April 14, 2009

Handsome and Ghetto

(We all grew up reading fairy tales. This story is supposed to be how "Hansel and Gretel" would have turned out if it was written in the present time. Haven't read "Hansel and Gretel"? Shame! Read it first here  and then read this post, though it still is funny. Please note, I don't mean to cause offense to anyone so please don't get all pissy.)
Once upon a time in a land called America, not too long ago, there arrived a terrible, hitherto unknown plague called The Recession. It was a vicious, nasty thing, never seen before by the American people. You see, there are so many ways of doing finances in America which assumed you had money, that no person had held real currency in their hands for years and years. They had credit cards, debit cards, weird things called hedge funds that had nothing to do with botany, mutual funds that weren't mutual at all, stocks and bonds that sounded vaguely cruel, life insurance, health insurance, car insurance, dental insurance, and most importantly, mortgages. Sure. But it had been a while since they had actually seen any of the green. In fact, it is alleged that the last time someone held a dollar was during the Cold War and that person had been a homeless guy investing in Enron. And now suddenly, trusting citizens everywhere were finding out that the bank vaults were empty and all they had were truckloads of paperwork with meaningless, ridiculously high amounts written on them. A very bad state of things.
Mommy and Daddy were arguing. What the fuck are we going to do, said Mommy. Where are we going to find the money for coke? And Friday Night porn?
Calm down, said Daddy. We can pimp you out or something.
Mommy frowned, thought seriously and said, no, it's not that easy. The customers wanted MILFs in like, what, the fifties? They are now into sexually ambiguous Asians. Why don't we pimp you out? In these times, you'll probably earn more.
They argued back and forth, and finally decided there was only one thing to do. Get rid of the kids. They must be sent away to fend for themselves. What with so many Child Safety Laws, they had more chance of daily KFC and video games at shelters than at home. And they wouldn't have to share the coke when the kids got older. It was all for the best. They called Handsome and Ghetto aged 11 and 10.
Children, children, children. We are going to visit Grandma and Grandpa.
What, said Ghetto incredulously. We saw them only five years back. So soon? Damn.
They piled into the car and set out for the ten minute ride grudgingly. At the gate of the retirement home, as soon as the kids got out, Daddy locked the doors from inside. We're sorry kids. We'll meet again some day. Grandpa and Grandma both moved to Sudan two years ago to look for oil along with Bush Senior. We had to do this. May the Force be with you. Goodbye
Handsome shrugged as his parents high-fived each other and drove away singing Elvis songs.
Dude, our parents are the pits, man. I bet they'll still file their taxes using our names as Dependants.
How could they do this to us, bro? We're their flesh and blood, moaned Ghetto incredulously. He was a very incredulous child.
Aite, aite. Quit bein' a pussy junior. We can never find our way home walking so let's go explore what this wide world is like, said Handsome. Let's roll.
They stopped the next car and got in. It was a very old brown sedan, driven by a man wearing grey robes and a turban. I am going to the Pentagon, said he. Jeez man, you have a weird accent. Like that Prince of Persia dude or some shit, said Ghetto.
I come from a different place, a purer place that is not defiled by immorality and heathens like this god-forsaken land. Rotten infidels. Where do you young men have to go?
Oh the Pentagon is fine, said Handsome politely. We're not particular. Where are you coming from, anyway? I don't mean like morality-wise. I meant like GPS-wise.
I have come a long way to carry out my life mission. I come from the Swat Valley, said the man as he drove.
Aw, man that's in California isn't it? Where they make computers and shit? Wow, that's, like, so far away. You're, like, a world traveler or something. Cool. Ghetto lapsed into awed silence.
They reached the Pentagon in two hours, during which Turban Guy spent most of his time listening to a “last instructions” CD with his headphones on. They parked in the President's spot.
You take the car, I will no longer need it, said Turban Guy mysteriously. He reached into his underwear, took out two AK-47s and disappeared into the main doorway.
