Political Satire: Having trouble surviving these times? You’re not alone. Join us in columnist John F. Di Leo’s exploration of an alternate universe, where we imagine the impossible:
Joe Buckstop, an aging, corrupt old fool, somehow becomes president in his basement, and every night, an aide has to bring him his soup and discuss the events of the day as he prepares to receive his nightly meds…
Note: We continue reprinting roughly every other chapter from Volume Two. In today’s episode, Joe Buckstop has just arrived in England for a few days of meetings. His regular soup aide is still back home, and the local fellow who delivers his soup tonight doesn’t know what he’s in for…
Strange Locations, World Travel, and Suffolk Spinach Soup
Dateline June 9. Begin Transcript:
“Evening, sir! Good to find you at last, sir!”
“Oh. Who are you?”
“Haugen Birchwood, at your service, Guv’ner!”
“You must have me confused with someone else, young man. I’m not a governor, you see, I’m… ummm… oh, what’s the title, Senator… no… that’s not it… oh, dammit, you know the thing…”
“Yes, sir, oh, yes, sir, I know who you are, sir. I just said Guv’ner because that’s what we say over here, sir.”
“You mean, you call politicians governor, whether they’re actually governors or not? That doesn’t make any sense!”
“Well, no, sir, we don’t use guv’ner like that, sir. It’s not a political title over here, sir, unless we get appointed guv’ner of one of our distant territories, like one of those islands in the Caribbean or something… we just say guv’ner like we’d say sir, or your lordship, sir.”
“Oh.”
“But they didn’t send me all the way down to the bomb shelter to jabber along about our lexicon, sir, so here’s your soup, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s your soup, sir.”
“No, before that.”
“Before the soup? Well, usually, guv’ner, before the soup, there’s salad, sir. But they said you only wanted soup, sir, so that’s all I brought, sir.”
“No, i mean, was that about a little con? You said something about a con. Is our mission in jeopardy? Is something crooked afoot?”
“Pardon, sir, but you’ve lost me for sure. I didn’t say anything about a con, sir.”
“Come on, man! Of course you did! You said something about being sent down here for a little con…”
“Huh??? You’re not making… any… oh boy… well, bloody hell… When I said they didn’t send me down here to jabber about our lexicon…”
“That’s it! Are you dropping hints? Is that it?”
“No, sir, you heard me wrong. Lexicon, sir. Lex-eee-con, sir. Maybe you’re not hearing me rightly because of your accent, sir. I said lexicon. Means that we were talking about words, and you’re not interested in words, you’re interested in soup, right, guv’ner?”
“Oh, yes, well… right.”
“So here we are with your soup, sir!”
“Well then… you’ve brought soup… what is it?”
“It’s a cooked broth with vegetables and sometimes meat, sir, but that’s not important right now…”
“I know that much! I mean, what kind of soup is it that you’ve brought me tonight, young man?”
“Oh, well, what we have here is Suffolk Spinach Soup, guv’ner. It’s the pride of Suffolk, sir. We’ve been making this soup here for hundreds of years, sir.”
“Oh, good. I like spinach…”
“Yessiree, sir, this is a classic. Spinach and turnips, and onions and celery, and carrots and broth, and suet dumplings…”
“Sounds strange.”
“Well, sir, seeing as you’re an American spending the evening in England, sir, you might not want to say our foods sound strange, you know, guv’ner…”
“I can’t help it! You described your soup to me, I didn’t imagine it. If you don’t think turnips and spinach and suet is strange, then you don’t know the meaning of the word!”
“Well, sir, is that so? Well, sir, if I came from a country whose county fairs specialized in sticky spun sugar on a paper cone, frozen pizza, deep fried sticks of butter and bacon-wrapped cookies, I hardly think I’d have the nerve to insult another country’s cuisine, guv’ner!”
“Oh. Well, umm… that changes things… umm… let’s start over. what’s your name again?”
“Haugen Birchwood, sir.”
“No, not what’s your career, I asked your name, son.”
“I told you, guv’ner!”
“No, you told me you’ve been hauling birchwood.”
“No, sir, that’s not my career, it’s my name, sir! Haugen Birchwood, sir. Haugen Birchwood.”
“Oh. Where’s that kid… uhh… Rhett?”
“Who, sir?”
“The guy who usually brings me my soup.”
“In Delaware, guv’ner?”
“Well, of course in Delaware! That’s where I live! Wouldn’t make much sense to bring me my soup somewhere where I wasn’t, now would it, you lying dogfaced pony soldier?”
