SUBTITLE: Sonny Sows His Wild Oats
Once upon a time… not too far from the hubbub of The Big Apple… there lived a sophomoric, imbecilic, narcissistic 7-year-old bully named Sonny. One mid-morning he ordered his chauffeur to lead-foot it back to the family estate where… upon entering their zillion dollar, palatial mansion… he immediately began snorting, sniveling and whining…
“Mumsy, why don’t everybody in da hood love me?”
It being a school day, Mumsy just knew her little wittle son was playing hooky. But since his gruff Dadsy typically growled ungrammatically, “Sonny, youse knows more than all dem dummy teachers”, she didn’t DARE even breathe one word re her boy’s habitual truancy. Knowing, too, that she had to take enough time to guard her words, YET, rapidly concoct some sort of a plausible sounding cock and bull story… all the sudden… the figurative light bulb lit up over her noggin. Trying her best not to sound patronizing, said she…
“Sonny, we both know that To Know You is To Love You. So, it only makes sense that to get everyone to love you, all you need do is make sure everyone knows you.”
With Sonny suddenly growing livid… his face flushed into a bright orange hue, he bellowed…
“So you ARE saying that everybody don’t love me!”
“Sonny, we both know that you’re a stable genius who’s never, ever wrong… so… how could I not agree with you?”
“But Mumsy, dem kids should be coming to me. Me going to dem would be too damned much hard work. I know… why doncha call up all their folks and order dem to order all their kids love me?”
Somehow Mumsy fought off the urge to roll her eyes. Once again, thinking on her feet, got her off the hook. The trick, here, was to really “sell” her schmooze the classmates scam to her ne’er-do-well boy. Indeed, to sound even remotely sincere, she’d need to lie through her teeth. And lie she did…
“Sonny, I’ve got a tremendous idea! Why doncha invite all your classmates over for a backyard, Sunday oatmeal brunch? You could even show off your cooking skills… I mean… we both know how you get a kick out of dumping the dry rolled oats into the boiling water.”
“Oh, do I ever! I always pretend each oat is someone I hate. But Mumsy… you got to be kiddin’! Cook for dem commoners? NO WAY! They not worthy of such a feast. Besides, it’d all be too much work. Why doncha order our cook to do it for me?”
“Sonny, you’re too smart not to know that you can’t WOW them unless you’re the Chef who’s cooking up the porridge! I give you my word… they’ll be so impressed by your magnificence that you’ll have them eating out of your hand. They’ll remember you for the rest of their lives. Hell, were you to ever run for President, you could always count on their votes.”
Reluctantly, Sonny agreed… on one condition… that Mumsy had to be the one to send out all the invitations on his behalf. Of course she’d never fess up that she had actually tasked that out to her social secretary. It didn’t take too long for the dozens of RSVP’s to began flooding in.
By the time Sunday finally rolled around… as his guests arrived, Sonny felt elated by the massive turnout. Hell, he estimated crowd attendance to be at least 3 MILLION… possibly up to 30 MILLION! He even caught himself musing…
“Hmm, maybe Mumsy had been right, after all?”
Sonny being the ringleader of his nasty gang, naturally, he did gravitate more to his homies. Of course, it was inevitable that there’d be a couple of scuffles between them and the non gang members… BUT… things began to cool down when the cauldron grew hot… when the boiling, bubbling water told Sonny it was time to dump in the oats!
With nearly the entire student body cheering / chanting rhythmically in time with each stirring, swirling motion of his YUGE spoon, he felt giddy from the outpouring of adulation… even though, in actuality, it was their love of oatmeal… not for Sonny that so inspired them. Anyway, all seemed to be going well.
HOWEVER… towards the end of the five minute cooking time… something just didn’t seem quite right. The porridge was way too thick… way too dry. Dumbfounded Sonny didn’t quite know what to do next. With this being a day off for their entire grounds-keeping crew, there’d be nobody to boss around… nobody to snap to attention and exclaim “Yes Sir!” to his barked out command…
“Uncoil that damned hose and add more water!!!”
Just as Sonny was about to panic, he experienced his own light bulb over the noggin moment… came up with what he deemed to be an ingenious idea! He unzipped his fly and… well… let’s just say he cooked up a Pees Porridge… one that never, ever must be confused with the totally different recipe known as Pease Porridge. Surprisingly, even above the loud piddling noises, audible were the multiple horrified gasps accompanied by the veritable chorus of EEEWWWS!!!
By the time Sonny had zipped up and looked back up, the crowd of kiddies had thinned dramatically… so much so that all who were left were members of his ugly gang.
Naturally, with Sonny being a germ-o-phobe, he absolutely had zero intentions of ever consuming this porridge. However… as for his sycophantic gang? Well, since they knew how easy it would be to PISS OFF Sonny they didn’t DARE turn up their noses. More importantly… they all knew the highest form of praise would be to pretend that nothing was wrong… i.e., that the “alternate facts” told them that Sonny’s unhealthy oatmeal was actually healthy to chow down… no questions asked! And chow down they did!
Well… it is now… some six decades later and we find sicko Sonny and his entire gang of sicko sycophants satisfied by their trade-off of NYC for DC turf! Since these rowdy underlings having, long ago, proven their undying loyalty to their sophomoric, imbecilic, narcissistic boss, he has vowed to never, ever again cook Pees Porridge. After all, for him, it’d be too damned much work! Even so, all of his toadies are still ready, willing and able to take whatever (hopefully figurative) shit he chooses to cook and serve up.