Manhattan Infidel

It has been learned that Sheriff Andy Taylor of the town of Mayberry is currently the subject of a Federal civil rights probe. The Fed are close to unsealing an indictment charging Sheriff Taylor, among other things, for “creating an atmosphere of terror” in Mayberry that left citizens traumatized.

It is alleged that Sheriff Taylor, instead of giving all citizens the equal protection of the law, regularly shook the town down.  Those who paid him were protected.  Those who didn’t were visited by town drunk Otis Campbell who would beat them up, destroy their tractors and shoot their livestock.  Said one citizen who wishes to remain anonymous:

Otis was a vicious drunk.  Once I heard my neighbor screaming and I ran over and…..and I can’t even begin to describe the horror of what I saw.  Campbell had him tied up and was using a knife to cut up his testicles.  He kept saying, “Just give Andy the money and all this will be over.”  But he refused and kept shouting, “Freedom!”  I never saw him alive again.  He was my friend dammit!

Also, town barber Floyd Lawson was suspected of murdering people who had run afoul of Sheriff Taylor.

“We used to joke about how his shop always reeked of blood.  Floyd said it was because he nicked a customer.” said one resident.   “Once I guess I said the wrong thing and Floyd stabbed me in my hand.  I mean everyone know about the bodies buried out back.  But we didn’t want no trouble.”

The Feds also have Lawson on tape with Sheriff Taylor discussing a young child Taylor wanted beaten up.

Floyd:  But Andy, he’s just a boy.

Taylor:  I don’t care.  I want him dead.  I want his family dead.  I want his house burned.

But perhaps most damaging was Sheriff Taylor’s relations with Mayberry’s sizable black community.  Despite being 40% of the population, no blacks were ever seen talking to Taylor or even allowed near the vicinity of downtown Mayberry.

“It was known by all of us in the community that we were not to go there or Taylor would send Deputy Fife after us” said a black resident.  “And no one wanted that.  We all knew he was emotionally unstable.  A powder keg with a low blood sugar problem.”

Another tells of a run-in with an enraged and out of control Fife.

“He kept telling me that he had one bullet.  Only one bullet.  And he didn’t mind using it on me.  Crazy white boy!”

Fife was known to pull blacks off of buses as they were trying to leave town and threatening them.

“You want freedom?  Nip it!  Nip it!  Nip it in the bud!”

Sheriff Taylor for his part denies all allegations and blames it on a “desperate political ploy by the other party.”

“If I’m so unpopular why do I keep getting reelected.  Now you run along or I’ll have Otis pay you a visit.”

In a shocking act of senseless violence, a harmless, gentle young boy named Aaron who loves nothing more than playing his drum while his pet lamb, donkey and camel dance was savagely attacked and beaten by this man, former Beatle drummer Pete Best.

Witnesses report that the gentle young lad was drumming his signature tune, “ba-rum pa-pum pum” when a brutal, vicious, out of control and irrational Best punched the child, knocking him to the ground.

As the injured Aaron was comforted by his animal companions Best grabbed Aaron’s drum and said, “No, no, no!  It’s not “ba-rum pa-pum pum” it’s “pum-pum-pum-pum.”  Fast.  Use the kick drum on every quarter note!”

As a bleeding Aaron begged Best to give him back his drum, “Please mister.  My animals like to dance while I play!”,  Best started screaming at the gathering crowd.

What the hell is everyone looking at?  I’m Pete Best dammit!  I was in the Beatles for two years!  You’re all working for Ringo aren’t you?  Admit it!  You’re Ringo’s spies!   Well I’m not afraid of Ringo anymore.  I’m smart.  Not like people say!

The gentle young lad then picked himself up and again entreated Best to give him his drum back.

Mister.  Have a heart!  I’m an orphan.  Bandits stole my family’s sheep, killed my parents and burned down their farm.  Then I was captured by Ben Haramed and forced to perform in his caravan.  Please mister.  I have nothing left in life but my drum.  And my lamb, donkey and camel.  And if you use the kick drum on every quarter note you might push the beat to fast for comfort.  Just saying.

Best became even more enraged by Aaron’s advice and shouted, “You’re a Ringo spy too, aren’t you?”  

He then broke the little drummer boy’s heart by putting his foot through his drum.

“That’s what I do to Ringo’s spies!” said Best as the crowd pelted him with garbage.

Police soon arrived and, fearing for Best’s life, arrested him.

Best is currently being held in protective custody, charged with assault and rushing the beat.

Best’s lawyer promises full exoneration for his client.  “As long as Ringo has no spies on the jury.”

