This is fiction. No resemblance to a Tin Soldier is intended.
Fauntleroy sitting in the ‘War Room’ with General Hazzard to his right and Vader dressed in his finest Indiana Llama wool robe to his far right. “Those dastardly Chinese, sending us the China virus in retaliation for our tariffs.”
Vader scratches, “WHO’s fault is this? WHO could have known? Those villians.”
Through the intercom system an elevator voice is heard, “Hydroxychloroquine is the answer. Hydroxychloroquine will save us all. It will put us into heavenly grace. See your healthcare provider for your Fauntleroy-the-Savior dose. Now in the convenient family size.”
Fauntleroy smiles hearing his commercial which is now being played on Alternate Fact Radio stations throughout the empire.
“We are going to flood the remaining blue states with Hydroxychloroquine. We are magnanimus. We will thin the voter registration roles one way or another. And of course make a nice profit.” He smiles, “I have a very good mind.”
A pleasing chant is piped through the intercom system, “Fauntleroy is Good. Fauntleroy is Great. Only you can fix it.”
Vader stands and and puts his hand where his heart is supposed to be.
An aide walks in and hands Fauntleroy a note written on a square of TP. Fauntleroy looks up at the people in the room. “The United States Federal government has secured sixty percent of the nations toilet paper supply. Sixty percent by god. A round of applause please. We own these city slicker liberals and their sanitized ways.”
“Sanitized that’s it. I’ll tell the left they can just go and Sanitize themselves.”
General Hazzard moves a few inches further away.
Fauntleroy speaking to no one in particular, “What can we offer that is free?” He snaps his finger, “Sunlight, I’ll tell them that our magnificent leadership has determined that sunlight will cure all their ills and we will provide sunlight free of charge daily between the hours of 6 a.m. and 7 p.m. weather permitting.”
He looks around, “Come on guys, do I have to do all the thinking?”
The Society of Disinfectant Medicine
The Laser Sunshine Company
Doctors without Scruples
The Body for Vulgar Capitalism
Evangelicals for Satan – Midwest Chapter
The Sedated Society
The Campaign to re Elect the Pestilence
Now back to our programming
I had an uncle who went to college. That makes me very smart.” He points to his head. “What could an viro, a viro, ah – a bug doctor know that I cannot Google, and learn all about in just a few minutes?”
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press or the right of people to peacably to assemble, and to petition the Government for redress of grievances.
Just then there was a tap on the door. Fauntleroy got annoyed – “See who it is!” He ordered the General.
The General stood and opened the door. Model T and Mr. Model T stood there, smug and grinning.
“What is it?” Fauntleroy asked.
Model T opened the purse she held and pulled out a check and handed it to Father Fauntleroy. She looked for a sign of approval.
“Eight hundred thousand. Is this from the sale of hyrochloroquine?”
“Yes, and that is from just one Red State. We can expect much more. One thing though they are asking for a refund.”
The room broke out in laughter.
Fauntleroy stood putting the check in his pocket. His thought was ‘the people’ can call him all the names they want. He stood at the through of the biggest pool of money ever known to mankind – the U.S. Treasury. Nothing was going to pull him and his family away. Just the crumbs were enough to keep the entire G.O.P. in line. “Meeting adjourned.” He looked admiringly at Model T. He was proud. “Let’s go get some hamburgers.”
In the ‘Royal Suite’ the sleeping quarters of Fauntleroy and Flossy. Fauntleroy turns over the check for $800,000 received from Model T. ” I need this to make a payment to Deutsche Bank, but I know I am late on my prenuptial contract payment. Can you wait awhile longer?”
“No,” Flossy put her hand out for her payment, knowing she is just another creditor in a long line of creditors. “What happened to the coffin profits?”
From the intercom the angelic voice: ‘Fauntleroy Supreme Divinita the coliseum of network broadcasting awaits your demiurge blessings.’
“Damn, I am late for my Press Briefing. I just love to help the masses understand that I saved millions of lives. Maybe the entire planet. Oh, the world would be over if I had not stepped in when I did. There is not enough praise that can be laid at my feet to make up for all the good I have done.
He gave his symbolic red tie a tug and walks out into the artificial halo of sunlight.