Yellow Back Radio Broke-Down by Ishmael Reed Page B

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    O Field Marshal I tink sooner or later we’ll get da bakery bilt on da floor of the House. We’re wasting money allatime sending out for pies.
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    I’m just a poor ol snoljer Pete. I mean far be it from me to interfere with the separation of powers but don’t you think the fellows ought to put a little hoi-polloi into the proceedings? People are beginning to lose confidence—they’ll decide they don’t need us and we’ll have free stores free money free land—what will happen to our little ego games if anarchy comes about?
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    A page walked in.
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    Hey chums there’s some redskin out here sez he’s got a message for you. He’s out in the lobby with his valet and tailor.
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    Thank you page, Theda answered, but in the future please address us by our rightful titles…we’re a young country and all but…
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    Up yours, the page replied bringing the forefinger of his right hand up with a sharp thrust. The page slammed the door.
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    Dear, dear, Theda sobbed as Pete screwed on his enormous red nose. Did you see that, they won’t even appropriate enough money for me to get a first rate office staff.
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    Why do you think da injun’s allowed a valet and tailor Theda?
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    O he’s the last surviving injun in Yellow Back Radio—Drag Gibson keeps him around in case the Pope wants to visit or something.
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    Chief Showcase, representative of red pow wow, was escorted into the room. The Field Marshal looked around for a chair.
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    Don’t bother gents I’ll just sit here on the floor. I know things are rough for you Field Marshal, having a freaky bopper peacenik for President and all who has no respect for the military.
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    I was on the way back from gay Paree where I bought this fine Pierre Cardin jacket with fur in the hood and I wanted to stop off to tell the Field Marshal that signs point to an early invasion of Yellow Back Radio. Have a smoke.
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    O thanks Showcase, here try one Peter dear, the soldier said handing one to the Congressman.
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    Cough! Cough! Cough!
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    The conspirator’s mouths became smokestacks as fumes filled the room.
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    You know Chief we always regretted the way those rude Western white trash, that human offal wiped out your people like that. It was really too bad.
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    Well Theda if we had had about 50 more troops at Big Horn I’d be the one sitting on that crate and you’d be going around the world reading militant poetry, that is if your ass wasn’t on display in some museum.
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    Yeah, funny da way tings turn out ain’t it, Pete said fidgeting his huge red thumbs and drawing on a cigarette with two free fingers.
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    Both Theda and Pete began to be wracked by spasms.
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    Easy easy gentlemen, Showcase said slapping them on the back to ease their agony. You must inhale them slowly.
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    When the two men were finished coughing and spitting blood Showcase returned to his seat on the floor in the corner of the room.
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    Now as I was preparing to report…Drag Gibson and the ranch hands were talking about you like a dog. They said they weren’t troubled at all about your demand that they join the Union because they knew you didn’t have enough troops to make it stick. It was so bad the way they were running you down I cried all the way to Paris.
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    O isn’t that sweet of you, you fine sugar-pappa with the candy between your lucious red thighs. I’ll be your little old buffalo calf anytime you want.
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    Thanks Field Marshal and I’m here to tell you that you and Pete have nothing to fear. Theda something uncanny is happening on the ranch these days. At this very moment some nigger wampus is giving them a run for their money indeed. Cattle are wasting away emitting pitiful moomoos of mayhem, the fish die on shores and appear in bedrooms in strange flapping monster dances. The darkie even ran the Marshal out of town after