As for the little drummer boy, Aaron’s broken heart was healed when sympathetic citizens chipped in to buy him a new drum.  He was last seen leaving town playing on his drum, accompanied by his loyal lamb, donkey and camel.

When asked to comment on the shocking incident, Ringo Starr told reporters, “Excellent.  Excellent.  My plan is working.”

I ended part III of my interview with Santa by visiting a local establishment and showing my support for single mothers.  I now present my fourth and final installment.  You know, I don’t mean to brag but I smell a Pulitzer.  And if anyone from the networks is reading this I’m ready for my closeup.

MI:  Where am I?

Doctor:  You’re in a hospital.  The good news is we were able to save one of your testicles.

MI: What happened?

Doctor:  You were found in an alleyway outside a strip club beaten pretty badly.  What did you do to piss off a stripper that much?

MI:  Well I -

Doctor:  I mean the hatred that went into your beating.  You didn’t tell them you were a blogger did you?

MI:  Yes I did.

Doctor:  That explains it.  Never tell a stripper you’re a blogger.  In fact never tell anyone you’re a blogger.  It’s like advertising the fact that you are a broke loser who’s never known the touch of a woman.

MI:  But I am a…..oh never mind.  What day is this?  I have to finish my interview with Santa.

Doctor:  Well you’re in luck.  It’s Christmas Eve and Santa will be visiting us soon.

Santa:  Ho ho ho!

Doctor:  Here he is now!

Santa:  Ho ho ho [sees Manhattan Infidel] Ah crap.  You again.

MI:  Santa!  I have just a few more questions to ask you.

Santa:  Listen punk.  I’m tired of you.  You’re cramping my style.  Do you know how long it took me to convince those four 19-year old strippers that you weren’t my friend before they agreed to tie me up, pour chocolate-flavored nipple licker drops on me and slowly lick me to orgasm?  Do you? Well it wasn’t easy let me tell you.  And these weren’t just any 19-year old strippers.  They were Greek 19-year old strippers who were on the Olympic gymnastics team.

MI:  But my interview?

Santa:  What interview?  I should never have agreed to sit down with you.

MI:  Santa!

Santa:  Look if I give you a present will you quit whining and leave me alone?

MI:  Yes.

Santa:  OK.  I found this in the alley.  I think it’s your other testicle.  No wait.  Sorry. That’s Peter Falk’s glass eye.  He gave it to me at a Christmas party once. Here it is.  Anyway.  Enjoy your testicle.  Not that it’ll do you any good.

MI:  Thank you Santa.

Santa:  Well, I’m off.  I have to deliver presents to all the strippers. I mean all the boys and girls.  Ho ho ho!

And so ended my interview with St. Nick.

And if any of my female readers are wondering I have both my testicles back so look me up.  And no the fact that you recently spent time in prison doesn’t matter to me.

As part II of my exclusive interview with St. Nick ended we had exercised our minds and our bodies in wholesome physical activity.  I  now present part III of my interview with this rather remarkable figure.

MI:  This is a nice place. I’ve never been here before.

Santa:  It’s a bit above your kind.  Just don’t mention you blog.  Hey, there’s my favorite dancer.  Come over and give Santa a lap dance honey.

Desiree:   How my favorite big hunk of man?  Would you like your Christmas present?

[The exotic dancer known as “Desiree” sits on Santa’s lap and proceed to gyrate against him.]

Santa:  Oh yeah. That’s what Santa likes.  You know what Santa wants?

Desiree:  A private lap dance?

Santa:  A private session with you and a few of your dancer friends.  I  have a couple thousand in cash burning a hole in my pocket and it’s all for you baby.

[Santa pulls out a couple hundred dollar bills and slips them down Desiree’s G-string.  He then slaps her on her butt.]

Santa:   Oh yeah.  Look at that flesh.  So smooth. Did you hear the tone when I spanked her?  So tight.  

MI:  Yeah nice.  Manhattan Infidel wants some of that.

[Manhattan Infidel pulls a dollar from his wallet and tries to give it to the exotic dancer known as Desiree.]

Desiree:  What the hell is that?

MI:  It’s a dollar baby.  Come to papa.  This dollar is going down your G-string.

Desiree:  Are you serious?  A dollar?  Are you homeless?

MI:  Um.  It’s your tip.

Desiree:  You disrespect me by trying to give me a dollar?  Don’t touch me moron.  Is he a friend of yours?

Santa:  Ho ho ho. No! 

MI:  I was interviewing Santa.

Desiree:  You’re a reporter?

MI: I have a blog.

Desiree:  Security!  Security!

