c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(1-25)
When Townshend Lincoln first learned that there would be a fifth group for residents of his boxcar village, to connect and share news tidbits, the gossip made him physically ill. He knew that in practical terms, having yet another portal for comment and discussion wouldn’t make a huge difference in the lives of those who shared the plight of existing in their low-income development. But with the Speck brood having administrator control, it meant that there would be another open channel for the slant they held, on life in the junkyard oasis.
It did not take long to prove this theory, with indisputable certainty.
As the lonely drunk was swooning on his bench, in the late hours of a Thursday afternoon, he brought up the group’s introductory page on his cell phone. There in bold text was an invitation to join the multi-level-marketing scam being run as a way to raise funds for a revived park association. The blurb spoke in exaggerated tones, like literature for a timeshare company or Amway franchise. A new opportunity was being touted, one adding to the appeal of Trump Bibles and the gold, Never Surrender Hi-Top Sneakers already being vended.
He had to fumble in his pockets for a pair of reading glasses to decipher the message.
“Hello, everyone! Hello, hello! Come one, come all, this is an opportunity you don’t want to miss! Do you have leftover Christmas money burning a hole in your pocket? Are you looking for an opportunity to cash in on the recent reelection of America’s greatest president? Do you want to be part of a groundswell of entrepreneurial, business innovation, spurred by Elon Musk, Vivek Ramaswamy, and other big-thinking tycoons? This is the time to start selling and winning, in the marketplace! I present to you a must-have item that everyone will want on their kitchen countertops, office walls or desks, or in their garages... the Trumpy Trout!”
Lincoln felt his insides churning like an off-balance clothes washer in need of repair.
“A FUCKING TROUT? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SHIT???”
His neighbor Linn continued with the promotional spew, under a photo of the animatronic, aquatic toy.
“Trumpy Trout sells online for $59.99, with a $9.99 fee for postage and handling. Such a bargain, and it can’t miss! But I have been able to personally grab a certain quantity of these, to sell directly around our township and county, and anywhere else you might be traveling! It’s a matter of how good you are at pushing products. Can you match the intensity of Donald J. Trump as a leader in the worlds of big business and politics? Here’s your chance! Show your love! Let the MAGA King know that you care! Contact me today for a slot in the Evergreen Estates ring of champions! My membership price and monthly dues are very reasonable, trust me! Don’t delay, you knuckleheads! Call today!”
The contrarian hermit belched and farted in unison, which caused his wooden bench to vibrate and creak in the frigid temperature of early January.
“GAWDAMM STUPID FATASS! I WOULDN’T GIVE FIVE BUCKS FOR ONE OF YER RUBBER-LIPPED, SWIMMY CRITTERS! WHY WOULD ANYBODY ELSE?”
He nearly threw the wireless device at a side wall next to the front door. But instead, reached for a bottle of Kentucky bourbon. The 100-proof distillation warmed his insides and took away a nagging chill that had lingered since he first went outside.
The phone landed in his pocket. Yet continued to show snippets from the sales post offered by his nemesis on the corner.
“The Trumpy Trout says all kinds of funny things, like ‘I’m building a new pond, and the bass will pay for it!’ Or ‘I am the hugely bigliest fish in the pond! All the fish love Trumpy! They just love me!’ It’ll be the best seller of this year, you can count on that! I only have a limited quantity, so book your seat on the freedom train! Cash in everybody, cash in while you can!”
Another retort from his digestive tract sent a mist of brew and liquor into the frosty air. He had almost managed to stand up, with help from his disability canes, when the plastic wafer in his sweatshirt began to ring. The caller ID registered a number for someone who lived on their back drive, a meandering trail that ran along the northern border, facing unused acreage and a stand of old-growth trees.
Garter Haines had purchased a ratty doublewide, after his property by the Ashtabula shore of Lake Erie had fallen into foreclosure. He was retired but continued to run a one-man towing and recycling company, picking up vehicles on the cheap with his slant-back wrecker.
“Hey Link, how’re you doing, buddy? I just saw that teaser from pot-bellied Linn about selling his wares. I’m pretty broke right now, but it sounds like one hell of a great deal! I want to take money out of my pension fund, that’ll cover a membership, I think...”
Lincoln grimaced as his gut tightened and growled.
“C’mon dude, yer smarter than that! Who’s gonna buy a fucking plastic fish to hang on their wall? Nobody outside of this horrible trash pit could be that asinine...”
Hanes sputtered and cursed over the note of dissension. He kicked at the floorboards of his diesel rig, scattering shards of the protective mat.
“I told you before, we’d all be eating steak when things got straightened out in Washington. Now it’s happening, by God! Don’t be a fool, get in on the ground floor! I’m hoarding every cent left over from my retirement. Linn is a smart guy! He knows how to make a buck! I like the cut of his jib! He’s got spunk, I appreciate a man who won’t take no for an answer!”
The cranky iconoclast burst into an unbridled fit of laughter.
“SMART? YA GOTTA BE KIDDING, HANEY! THAT PIECE OF DUNG ENDED UP LIVING HERE AFTER GOING TO COLLEGE AND WHATEVER ELSE! HOW SMART CAN HE BE? THAT SHANTY SHACK OF HIS IS FALLING APART!”
His truck-driving cohort wheezed and whistled over the cellular connection.
“Maybe about as smart as both of us, Link! We’re stuck here too, how about that? All of us are in the same damn boat!”
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