Will Meinen | The Omaha Tattler
OMAHA, Neb. – Following a three program long assault on the character and motives of billionaire activist George Soros, FOX pundit Glenn Beck fell ill with an assortment of symptoms on Thursday. Beck staffers attributed Beck’s lethargy to exhaustion resulting from the research and testicular size required to produce a Peter Jackson length investigation of Soros’ web of covert, international manipulation. Staffers’ concerns elevated when the Mormon convert spent an entire evening incapacitated with dysentery “as aggressive as the President’s economic stimulus efforts,” as one colleague put it.
Upon the insistence of his inner circle (wife, physician, and church elders) Beck made an appointment with a gastroenterologist. Nurses presiding over the conservo-libertarian sage’s colonoscopy report that “as the patient was fading from consciousness he could be heard muttering, ‘Popper, evil, open society should be closed, must….protect…the Republic.'”
A groggy Beck did his best to follow the explanation of the results of his procedure. “What we’re saying mister Beck,” intoned the physician, “is that we biopsied a polyp from the wall of your large intestine. We are sending it to pathology to see if it is an adenocarcinoma, which is to say cancerous.”
The message passed through the fog of narcotics like Conan the Barbarian slowly alluding the Man Eaters of Zamboula. “What, what is my prognosis if it is….cancerous?” whispered the pale entertainer. “Well, quite good,” responded the confident and well paid specialist. “We caught things pretty early. More concerning is the… well….. shall we say shape of the polyp.”
Beck looked bedeviled, as though a Congressman from Texas had just revealed, on air, that he enjoyed eating baby robin omelettes with lobbyists from K street. He shook his tuber shaped head looking for guidance from his wife, who did her best to hide the tears collecting in the corner of her eyes. “You see when we looked at a computer-enhanced image of the polyp, we saw a face, and it wasn’t Joseph Smith,” explained the doctor. “The face is of a geriatric Jewish man of Eastern decent. We think that it’s….well it’s George Soros.”
Beck confessed that he feared something like this might happen. He knew there were risks in shining such a bright light on the happenings of the 35th wealthiest man in the world and master marionette. In fact, a day before the broadcast, Soros’ number two man met with his number two man (Ed: Beck’s words, not mine) to suggest a reconciliation. When Beck’s assistant showed no intentions of censoring the antisemitic polemics, Soros’ representative threatened that his boss would be ‘up Glenn Beck’s ass’ when this thing was over. Of course none of the FOX staffers took the threat literally.
Yet there staring back at him in a 8″ x 10″ glossy provided by his specialist, was the menacing grimace of the octogenarian Dr. Evil, the Prince of Financial Paradigms, and an advocate of legalizing marijuana (the Tattler staff thanks you, sir).
How could this have happened? How could a man implant his visage on the wall of another man’s colon, and be potentially cancerous to boot? This was a campaign of fear the likes of which Beck did not anticipate. “Perhaps calls for boycotts from organizations on the billionaire’s payroll, or a roughing up in the bathroom of an Irish pub, but not THIS,” whined the chronic martyr.
“I have something to report freedom lovers; this is not easy for me, although I am not known to be a man of great pride. Ladies and gentlemen, George Soros has invaded by posterior. That’s right, his influence now reaches as far as my sigmoid. That is not a Freudian reference.” Despite a potential ratings bonanza Beck refused to be more specific on air.
Glenn sat contemplative on his leather sectional while watching the Knicks in HD. What he wouldn’t do for a glass of shimmering amber colored Jameson at a time like this. He missed the sound of the melting ice bouncing against the sides of the glass as he raised it to his anxious maw. In the background he heard the phone ring and his wife answer. She walked to the living room and handed him the black cordless. “It’s the doctor,” she said while gently touching his shoulder.
“Hello,” he croaked, and then cleared his throat.
“Mr. Beck?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, this is him.”
“We got your test results back. The polyp is benign. You don’t have cancer. I would like to take another look in 6 months just to make sure, but otherwise you are healthy.”
Deep breath, fighting back tears, visions of watching his children graduate from college. “Thank you, that is great news.”
The Becks embraced in front of the picture window and decided to celebrate reprieve from the haunting figure of death with Bryer’s strawberry ice cream. In front of their home a black limousine with tinted windows slowly pulled away from the curb. A cold shiver descended the spine of the relieved ringmaster; the wind whispered the name never to be spoken again- Sooooorrrrrros.