Santa:  Now you’ve done it.  Didn’t I tell you not to mention you’re a blogger?

[Two security guards come over.]

Guard One:  What’s the problem?  Is this punk bothering you?

Desiree:  Worse than that.  He’s a blogger!

[The two guards pick up Manhattan Infidel and carry him towards the exit.]

MI:  Wait a minute.  I’m Manhattan Infidel.  I’m universally beloved.   My blog brings joy to millions.  I mean hundreds.  I mean dozens.

Guard One:  Shut the hell up. We’re tired of you blogging types coming in here.  You buy one drink.  Spend maybe ten bucks and whine that you’ve never known the touch of a woman.

[They throw Manhattan Infidel into the alley.]

Guard Two:  Let’s rough him up.

Guard One:  The testicles?

Guard Two:  Great idea.

[They proceed to beat Manhattan Infidel up.  Santa walks past Manhattan Infidel to his limo. He has a dancer on each arm.]

Santa:  Ho ho ho.  Looks like you’re screwed fella.

MI:  Help me!

Santa:  Yeah, right pal.  Kick him in the groin once for me will you?

Guard One:  You got it Santa!

End of Part III.

As part I of my interview with Santa ended we were discussing over-regulation and how it is killing business.  I now present part II of my interview with the most popular person among boys and girls around the globe.

Santa:  You want a piece of me?  You want me punk?  Here I am.  Come on punk.  Come at me!

MI:  You’re going down fat boy!

[Manhattan Infidel upends the table separating them.  Grabbing his handy switchblade he motions to Santa to come closer.  Santa breaks off a table leg and swings it over his head.]

MI:  Aaaaaaaaa!!!!!!!!!! 

Santa:  I’ve been waiting for this for years you….blogger!

[Manhattan Infidel and Santa collide.  Santa  grabs Manhattan Infidel’s hand and starts hitting it repeatedly with the table leg.]

MI:  Not my hand!  Jesus not my hand!  I need that to masturbate.  I mean I need that hand to write my witty blog posts that keep up the spirit of America!

[Manhattan Infidel grabs Santa’s leg and flips him onto his back.  Manhattan Infidel plunges his knife into Santa’s foot eliciting a blood-curdling scream from St. Nick.]

Santa:  Not my foot!  Not my foot!  I need that foot to power my sleigh!

[As Santa attends to his bleeding foot Manhattan Infidel searches for a gun.]

MI:  Where the hell is your gun?  I know you have one you fat bastard!

[Santa grabs the table leg again and slams it into Manhattan Infidel’s chest.]

MI:  Not my nipples!  Not my nipples!  I need them to…..um……what are male nipples for anyway?

Santa:  I’m not really sure.  I read in a book once they were an evolutionary holdover, like the appendix.

MI:  Really?  Cool.

Santa:  Now prepare to die you blogging bastard!

MI:  What a minute.  What are we doing?  I am not the enemy.  The enemy is out there!  Out there!  Millions of bratty kids around the world demanding presents they don’t deserve.

Santa:  I guess you have a point. [Throws down his table leg.]

MI:  Let’s call a truce.

Santa:  I suppose I can agree to a truce.  Hey, I know a good strip club not far from here.  You want to go?

MI:  A gentleman’s entertainment venue?

Santa:  Don’t push it.

End of Part II.

With Christmas fast approaching we here at the Worldwide Headquarters of Manhattan Infidel are pleased that the man himself, St. Nick has agreed to stop by and talk to us.  I thank Santa Claus for taking time out of his busy schedule to sit down for an interview.

MI:  Santa. Thank you.  I know you’re busy this time of year.  Christmas is right around the corner

Santa:  Yeah, five days.  We’re in the home stretch.

MI:  What’s it like delivering toys around the world?

Santa:  It’s difficult.  It gets more difficult every year.  It’s not very profitable.  My business model just doesn’t work anymore.

MI:  Why is that?

Santa:  Well for starters too much damn regulation.  Do you think it’s easy owning a business now?  I have so many regulations I have to comply with I don’t know them all.  God forbid I forget one.

MI:  Must be difficult -

Santa:  Don’t interrupt me punk.

MI:  Um.  Okay.

Santa: Last week I had some people from the EPA visit my factory.

MI:  Why?

Santa:  I said don’t interrupt me punk.  Anyway, they wanted to check if the run off from the factory was melting the ice cap.  They were concerned that the polar bears might be drowning. Let me tell you about polar bears.  Big f#$#ing nuisance.  The come around digging into our garbage cans - I had to invest in bear-proof garbage cans - and they frighten my elves.  I lost one to a bear.  I heard these screams and I ran out and a polar bear was attacking an elf.  It was like that scene in Jaws where Robert Shaw buys the farm.  There was lots of kicking and screaming and blood.