Dude, those guns were old as hell, said Ghetto. Daddy has seven just like those. Turban Guy sure is funny. They must have given him a job as a guard or some shit. He left us his car, at any rate.
We can't drive it, stupid, said Handsome impatiently. Neither of us has a license yet. We need to figure out what to do. I'm starving, get two burgers from that stall over there. Use your lunch card, it has more money in it than Daddy's savings.
Just as Ghetto was about to go, however, Turban Guy came out at high speed mumbling and cursing. The guns were nowhere to be seen. He got into the driver seat and took a deep breath.
What the hell happened, asked Ghetto curiously.
Our plan was foiled by these cunning American infidels, groaned Turban Guy. They are too clever. It was all going as we had planned. I passed through security levels A through X without a problem. I even was given a “Best Dressed American” Award for my robes at the J Level. But at Y Level, I just couldn't resist myself. I just couldn't. Turban Guy's lips quivered. He hung his head.
What did they do to you at Y Level, man, asked Handsome coaxingly.
What did they do? Holy cow, what have they done to you, shouted Ghetto, getting very caught up.
There were two guards, said Turban Guy. They were watching The Movie. T-H-E MOVIE, don't you get it? I had only vaguely heard rumors about it. Till now. These guys actually had a copy. Can you imagine my agony? My indecision? Do I go on through to the center and annihilate myself and a few others around me and be a brave martyr only to be scorned and forgotten tomorrow? Or do I try to get my hands on a copy of THE GREATEST MOVIE EVER MADE? The torture was unbearable.
Did you give in, asked Handsome in a reproachful voice?
And what does “annihilate” mean, asked Ghetto?
I gave in, said Turban guy, his hairy face burning with shame. I traded my guns in for it. But it was worth everything. Everything.
His hands trembled as he pulled an old CD from the depths of his underwear. There was a picture of a woman in front and the lettering said "Barb Wire".
You dumb, stupid fuck. You failed in your life mission just to get your hands on Barb Wire? You are one crazy fucker man, said Ghetto. That shit is some old shit. And that Pamela female is super lame. 
Don't say anything, don't give away the plot of the beautiful story. For the last ten years I have dreamed of this movie. Fuck the Headquarters. Fuck slaughtering infidels. I don't want to be a fucking terrorist. I want to go sit beside a quiet river in the Valley and watch this movie on my laptop. You can have the car, it's probably worth more than your house.
Dude, dude, dude. English, please. I beg you. What's “slaughtering”?, asked Ghetto, extremely perplexed.
Yeah, I don't understand your language too well either, said Handsome. What is “terrorist”?
Boys, I don't have time to sit around and chat with you. Barb Wire beckons. Wait, I have something for you.
He reached once more into the depths of his trusty underwear and pulled out two large sacks.
What all do you have down there? Sacks of gold or some shit?, asked Ghetto incredulously. Damn.
I was going to give these to the guards at level Z to mail to my wife. You know, since I was on my life mission. There is enough gold in here to live like Sultans for a hundred years. Take and use well, as your American dollars are worth less than a rodent's asshole now. I do not wish anymore to inflict harm on a country that produces movies like Barb Wire for the common good of the people. You are a very great nation. And I am a changed man.
Turban Guy put his precious CD back in his pants and went away whistling to catch a plane (followed by a train, a bus, a short boat ride, a rickshaw ride and a 34 mile walk) to Swat Valley, where he made 273127 bags of gold by selling pirated copies of Barb Wire. He was hailed “Entrepreneur of the Century” by The Times, several times, and lived a wonderful, fulfilling life. (This is a fairy tale, yo)
Handsome and Ghetto sold the car to a hippie on the sidewalk for five dollars and rode the bus home. Of course Daddy and Mommy repented when they saw the gold and bought five buckets of KFC and two of the latest video games to make up for their abandonment.
America recovered from the Recession in a couple of years after adopting the barter system whereby you trade leaves for corn, corn for fish, fish for coke and so on.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Daddy, what does “infidel” mean?
Shut the fuck up, Ghetto. How should I know?