Art by Bob AulI'm 87 years old—been around so dammed long that most of what you call “American history” is mere recollection to me. You are a young Republican with a house in the expensive part of a town beholden to a major amusement park. When the park opened a particularly noisy ride a while back, residents in our neighborhood were practically deafened. There really were times we couldn't hold a conversation. Good Americans all, we marched down to City Hall to enlist your help with the problem. We should have known better. You told us to move. I pointed out that I'd lived in my house longer than you'd been alive and can't afford to move. Your response: “Why don't you turn off your hearing aid?” I did something better: I looked into your past. Turns out your biggest contributor is the amusement park. Turns out you spent more than anybody else to win your seat. And it turns out the amusement park is also one of your clients in a business deal. All of this might explain why the amusement park has been keeping us awake for another year now: somebody's been bought like a cheap whore.
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