UNCLE JOE’S FANCIFUL FAIRY TALES

Mike Hayutin

Once upon a time there lived a man named Joe, Joey to his real and imaginary friends. Legend tells us he possessed remarkable super-human powers. 

He tells us his powers were weaned on the gridiron. No surprise, Joey said he would like to “beat the hell” out of a sitting President because of that President’s degrading comments made in private about women. Joey boasting about his manhood is legendary.

For half a century Joey advertised himself as the voice of the working man. He became a multi-millionaire on a public servant’s salary. His sister, brother and at least one son had a seat in his Amtrak wealth caboose. Miracle of miracles.

He is a “practicing” Catholic who leaves no stone unturned pursuing efforts to secure a woman’s “right” to kill her baby up to the moment of birth. One wonders how many hours he spends in confession. That detail has not found its way into his fairy tale. 

Joe Sr. was a used car salesman who imbued his son with nuggets of wisdom. Dad’s stories included folksy anecdotes that Joey used to connect with the common man. The stories grew in grandiosity. By the time Joey was in his fifth decade of public service he had become a legend in his own mind.

As for intelligence, one need only quote the man himself. Responding to an inquiry from one of the people who dared to question his genius Joey strutted, “I think I probably have a much higher I.Q. than you, I suspect”. 

He was quick to back this up by fibbing about graduating in the “top half” of his law school class, received a full scholarship and being the outstanding political science student in college while earning three degrees. It was a grand fairy tale. 

Joey’s repeatedly employed speech and writing skills to grease his election gears. The unattributed words from speeches by Robert Kennedy, Hubert Humphrey, and Prime Minister Neil Kinnock were presented as his own. Thus, allowing him to tell stemwinders. Plagiarism when stacked up against the public’s need to be represented by Joey was excusable.

He tells an imaginary story about getting arrested alongside Nelson Mandela. Over decades that fantasy fueled his confidence to chastise Charlamagne Tha God, “If you have a problem figuring out whether you’re for me or Trump, then you ain’t black.” Joey thought “ain’t” would connect with a black audience. He has mastered the art of patronizing. 

From one day to the next he tells us he grew up in the Jewish, Puerto Rican, white working class and black community. Like Zelig, he appeared in all the important places.

In Joey’s mind his son did die from service in Iraq. He claims that Beau’s brain cancer was acquired in Iraq, although his illness had no link to military service. But the story was compelling. Joey sought heroism by osmosis. 

Joey brimmed with pride in his other son. Hunter was “the smartest man he knows”. Hunter’s drug addiction, frolicking with Russian prostitutes, denying paternity for a child he fathered with a stripper, lying on an application for a gun permit and sex escapades with the widow of his deceased brother were of little note. 

Hunter was also an amateur pornography cinematographer. His computers were chock full of compelling scenes of him in various Kama Sutra inspired positions with a gaggle of domestic and foreign ladies-of-the-night. Hunter was the intoxicated leading man, especially in nude scenes. It was a combustible mix of spies and prostitutes full of espionage and sex. Crack cocaine and booze were the highs of choice during film production. Debauchery and Blackmail would have been a catchy title for his productions. Why hasn’t Hollywood bought the compelling story? 

It’s so damn inspiring to see Hunter land on his feet. Fueled by millions of unearned foreign acquired dollars as son of the former Vice President, he can now pursue his artistic talents while Daddy sits in the Oval Office.  

I’d love to speak to the individual who paid half a million dollars for a piece of straw-art painted by Hunter utilizing his sucking and exhaling talents. Talents that he perfected in bedrooms, hotels and spa’s all over the globe. That purchaser should describe for us amateurs the esoteric depth of the artwork.

Ashley’s diary entries describing her loving father didn’t find its way into the fairy tale. We should ignore the part about her showering with daddy. She suggested that his behavior was responsible for years of her promiscuity. Nothing to see here. Mere details like Hunter’s decision to screw criminals, prostitutes, and spies. I assume he never showered with the big guy.

Joey is an affectionate kind of guy. Females of every age who meet Joey should expect to feel his warm breath on the back of the neck. Most people shake hands or share a polite hug. Joey sniffs. You will not find the name ‘Tara Reid’ in any of the President’s tall tales. In the spirit of the “me too” movement look up Tara. It could be revelatory. 

Our hero also exhibited Festivus style “feats of strength”. Teenage lifeguard Joey was not intimidated by razor in hand gang honcho Corn Pop. Upon encountering Joey, the menacing bully soon became a friend becuase Joey stood his ground chain in hand. 

A more authentic theme for Joey’s tale might have detailed how he faked his way into the most powerful position in the world. Now that I think about it, his tale might be better described as a national nightmare.