MI:  Wow.  That must have been - 

Santa: Are you deaf you jackass?  I said don’t interrupt me.  You heard about the light bulb ban?

MI:  Yes.

Santa:  I run a business.  Part of that business is an assembly line.  That’s dangerous work.  I keep it well-lighted.  But I had to remove all the 100 watt bulbs and replaced them with these squiggly shitty things.  Now I have no light on the floor.  Do you know how many accidents I’m having now.  People are breaking arms, losing legs, getting pulled into conveyors and squashed.

MI:  I can see how that would be difficult -

Santa:  Alright punk you and me.  We’re having it out.  I told you not to interrupt me.

MI:  Jesus ain’t we a prissy bitch

Santa:  You want a piece of me?  You want me punk?  Here I am.  Come on punk.  Come at me!

MI:  You’re going down fat boy!

End of Part One of my Exclusive Interview with Santa Claus.

In what can only be described as a disturbing example of a person not knowing their station in life, a working class flight attendant from American Airlines had the temerity to ask, nay, demand that Alec Baldwin turn off his electronic devices.

Our hero Mr. Baldwin, clearly rattled by the breach of protocol, retreated to the rest room in first class to compose himself and gather the moral courage to not strike the attendant.

But things only got worse for Mr. Baldwin.  American Airlines, clearly not knowing or caring that one of the better class of people was on board had the plane go back to the gate.  Thereupon Mr. Baldwin was taken off the plane, his august body touched by the bare hands of working class people.

Clearly Mr. Baldwin is within his rights to sue American after the indignities he suffered.  But, showing all the world his class and refinement he has chosen not to.

This is not an isolated incident.  In the past year there have been more reports of formerly docile working class people with moderate to conservative tendencies refusing submission to their liberal superiors.

To what do we owe these disturbing signs of class warfare?  I, the Manhattan Infidel, a working class person myself yet one who still maintains healthy respect for protocol and etiquette between the classes have a theory which I now present to my readers:

• Republican attempts to dismantle the welfare state

In the past year, the Tea Party “Teabaggers” have risen up in America.  A disturbing force they want to cut government spending and end the safety net of entitlement spending.   If this safety net is dismantled the bond between the classes will disappear.  No longer will the majority of Americans look upon liberals with gratitude for their daily bread.  Instead resentment, envy and hatred will reign.  We must not allow this to happen.  After all, our founding fathers did not give us a republic where all men are created equal just to allow the working class to forget their natural, lower station in life.

I believe I have a simple solution that will restore trust and respect between the classes.

I ask that all working class people, when coming in contact with liberals, wear gloves on their hands.  It is simply inconceivable that the bare hands of commoners should be allowed to touch liberals.  I believe that the visible symbol of the gloves will remind us of who we are, what we are, and why familiarity between the classes should be frowned upon.

In addition to gloves I humbly ask my fellow commoners that, when leaving the presence of a liberal, they not turn their backs upon them.  Instead, walk backwards, bowing all the time. It is important that you never turn your back on a liberal as this can be misinterpreted as disrespect.  He would then be within his rights to beat you.

And so dear readers, I ask you to give my suggestions serious consideration.  I believe they are for our own good.

Yours sincerely,

The Manhattan Infidel

Today I have the privilege to sit down and interview a pop culture icon:  The legendary Kermit the Frog himself.

MI:  Kermit it is my privilege to interview you.  I’ve been a fan for years.

KF:  Yeah whatever.

MI:  You have a new movie coming out. Tell me about it.  Are you excited to be back on the silver screen?

KF:  I don’t know.  I just show up and read the f#(*#ing lines.  It’s Disney’s baby. 

MI:  Oh, okay.  Things have been tough for the muppets since Jim Henson died.

KF:  Tell me about it.  We were bought and sold like pieces of meat.  No regard to us at all. One company who owned us went bankrupt.  No money was coming in.  Do you mind if I smoke?

MI:  No go ahead.

KF:  [Smoking] Ah, that hits the spot.  Anyway.  I had no money coming in so I had to find other avenues of income.

MI:  Such as?

KF:  I’m big into narcotics.  Very profitable. I own lots of poppy fields in Afghanistan.  I also have connections with Mexican drug cartels that bring cocaine over the border for me.

MI:  What?  What the - this will come as quite a shock to my readers.

KF:  Right.  You have a blog?  So you have…..what? Three readers?

