

For the past six months, I’ve been living like a curdogge in the fleabag motels and dirty denizens of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico.  I was told that the Chihuahuan Desert was the only place on this godforsaken planet more hot and corrupt than our famously infernal town, so I needed to see it (lap it, rub it, corn-hole it) for myself.  Indeed, in Juarez, newborns nurse bottles of salsa picante copiously, almost as much as the politicians suck the dirty cock of organized crime.
It is truly a sight to behold, and perhaps a precursor to what life in South Carolina under the Haley Administration is likely to resemble toward the end of her first term.  Now that the Palmetto peasantry has taken the plunge to make the Great Teabag Social Experiment a reality, it should be interesting to behold life in a U.S. state without social services.
Yes, come 2014, I think we can expect to see corruption and ignorance at an all-time high, with enough bullet-riddled bodies in the streets to build a tower to Jehovah, and far fewer of those pesky social services that we’ve all come to hate, such as local parks, fire stations and public libraries.
A lot has been made lately of the Haley Transition Team, a cabal of 14 veteran Palmetto politicos including former U.S. Ambassador and S.C. Speaker of the House David Wilkins, S.C. Attorney General Henry McMaster, and Former Sanford Deputy Chief of Staff Chad “Sticky Fingers” Walldorf.  Sorry if you voted for Haley charmed by her king cobra lies about governing outside the realm of the bubba system.
Upon my return from Juarez, I was granted an interview with the Haley Transition Team—probably because I lied and told them my name was Dirté Sanchez with El Diario de Juarez.  I was granted unprecedented access during one of the Transition Team’s recent weekly meetings at South Carolina Policy Council Global Teabag Headquarters in Columbia.
Ashley Landess, president of the Policy Council and a member of Haley’s Fiscal Crisis Task Force (another new administration camarilla), met me at the front door wrapped in a towel.  I resisted making a joke about a water buffalo hitting my car.  She handed me a towel and ordered me to strip.  I cocked my brow (and browed my cock) and obeyed, then followed her deep within the bowels of the building.  Landess opened a sweaty wooden door, and we entered a large sauna, wherein all 14 towel-clad Transition Team members were talking political turkey and sweating up a neocon storm.  I was directed to sit near the coal pit and told I could ask the Transition Team 11 questions.
It was a miracle that my fake Salvador Dali mustache didn’t fall off my upper lip during the course of the interview—despite the fact that Transition Team member Derick Close kept heaping coals on the pit, boasting that he wanted the room to be “famously hotter than Hades.”

JD:  So I guess Nikki couldn’t make it today?

Transition Team:  That’s question one.  Ten left.  No, she couldn’t make it.  She’s on a pakora run.
[Interviewer’s note:  All 14 Transition Team members responded in unison to my questions.  It was like engaging in dialogue with the Teabag Borg.]

JD:  I hate to waste a question on this, but pakora?  Isn’t that an Indian snack food, some kind of veggie fritter?

TT:  Governor-Elect Haley intends to declare by gubernatorial fiat that pakora is the official state snack.  She has plenty of money left from her campaign and is making daily trips to Lahore to bring back boatloads of the stuff—enough to make everyone in this sari state forget the boiled peanut ever existed.

JD:  Okay, a more serious question.  I’m assuming the Transition Team must be thrilled with the state’s African-American electorate?

TT:  How do you mean?

JD:  That’s not fair.  You’ve answered a question with a question.  You can’t count that one.  I get another question.
TT:  Granted.
[Mr. Close ladled some water on the coal pit and in so doing destroyed my audio recorder, with intent methinks.  He also tugged on my fake mustache.]

JD:  Let’s be blunt.  If Obama had been on the November ticket, the blacks would have come out of the woodwork and squashed your little Lexington lady.

TT:  South Carolina blacks do not regard Indian-Americans as poorly as L.A. brothers hate Korean liquor store owners, but we agree that Sheheen would have kicked ass if the election had been in 2012.  Thank God blacks don’t care sufficiently about their own political self-interest to show up every election.

JD:  Is it true that Governor-Elect Haley intends to cut at least one billion more from the state budget and literally drown the baby in the bathtub?

TT:  Ooh, that would made a nice image.  We’ll work on that for 2014.  The answer is no.  Governor-Elect Haley will not drown the baby.  She plans to throw the baby out of the bathtub to a pack of hungry pit bulls and smile lasciviously as the baby is eaten alive before her very eyes.  Then she and her libertarian comrades will lap up whatever blood remains.  Count yourself lucky if the state budget could cover a 12-pack of Thums Up when she’s done.

JD:  Wow, another Indian food reference there.

TT:  True.  But what about the reference to Queen Jezebel?  Every ruler need an historical referent.

JD:  I thought Haley was doing everything possible to dissociate herself from her Indian heritage.

TT:  If you only knew how deep the conspiracy runs.  Do you think it’s a coincidence that two ultraconservative Indian-Americans have now won governorships in the South?  Achtung the subcontinent!  Soon you will all worship Bollywood and cows.

JD:  That brings up an interesting point.  The stereotype is that ethnic minorities vote solidly Democratic.  Indian-Americans don’t necessarily fall within that stereotype.  Can you hazard a guess as to why?

TT:  Ever heard of the caste system? You have four questions left.

JD:  Five!  You answered another question with a question.  Don’t you think it’s funny how the far right has convinced its Christian base that God endorses greed, militaristic murder, and all the other diabolical principles of political conservatism, when actually Jesus and the first several generations of Christians were outright Socialists?  Or have you never read the Gospels and the Book of Acts?

TT:  Funny indeed.  That’s two questions.  You’re down to three.

JD:  How will you work with the new State Superintendent of Education to reform one of the worst K-12 systems in the country?

TT:  In the middle of the night, we intend to secretly bury alive all the stupid, poor children and replace them with math and science prodigy orphans from Mumbai.  We have confidence that Superintendent-Elect Zais, a former military general, can carry off this logistical challenge without a hitch.  Two questions remaining.

JD:  I suppose even left-leaning citizens should celebrate the fact that South Carolina, despite all its corruption and history, has elected a minority woman as its political chief executive.  Does Governor-Elect Haley like being on top?  I don’t mean to offend—I know her husband is a Transition Team member—but throughout most of the campaign I think the general public perceived that she liked coming from behind.

TT:  You aren’t really with El Diario de Juarez, are you?

[Members of the Transition Team began whispering amongst themselves.  I noticed in a mirror that my fake mustache was hanging on by a thread.]

JD:  Final question.  Does it hurt?

TT:  Does what hurt?

JD:  Well, Howard Rich has his hand shoved far up all your asses feeding you these lines of libertarian garbage.  That must hurt insanely.  Do you use any particular unguents or ointments to soothe the ache?

[Mr. Close threw a bucket of water on my face, and several members of the Transition Team tried to jump me.  I kicked over the coal pit and in the ensuing melee managed to emerge relatively unscathed onto Pendleton Street.  I noticed that a water buffalo had indeed hit my car—or maybe it was just Mayor Benjamin’s SUV.  Thank God I still had that towel.  But I’ve been driving around Columbia in my birthday suit ever since.  I’m headed back to Juarez soon; as least the corruption there is organized.  If you find a fake mustache, please mail it to the City Paper in care of Señor Sanchez.]

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