Gunga Dung and the Great Dung Jewel

You’ve heard of Gunga Din? Well Bippy, this is the story of Gunga Dung, an Indian popper scooper plying his trade in the streets of that marvelous far away and exotic place called Washington, DC.

As we join our intrepid pooper scooper he has entered the disturbingly, unrealistically trusted marble temple of the Congressional Dung Beetle Persons. His quest, the mighty Dung Jewel wrapped in a parchment document dated 1776, a crusty brown object with fantastic fertilizing powers. Just as Gunga Dung is about to secure his prize from a seething mound of lobbyist paid political favor caca a tremendous noise fills the congressional building cavern. The Dung Senate and Dung House of Representative Congressional Temple walls begin to part. Coming toward him, with the dull droning of a filibuster speech, is a giant ball of election year crap perfectly formed into an impenetrable pork barrel bill by the two giant Democratic and Republican Party Dung Jewel guardians.

Gunga Dung scoops up the Jewel in his well worn pooper scooper (it’s well worn because he has been at this for a very long time and he is really tired of all the shit he has to take off his self serving elected officials). Gunga Dung runs for the exit on his scrawny liberal legs and calloused conservative bare feet. Faster and faster he runs. He passes the Jerry Falwell Religious Psychotic Amusement Park, he hurdles the Bill Clinton gift to the American people the “Now They’re Mine Thong Display”, and rounds the partially completed George Bush Enron Memorial Crematorium with Paper Shredder Annex. The Dung Beetle election year pork barrel dung ball pursues him doggedly, gaining on his emaciated form covered with FEMA donated United Way Thrift Store rags.

Reaching into a bag tied by a string around his waist he seeks the magic combination to give him the strength to save his life and the Dung Jewel. Yes beloved, purchased by food stamps at a 7-11 Store (from a non English speaking clerk) it is a tofu, seaweed, bean sprout, and garlic butter sandwich. Thus clasped in his hand between two slices of manually stone ground and non-irradiated seven grain wheat bread he stuffs the ample meal into his toothless mouth. He feels the warmth of organically grown energy spreading through his scrawny limbs. With an effort, worthy of a University of California coed chasing down a fourth year med student, Gunga Dung breaks the barriers of third world genetic history and the intellect of a grasshopper to out distance the Dung Beetle pork barrel dung ball and transit the mouth of the Dung Guardians hallowed Congressional dung cave temple.

Lifting the perfect sacred Dung Jewel high above his head he discards the parchment document and invokes the mystical and highly improbable words of his faith, “Hot damn I did it. I’ve accomplished the American Dream, I’m a rich man and I’m not even an American citizen!” It is then that he feels the first drops of a coal fired power plant acid rain storm on his face. Gathering momentum the rain beats a relentless path to earth. With the cleansing reaction of sulfuric acid the stench of his profession is dissolved from his tawny skinned body. He feels an elation he has never ever known as he mutters to himself, “Now I will be able to afford to marry that American college girl, claim U.S. Citizenship, and have her wash my pair of drawers daily.” You see, Gunga Dung is from nation of despots, supported for their loyalty by the U. S. Federal Government. There, his culture believes in owning only one pair of underwear. Actually his leaders have all the Chinese made Wal-Mart underwear purchased with U.S bribe bucks funneled through the United Nations. His Leaders do not share the underwear with their people. To do so would not be in the interest of the National Plumbers Union that has righteously contributed to the Director of the EPA off shore retirement fund. It is his religion not to wash his Michael Jordan color coordinated Hanes as he has not done in the past sixty-six years of his life on earth. Given his profession it could be said that, not believing in banks which is most wise, Gunga Dung carried his fortune around in the seat of his pants, as do most of his soon to be fellow American citizens.

Turning his bloodshot and slightly jaundice eyes to the heavens he sees streaks of dark brown goo coursing down his up raised arms. Lowering them and staring into his hands he views the once beautiful Dung Jewel now reduced to a mound of slush (as are all political blah-blah-blah formed Dung Jewels). The elation he felt is replaced by heaving sobs, not for the Jewel, but rather for his lost chance to marry a rich American and bath in a porcelain tub instead of the muddy, but mind you polluted and sacred, Potomac River. Falling to his knobby knees he sinks into the remains of the Jewel beneath him. Crying at the top of his voice he pleads to his Washington Political Hack Rat god imploring, “Me, why me?” Through the rolling thunder a squeaking nasal twanging voice (sounding much like a certain famous person from Crawford, Texas) pierces the storm, “Because you’ve always been full of shit (a reference no doubt to Gunga Dung’s underwear). Besides you’re not even a voter and you rag heads piss me off. How do you like that? It’s hard work.”

Moral to the story: When you are up to your knees in political do-do don’t throw away the parchment and don’t piss off your Rat god especially one with a twang and his finger on the button.

Epilogue: The Blogger (me) of this barely literate blog is writing a story about the honey bucket ship USS Turdtanic. But we’ve realized if the story ended with the ship striking a cow pie, breaking into two pieces and sinking, we would have all the environmentalist after us for polluting the ocean. As if whales flush it in toilets! Besides, we’d have to find an actor named Leonardo de Crapio to play the lead and an over-weight porker lass to play his significant other. Can’t you just see the newspaper headlines, “An epic sea adventure filled with love, lust and plumbing. Starring Leonardo de Crapio as the Indian pooper scooper Gunga Dung aboard the cesspool doomed White Butt Line ocean liner “Turdtanic”. Hot damn, we’d be a rich! We’ll also be following the construction of the partially completed President George Bush Enron Memorial Crematorium with Paper Shredder Annex. This could take years since no one seems to be in charge and the cost is being borne by contributions from the Enron Employees 401K Plan.