“Listen, guv’ner, I know you’re not from around here, sir, so I don’t know your customs, but around here, we don’t insult a host who’s serving us dinner. It’s considered both impolite and unwise, guv’ner, if you get my drift!”
“Oh, well, uh, yes, of course… forgot I wasn’t at home… Where are we again?”
“Well, we’re at the RAF base in Suffolk, sir! In the bomb shelter below the hangar, sir.”
“What on earth are we doing here?”
“Well, sir, they said you wanted to be down here. They said you always wanted to be far below the surface of the earth, guv’ner, that’s what they all said. So they cleaned up this bomb shelter in anticipation of your visit today, sir.”
“Oh.”
‘Went to a lot of trouble to do it, sir.”
“Oh.”
“It’s been used for storing uniforms and the rifle team’s gear for the past couple of years, sir. Nice to have it cleaned up so nicely, sir.”
“Oh.”
“We’ve your visit to thank for that, sir. Wouldn’t have needed to clean up down here, maybe, for another year or two otherwise. Awfully nice coincidence there, sir, you wanting to spend your time in a basement, sir.”
“Oh, well, uhh, glad I could help. What’s your name again?”
“Haugen Birchwood, sir.”
“Are you in our Air Force, Mr. Birchwood?”
“Oh, no, sir, I’m English, sir.”
“Oh, attached to the RAF then?”
“No, sir, no, I’m just a civilian employee, sir. No rank, sir.”
“Oh. Wonder why they didn’t send an officer down to deliver my soup… this being a base and all… No offense, I’m just wondering…”
“Couldn’t spare any, sir. They’re pretty busy, sir.”
“Busy? They don’t get a visit from me every day, do they?”
“Well, guv’ner, this is a refueling station, sir. Refueling takes top priority, sir.”
“Refueling? Refueling what?”
“It’s an RAF base, sir.”
“So?”
“So what do you think they refuel, guv’ner?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t have asked the question!”
“RAF stands for Royal Air Force, sir.”
“So? What do they refuel?”
“Planes, sir. Airplanes.”
“Oh.”
“Fighters, bombers, cargo planes, personnel transports, sir… it’s a refueling station, sir. For fueling up, sir.”
“Oh.”
“And that list doesn’t include politicians, sir. No offense intended, sir.”
“None taken.”
“And as soon as you were done with your little talk upstairs, they had to get back to work, sir.”
“Oh. Did you hear my speech?”
“Some of it, sir.”
“Has an American president ever given a speech here at this base before?”
“Beats me, guv’ner. Why would anyone care, sir?”
“Well, you know, in case it’s a first I can report.”
“I haven’t the foggiest notion what you’re talking about, guv’ner.”
“Well, our administration is all about firsts, you know. We track these things and boast about them. We’re proud of them. First female vice president, first transgender assistant health secretary, first gay transportation secretary, you know. We track these things. It’s important to us.”
“Oh, well, I guess I see what you mean, guv’ner. We had a king once who was a lot like that, oh, about 85 years ago, sir.”
“You did?”
“Certainly, sir. First king to fall in love with an American, first king to marry a manipulating, twice-divorced jezebel, first king to be a Nazi sympathizer…”
“How did it go? What happened?”
“Well, we stripped the damn fool deviate of his crown, and banished him across the Pond, of course. A country can’t tolerate a pervert as its head of state, especially with war around the corner, sir!”
“Ummm, ohhh… I see…”
“Do ya, guv’ner? I wonder, sir, honest I do, sir.”
“Well, I think I’ll umm… I’ll try eating this soup, ummm…”
“It’s all there, guv’ner: soup, crackers, couple of spoons, bunch of napkins, sir.”
“Couple? There’s a whole stack of both!”
“Well, sir, they phoned us ahead from Delaware, sir. Said you drop the occasional spoon. Figured we’d be prepared, guv’ner. Enjoy your soup, sir!”
Copyright 2021-2024 John F Di Leo
Excerpted with permission from Evening Soup with Basement Joe, Volume Two, from Free State West Publishing, available in paperback or eBook exclusively on Amazon.
John F. Di Leo is a Chicagoland-based international transportation and trade compliance professional and consultant. A onetime Milwaukee County Republican Party chairman, he has been writing a regular column for Illinois Review since 2009. His book on vote fraud (The Tales of Little Pavel) and his political satires on the current administration (Evening Soup with Basement Joe, Volumes I, II, and III), are available in either eBook or paperback, only on Amazon.
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