Freegan Cato beatbox king

"Freegan Cato!" My friend Adrienne said to me when I answered my cell. I was disturbed by her comment.

"What's the problem?" I asked her tentatively not wanting to listen to a long harangue about how she'd gotten fleas from my last lap dance.

"No problems here, Cato, I just think you and I should head out to New York City to take a look at what the Freegans are doing," she said. "I think they may be a constuency that you want to woo for your campaign. They fit right there with your religious supporters."

She briefed me on the plane. "Freeganism is the total rejection of the economic system. They limit how much they consume to what they can recycle. That could mean they dumpster dive or hold 'freemeets' where absolutely free goods are exchanged and recycled."

This sounded like a movement I could get behind. I love garbage and find myself in it at least once a week foraging for anything good and smelly. "Since I already live somewhat freely, this could be the contingent that helps differentiate my campaign from the rest of the crowd. Presidential candidate, lap dancer and dumpster diver, I already like the sound of it."

"Wait," she said. "There's more."

Adrienne is one of my greatest supporters and art director. She makes me look good in this blog and in real life. She shaves pounds off of my body or plumps me up depending on the photoshop op of the moment (she won't let me use the word mashup, she feels that is an incorrect description of what we do together). I bring her a photo of Tony Soprano holding a cigar with a girl on his lap. I say, "Wouldn't I look good holding a tiger kitty on my lap? Give the viewer a nice view of her bottom so they'll vote for me" and she makes it happen. She is a genius. And yet, she can be a nag when it comes to terminology and ideology.

"Freegans support community, generosity, social concern, freedom, cooperation and sharing. They are opposed to societies that are based on materialism, moral apathy, competition, conformity and greed. I suggest you spice up your next stump speech with a few of these terms. It'll goose your supporters who resonate with the Freegan message. It may even attract a few more Fundamentalist Christians to take a look at your campaign. I'm thinking that you could wear a recycled cross encrusted with rhinestones to add some bling to your platform. Hold up your paws and make some gang signs. That could attract the youth vote. Maybe you could make your message rhyme as well."

"You mean something like, boom ckicka boom.  Kill that whack job in office before he kills us. Kill that muthafuka, sucka before he kills the whole world. Kill that friggin alcoholic before he drives us all to drink. Off that sucka before he starts WW 4?" I simulated a few turntable scratches and started coughing.

"Well, maybe you could work on the rhyming a bit," she sat back in her seat and contemplated. "If you said something like that you might turn off more people than you turn on. Then again given that our democracy is at stake, a call to action before the election could be seen as a bold and decisive move."

"You bet your mutha funkin asssset. I could do it myself with my bare hands. Funds would come pouring in and I would be acclaimed by consensus -- president of the universe," I said and beatboxed myself to sleep. I woke up in New York still hopping and popping. "Boom chicka, boom boom boom," I said to the taxi driver as we head out to The Plaza Hotel for some high class Dumpster action. "Boom Chicka, boom boom boom!"

"Hey," the guy started shaking in his seat and pounded on the steering wheel. He shimmied from side to side. "Cato E. Candidate, I presume? He checked me out in his rear view mirror and pulled out a pen and paper for my autograph. "I am a big fan and I heard you promised to kill George with your bare hands...er claws. Where do I sign up? Can I send you money regularly?"

I turned to Adrienne and smiled. "I believe we have the answer to the momentum for my campaign. I can go on Oprah and talk about my growing malaise with George's democracy. She can try to comfort me and perhaps beg me to write a book about the democratic malaise (perfect title). Dr. Phil will show up to talk to me about how my lack of gender will affect the campaign. He will conclude because I am neutered that I will uphold all the ideals of the American people or I will change them so completely that people in the United States will just feel better. Phil and Oprah will sit in their chairs feeling good about the fact that I have stated that I will use my claws and teeth and nothing more to bring down the most powerful man in the nation. They will endorse me with big smiles. And then, I will not have to lift a finger. Because they say it, it will be so." I said this just like Captain Jean Luc-Picard.

Adrienne laughed as we headed down Broadway.

Unfortunately, later the next morning when I arrived home, my campaign manager was not laughing. In fact, at 3 am she was wide awake and standing at the door when the taxi drove up.

She was holding the San Francisco Chronicle. She showed me the headline. "Presidential Candidate Busted By Police With a Turkey Leg in His Mouth. Illegal Dumpster Diving Puts Pol in Prison." There was a picture of me with said turkey leg in the garbage can in front of the Plaza. "I suppose I owe Adrienne money for bail?" She asked me as I took the paper from her.

"Oprah's people called and they want you for next week. I suppose you know this already?" My dream was coming true.

"How did you find out?" I asked.

"The credit card company called me after you charged the ticket. Eighteen hundred dollars is a lot for a ticket. I thought we discussed economy class."

"It was a last minute thing," I said and peered around her at the food bowl. It was empty. "Could I have some tuna now, I'm famished."

"Gimme the cell phone." I handed it over. "You are grounded and you seriously have to think about what you are doing when you just spout off in public. The FBI was here this afternoon. You just can't go around threatening to kill the President in public. You are now on record that you going to kill him with your bare claws. I've received death threats, that and an awful lot of cash from strangers. The New York Times wants a sit down. And Hillary....."

"Hillary?" I cut her off.

She sighed. "Hillary wants to make a music video with you. "Seems she loves your singing. Bust a rhyme Cato." That was the first time she smiled. "You go to bed without food. We'll discuss Oprah in the morning. Please be good and keep your mouth shut for the rest of the night."

I lay at the foot of the bed as the morning sun rose. I felt wonderful, despite being grounded. It was the dawn of a new day. My presidential dreams were coming true.

Comments

[Robin]

Oh, I laughed so hard I nearly wet my pants!

[jess reece]

Is not Cato the likes of the old Crusader Rabbit? Just love that Cato's mobstyle ways. Maybe he should have had a stop in New Jersey to see "Bodda Boom" and the other wiseguys...

[Aloysius]

Your campaign is bound to take off now, Cato. If you need any help with the Bush-wacking, let me know. I'd like to bite his tiny little head off.