President for a Day – new short story

 

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What if being the President of the United States was selected, like jury duty, and just as annoying a process to go through?

President for a Day” is a short story from humor writer Steve Scholtz and available in the following formats:

“President for a Day” – PDF (download)

“President for a Day” – Google Doc (online)

 

© copyright 2017

 

 

 

How Scholtz Once Worked as a Hair Model

In real life, Scholtz is not known as being very handsome.  Growing up, he was known a “goat face” and “stop talking to me” and voted most-likely-to-be-kept-from-college-due-to-acne by his guidance counselors. But thanks to trick-photography and some latent genes, which he got –almost entirely by accident, he blossomed (briefly) in his 30’s if you squinted real hard and put ear plugs in.

Years after his disappearance from public life, he was forcibly cornered once, long enough for one stylist to discover something he was hiding under years of dust and neglect. The lost treasure, Darwin’s opus: perfect, Dutch/German locks.

His one redeeming feature.

The stylist knew Scholtz would work for soda crackers, or worst case dog kibble, so he offered him a spot on a booked hair photo shoot in a warehouse, in downtown LA.  No sex act required, even when he insisted.

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A mere 7 hours in the chair; Scholtz properly restrained and sedated

On set, he stuck out like a sore thumb.   Complete lack of personality and alarmed by the grace of real models, he fidgeted constantly and tried, at one point, to hide in the rafters behind a light fixture.  But he met the barest requirement to be there: he had hair.

Sure, it was overgrown with weeds at the time, and had one mole-rat living inside, but after Scholtz was properly restrained and the hair attended to for the first time in it’s life, it emerged wild and free.  The mole-rat is now the CEO of Chrysler.

The hair was done up and Scholtz was drugged (to spare the everyone from his jokes).  There was a camera there (duh) and the moment was photographed to help raise money for other hair that, despite huge potential, is still attached to some no-good loser, somewhere.

Here is that picture.  Tell no one.

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Scholtz cleans up well, though sadly two to three people are usually trampled in the process

All evidence of this story was quickly locked in a crate, and stored in a warehouse three rows over from the Ark of the Covenant.

~ stevesmells ~


The Safety Net

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I don’t care what your nationality is, 150 feet up perched above a room full of strangers and moments from the stunt you’ve practiced for, correction, would have practiced for, if you weren’t busy making out with your trapeze partner earlier –pretty sure you’d want a safety net.  Mistakes happen, why risk your well-being?  If only so you avoid months watching your blooper on Instagram, while you recover in traction.

And hit on the hospital staff, you sly player.

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Yet I hear debate in America of removing the “safety net,” (the metaphorical one; i.e. Medicare, unemployment, oxygen for the poor) and I’m perplexed.  Are you telling me this “safety net” needs a safety net?  I can’t stress this enough, our ancestors didn’t have safety nets, they went splat.  That’s why we built ’em. Like my father used to say, “ropes that slow your decent during free-fall don’t grow on trees!” and he was right.

Nets are better than no nets.

It’s the definition of progress.  First you go splat.  Then you go bounce.  Then you go build-an-economic-safety-net-so-if-you’re-let-go-from-the-circus-your-airborne-family-doesn’t-starve.   Plus, this new and improved “safety net” works for future generations as well.  You are, in fact, your brother (and sister’s) keeper, even if you don’t know them and they aren’t born yet.

Think of it like being in a casino.  You may not know (or like) that pasty faced twerp next to you, but suppose their lottery terminal fell over, pinning them to the floor.  Wouldn’t you step away from your machine for only a moment (this baby’s hot!) to lift it off their sorry face, if it meant saving their life?

Better yet, what if you could donate a few tokens to someone walking by, and they’d lift it for you, so you did’t risk a hernia?   That’s what the safety net is (in possibly the dumbest way I can explain): an intermediary we pay to save lives, so we can go about our business.  Too often we’re enamored by the flashing lights.  We worked hard as a society to establish the “safety net,” and it requires our vigilance to maintain it and our efforts to grow.

Nets are better than no nets.