In an alternate timeline…the shoe did hit George W. Bush square in the face. It was the shoe of Abdullah Fitar. Behind the shoe was the collective force of the oppressed.Being hit in the nose mid speech may have been an embarrassment but the impact of that hit was felt globally. The video reached two billion views. Abdullah was awarded the Nobel peace prize. His shoe consequently ended the war. One single shoe dismantled the war machine of Bush and his party and as the cogs stopped, another rose to power. A man whose environmental activism along with campaign ads featuring Abdullah. Al Gore became president. This ushered in an era of Green Peace and clean energy. Even long after Gore had passed, his work remained. Years of reform. Society was better because of it, yet punishment was still required for those who tried to harm the planet.
In the muggy swamps of Florida lie a series of jails and prisons designed to house the most ruthless environmental criminals. From executives whose businesses dumped thousands of chemicals into the waters to even those who litter our parks and beaches. The G.C.O.N.E.P- Gore's Correctional of Nasty Environmental Polluters.
“Attention and good morning rehabilitators. Another day in the G.C.O.N.E.P. Please rise as we thank Mother Earth. Thank Mother Earth. Oh, say can you see- ATTENTION! ATTENTION!” The doors of each cell began to buzz loudly coinciding with the P.A. system malfunction.
In cell block 69, Gary Coupchik slowly stood, stretching to the ceiling and giving a big yawn. As he inhaled, the smell of shit made him cough abruptly.
“Oh what the fuck, Bernie! You didn’t flush another shit?” Gary saw the spotless toilet and looked over at his cellmate. His hands hung off the side of his bed.
“Oh god…Bernie?” Gary tried poking at him, but the smell of feces grew stronger with each poke. It looked like Bernie had died in his sleep and, consequently, defecated on himself in the process.
The bed sheets had not been washed since last week, so Gary prayed for the laundry man to show up sooner rather than later.
“Hey officers!” Gary shouted.
“Bernie kicked the bucket last night. You think you can send the laundry guy here first and maybe take his body out of here? The smell is killing me!”
The guards were more concerned with the PA system malfunctioning. It seemed to be stuck in an obnoxious loop of playing the national anthem, followed by Lady Gaga’s new hit single “Clean Earth.” Typically, the prisoners would be let out in the morning to eat sustainably-sourced vegan breakfasts followed by an hour-long meditation while they read from Al Gore’s book of “Green Practices.” But it appeared as though whatever bug in the system causing the PA to loop also caused the doors to remain shut.
"Oof. Smells terrible alright. Tough luck Gary. We couldn't open this up if we wanted to. Hang tight." Both guards left, leaving Gary trapped in the foulest smelling cell.
"Ra Ra ROMMMM MA MAAA clean up the planet!"
Gary couldn’t stand Lady Gaga’s voice. In his frustration he made the grave mistake of looking across to other inmates. "What the fuck..."
Tom Bicente had his pants around his ankles, dick in his hand as he moaned "Oh God her voice is so fucking hot! Ain't it Gary?!"
Gary couldn't look straight ahead or turn around without seeing something so unsightly. The smell of feces all around him, perverts jerking off to Lady Gaga and a PA system that randomly shouted "ATTENTION!" caused a disturbed Gary to do some self-reflection upon the actions that led him to this very moment.
Gary had a bad drinking problem and, worse, an addiction to cocaine. When you mix those two, you often find yourself in the exact situation he was in: jail. However, his sentencing and punishment were not for your run of the mill type of debauchery and theft. The car wasn't stolen. It was his car, a 1985 Ford Mustang. The paint was chipped, and it always took a few tries to start it up. He and the entire block he lived on knew that rust bucket would not pass an emissions test in a million years. But did that stop Gary Coupchik? Absolutely not. Night after night, bender after bender he would hop in that rust bucket and cruise down the streets. Cocaine helped him balance himself enough to start the pollution mobile while he drove around knocking over any recycling bin he could find.
If there was one thing Gary hated most, it was recycling. He would take bins from people's driveways, toss them in his trunk, drive straight to the beach and chuck all of it in the sand while laughing. People had tried to psychoanalyze him. Was it his parents? It had to be his upbringing, right? Who just hates recycling for no good reason? But it was Gary’s way of saying “Fuck you world!” There was a rage that built inside of him. And inside a few Americans all in the same Facebook group. The memes of Gore raising taxes just made Gary so angry. Even if there were no facts presented in this Facebook group, Gary blamed the “Gore Initiative.”
He would tell people in a drunken, coked out state, “Fucking Gore took our jobs!” And then when one stupid soul indulged Gary’s insanity, he would continue in an incoherent, incorrect timeline. He was the guy at the dive bar that made everyone uncomfortable. What happened is that the Gore Initiative stimulated the economy. It created more jobs focusing on clean renewable energy. Gary had lost his job at a plastic factory, and instead of accepting the Gore fund, which was provided to those who worked in the factories, as well as the three-week course of training for a government position, Gary chose booze and blow. And to fight the system.
