~1000 words

Parody

1. A humorous or satirical imitation
2. A pair of ditsy countries. E.g. 'The UK and the USA really are a
paradoy, aren't they?"




1972, New York

"So," the agent says to the neophyte novelist, "Pitch me your story."
He glances at his watch. "Sorry, I only have time for one martini,
I'm meeting the editor of Rambling House at one. Go!" He motions
with one hand as he takes a deep gulp of the martini.

"Well, it's set in the late teens of the next century," the author
begins.

The agent motions with his hand to talk faster. "Come on, I don't have
a lot of time. How many women does your protag bed?"

"It's not like that, I don't have a conventional protag. It's about a
long term subversion of the two greatest democracies in the
world by huge communist bureaucracies."

"US of A and the UK va the USSR. OK."

"I can name the countries? I thought..."

"Yeah, I'll have to clear it with Legal. So far, I haven't heard
anything that says you can't. Spy novel, cool, those sell well.
How many bodies before the coda? Good guys, bad guys, I don't care.
Lots of gore, right?"

"It's not like that," the writer shakes his head. "In one country,
the populace is seduced by pornography on the one hand and
extreme religion on the other, overlaid with easy access to harmless recreational drugs that the government criminalizes, sends people
to prison for decades for the equivalent of a fifth of booze."

"Hah, that'll be the day. Waitress, one more! Hurry, it baby! All
that porn, the drugs, your spy gets involved in orgies every other
week, right?" The agent glances out the window at the seedy movie
theatre across the street, "Deep Throat" on the marque, thinking,
'I need to do some, um, research over there. Maybe take that bimbo
from the file room, Tracy. I hear she's easy.'

"No, no, it's not like that. Lots of legal challenges, hidden
funding, all driven from behind the Iron Curtain. A small court
victory here,
then another in San Francisco, hobbling the government in some areas,
giving them free reign in others. Guns are involved, too, as the
troops
come home from over there, they want protection. At first it's just
pistols, but soon enough military rifles are being sold to the
public."

"That'll never happen, man, be real, the government won't allow it.
So, your spy leaves bodies all across Europe, torn apart with
automatic weapons?"

"No, no, it's not like that. Europe keeps a tight rein on guns, it's
just the US where anyone can buy almost any weapon."

"Sounds stupid, I don't think the reader will but it. A huntign rifle
is one thing, an M-16 is another. So, your spy leaves bodies all
across the States."

"Lots of bodies, but not my spy. Just frustrated people who can't
make ends meet, lose their wife, their job, whatever."

"So they shoot two or three people?"

"More like dozens. And multiple incidents across the country. Old
people, people shopping, kids, government workers..."

"Whoa. No dead kids. Rambling House won't buy that."

The author shrugged. It was one of his more outre ideas.

"Besides, if that DID happen, the government would pick up every gun
like that, and put anyone who kept one away for the rest of their
life.
So, your spy shags some big titted British chick, right?"

The author sighed. "No. It's not like that. The UK implements
National Healthcare. Everybody has free medical care. The establish
a huge bureaucracy to manage it, dozens of clerks for every doctor, it
takes months to get in to see one."

"That sounds stupid, no one would put up with that. And no reader
would believe it."

The waitress finally appeared with the agent's second martini, and he
tried to peer down her bodice as she set it on the table.

"And the doctors are paid less than the bureaucrats," the author said.

"Pfft."

"Then, the UK joins the rest of Europe in a Common Economic block to
compete on the world stage, mostly against the US, but also China."

"China? The Brits are going to make cheap plastic shit?"

"No, by then, China is the largest manufacturer in the world."

"That's bullshit."

The author plows on doggedly. "After 20 years or so, the Russians
subvert an election in the UK, leveraging dissatisfaction with
healthcare and with immigrants, and the UK votes to leave the bloc."

"Cool, that starts a European Civil War, and your spy..."

"No, it's not like that. They just can't figure out HOW to leave."

"Well, they are Brits. Give'm some tea or something." The agent was
obviously bored.

"Meanwhile, here in the States, we elect a man with no government
experience as President. He means well, but can't stay on one plan for
more
than a couple of days. Implement this, then not, insulting trading
partners, then cozying up to them. It's a train wreck."

"I'd guess so. Doesn't sound like a soldier, though."

"Oh, he's not a soldier."

"You said he didn't have any government experience, so he has to be a
soldier, right? A general at least."

"Nope."

"PolySci in school?"

"Nope. Business."

"Oh, fuck." The agent glanced around, fearful that someone in the bar
had heard him curse. One thing in his own office, another here
in public. "Look, kid, I know that bimbo waitress ain't too smart,
she'd probably vote for the best looking politician. That's
why we have a poll tax. Keeps idiots like her from voting.

"Not by then, we don't."

"Right. Lemme guess, kid, somewhere in there, the USSR dissolves,
right? To lull us into a false sense of security? And then, when the
UK and the
USA collapse, they move in?"

"Exactly!" the author says excitedly. "You get it! It'll be a best
seller!"

The agent shakes his head. "You know, kid, I hoped Fleming wasn't
blowing smoke up my...anyway, I had hopes. But not only
do you not have anything for Rambling House, you don't even have a
'Ladies from B.U.S.T that I can sell to Groove Press. Even Groove's
slush
pile is better than this. It was good having lunch with you, kid,
thanks for picking up the check, I gotta run. I'll call you, don't
call me."
He rose and hurried from the bar leering at their waitress one more
time.

Jack Ryan watched the literary agent leave the bar and sighed. Time to
go back and sell some insurance.

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