A Political Cartoon
In my early years, I was unconcerned about politics in general. Those were my dark ages. I used to sit by the side of the road, drinking coffee, and dragging my fingernails throught the hard, sun-melted asphalt. My hair was streaked a crude, almost sandy blonde. A blond so miserable, so dandy, so fulishious that it screamed for relief.
But that relief never came. I would forever be a man without a cause, a rebel if you will, one without a country at that. Then I turned 16. And things didn’t improve. Politics remained exclusively not my forté; I cared for them not. I was a poet. Then a few months passed, and I was asked to do a favor, one which consisted of such magnitude, such power, that I had to literally drop my poem, a poem that may or may not have been about geese in modern day society, to tend to it.
And I did tend to it; I spent literally hundreds, perhaps thousands, maybe millions, or even trillions, I'm not sure exactly how many, of nanoseconds on creating what I termed Le Anime Politique.
It was new, it was fresh, and I deemed it worthy of The Review, a newspaper about politics, life, and controversy in our time; it was also, and quite sadly, about censorship. As I sent my cartoon, a cartoon about life, politics, and humor in our time, walking merrily on its way, a wall suddenly appeared in its path. His name is something I nor anyone else could ever mutter, for muttering it aloud would be akin to muttering pure, unprecedented, evil. However, I can say it began with an A, and ended with a TON. I guess some people, named Aton, in case you didn’t realise, YOU FOOL, just can’t appreciate good, old fashioned work!
So I sent it to The New Yorker. If the Review couldn’t deal with something so posh, so ahead of its time, surely this magazine would! I sent it in, and only a short eternity later, I received a reply. They were very impressed. Chairman of the New Yorker, Barry Witte, described it as ‘tastingly brilliant, amazingly intuitive, surprisingly gentle;’ he then said ‘oh yeah baby, lets get it on.’ That is when I hung up. But still, good times.
However, they only offered me a measly 452 dollars for my brilliant work. This made me want to vomit. It sickened me with horrible sickness. So I threw up, and gave it to you, noble readers; that's right, you are noble. And I love you all...