The night of his arrest, Gary had stolen over a dozen recycling bins. All of them were attached to the back of his mustang via bungee cords as he drifted in the streets drinking Jim Beam. He collided head on with three other vehicles causing the worst accident in Miami history. The three cars swerved into oncoming lanes, colliding with many other vehicles. All kinds of Teslas and electric cars ruined as his smoked and caught fire, exploding while scattering hundreds of pieces of plastic all around the city. He survived, miraculously, even though he was flung from his vehicle. He was sentenced to ten years at G.C.O.N.E.P.
Gary managed to crack a smile even though Bernie was still lying there in his own shit and dirty sheets. He thought, "Damn I would kill for some Jim Beam right now."
Tom Bicente, after indulging himself not once but three times to the Gaga song playing on the PA system, put his pants back on and laid down. Not after spitting in Gary's direction of course.
"What are you smiling at over there, asshole!? You think I forgot about your accident?!"
Tom had the temper of a former CEO because he was the former CEO of BP. He was calling all the shots during the oil spills in the Gulf of Mexico. He thought back to his glory days calling those shots.
"So, tell me again why you want to be an intern here at BP." This poor girl was no more than nineteen years old and every word out of her mouth seemed to fall on deaf ears. Tom was more focused on her body, licking his lips at the thought of locking his office door right then and tearing off the skirt she wore.
The amount of sexual harassment complaints filed against Tom seemed to be far greater than the amount of oil that spilled out into the gulf, but like any rich white American he never got punished for it. Tom had friends, powerful friends, until the shoe hit George Bush in the head. It was a domino effect. He struggled year after year trying to keep his business afloat and relevant.
Litigations and lawsuits all took far too long to process, mostly because of the influence Tom had in politics. He bought out more congressmen than the sugar companies ever did. Time was against him, however. He knew the FBI was coming to arrest him for the spill he tried desperately to cover up.
His plan was to drive down to Florida and take a boat out to Cuba where he thought he could be free from US jurisdiction. The boat was ready; he had it filled with young women, of course, waiting for him. Licking his lips as his Maserati was going over one hundred miles per hour, he just couldn't wait to take advantage of more girls, until he collided with a car that was knocked into his lane. His car flipped several times and he sustained some injuries, so he was taken to the local hospital. There he was arrested, then later tried and sentenced to life in prison at G.C.O.N.E.P. Tom grew furious, knowing he was trapped now. Unable to sexually harass women.
"FUCK YOU GARY!"
"ATTENTION. Pray to Mother Earth. Pray to - RA RA ROMMMM MA. ATTENTION. Meditation for one hour will now begin. Please open up your - THE ROCKETS RED GLARE!"
The doors kept buzzing as if the system was relocking the cells. In cell block 70, adjacent to Gary, housed the notorious forest fire bandit, Carl "Matchbox" Verns.
The chaos of the PA system and Tom's public masturbation caused Carl to have a flashback of the flames he would dance with in the forests. Smirking in his cell did he daydream of the fun times he would have. His claim to fame was the fires set in California which sparked the manhunt for him. From there, he drove across the country leaving trails of fire in his path. He would pull over to any forest preserve he could find and just light it up. The entire west coast caught fire and many fingers pointed at Carl Verns. Ever since he was in high school, the boy had been obsessed with fire. He even tried to eat it. At least that is what the other prisoners thought since he had burns all round his lips. The truth was, Carl loved fire. He loved fire so much he kissed her every chance he got. Every single tree that went ablaze he tried to give a kiss. It was the explanation for the very many burn marks he had riddled all over his body, including his…well, he tried to have sex with fire.
He missed those seductive, dancing flames so much. What he would give to see a big one now, he thought. His love lust was what got him caught up. He thought to himself "Let me set the swamps on fire. She will love me like never before!" Florida was his destination. The FBI had him targeted going out east, potentially to the forests in upstate New York. It was the perfect getaway and perfect opportunity to kiss those sweet flames. Like the others, he was caught due to Gary’s ridiculous car accident. Carl was driving a Chevy Malibu that got rear-ended by a Ford F-150, causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic right into a Maserati flying down the road. The thing was, Carl walked away with just a scratch on his arm. A car had blown up, caught fire, and caught Carl in its trance. He ran for it. Straight to the fire and tried to dive in. Firefighters and paramedics had to wrestle him out. Officers detained him for a mental evaluation, which eventually led to the discovery of his identity.
"ATTENTION! This is the warden speaking. I apologize for the system malfunction. It seems the manual override has finally worked. We shall be unlocking the doors, row by row, like always. Please remain calm. Furthermore, laundry day has been pushed back to tomorrow. Today's breakfast will be avocado toast."
"OH HELL YEAH! I love avocado toast!"
Gary was stunned. Bernie was not only alive, but excited for breakfast.
"I thought you were fucking dead, Bernie! You didn't move at all and you shit yourself."
Bernie, with drool running down his lips realized the accuracy of Gary's statement as he looked down at his now brown prison attire.
"Oh man. Come on Gary. We had that vegan chili last night. You know what that does to me."
Comments