MI:  Oh come on.  That’s just mean.  Six actually.  Anyway let’s change the topic.  Let’s talk about your relationship with the other muppets.  Miss Piggy?

KF:  Just friends.

MI:  Animal?

KF:  Son of a bitch owes me money.  I don’t give him drugs for free!

MI:  Fozzy Bear?

KF:  He’s my soul mate.  I love him.

MI: I  hope you don’t mind.  I have to ask this.  The drugs.  Is it -

KF: People are going to do drugs.  You know that.  I know that.  We all know that.  All I do is act on that.  And all this talk of bootlegging - What is bootlegging? On a boat it’s bootlegging.  On Lake Shore Drive it’s hospitality.  I’m a businessman.

MI:  Okay. I wasn’t going to ask about bootlegging.  My question is - the drugs.  Is this just business or is it something you are enthusiastic about?

KF:  Life goes on. A man becomes preeminent, he’s expected to have enthusiasms. Enthusiasms… Enthusiasms… What are mine? What draws my admiration? What is that which gives me joy? [grabs a baseball bat] Baseball! A man stands alone at the plate. This is the time for what? For individual achievement. There he stands alone. But in the field, what? Part of a team. Teamwork…. Looks, throws, catches, hustles - part of one big team. Bats himself the live-long day, Babe Ruth, Ty Cobb, and so on. If his team don’t field… what is he? You follow me? No one! Sunny day, the stands are full of fans. What does he have to say? “I’m goin’ out there for myself. But… I get nowhere unless the team wins.”

MI:  The team.  Very inspiring.  Hey, do you mind not holding that baseball bat so close to my head?

KF:  You blogging son of a bitch. You’re after my drug money [hits Manhattan Infidel over the head with his baseball bat]

MI:  Ow.  That really stings.  Stop it!

KF:  Sorry.  That was supposed to cave your skull in.  You wouldn’t have felt a thing.  Let me try again.

MI:  Get the hell away from me.  This interview is over you psychotic green bastard. The hell with promoting your movie.

KF:  I’m sorry.  Hey, let’s talk some more about the muppets.

MI:  F#$# you.  I’m out of here.

And so ended my interview with drug kingpin Kermit the Frog.

December, 1620.  Plymouth Colony

The protest movement known as “Occupy Plymouth Rock” that has the whole world watching entered its second week.

“We’re here for the long run” said Occupation military leader Miles Standish. “This is what democracy looks like.”

The occupiers, or “pilgrims” as they prefer to be known have landed at Plymouth Rock to protest income inequality in England.  Said Standish:

There’s nothing merry about ye olde merry England at All.  One percent of the populations holds all the wealth.  The other 99% like us live in poverty and filth.  Granted, not as much poverty and filth as the Irish but pretty darn close.  That’s why we came here to Plymouth Rock.  We have all the supplies we need to sustain ourselves like sleeping tents and guns.  Yeah, we ain’t leaving.  Just let the man try and force us out!

A spokesman for the native American community told reporters that “while the English are free to exercise their rights we cannot allow them to stay for very long.  Their personal hygiene is atrocious. Don’t stand downwind of an Englishman that’s all I have to say.”

Already local natives have complained to their local confederations of the filth, disease and drug abuse that the English are bringing to Plymouth Rock.

Many native Americans are afraid to go near the English.

“They brought drugs with them and every night I see them drinking from their bottles” said a concerned local.  “I can’t even go out and hunt and gather anymore without one of them accosting me and calling me a fat cat.”

Businesses in the area are complaining that since the English arrived their profits have decreased dramatically.

“It’s noisy.  Filthy.  They keep coming up here to use our bathrooms. My customers have started going elsewhere.  Filthy smelly Englishmen!”

Plans are afoot to drive the English back to their ship.  Local native American police forces have gathered around the colony.  Said one, “A nighttime raid is a possibility.  We have to clean up Plymouth Rock.”

No matter what the outcome Miles Standish hopes that “someday, somewhere in the future the Pilgrims will be remembered and I will be mentioned in an R.E.M. song.”

The cold arctic has a new vacation spot.  Superman, famed superhero with mighty powers and rumored reporter for the Daily Planet, has turned his fortress of solitude into a bed and breakfast.

“I am happy and excited about this” Superman told reporters.

I don’t know much about running a business frankly.  Most of my experience has been bending steel, crushing bad guys and escaping from the phantom zone.  But I needed a new challenge.  And I figured why not turn my fortress of solitude into an ice hotel?  They say crime doesn’t pay?  Well neither does crime fighting.  So this will help pay off some of my debts.

Still Superman had many regulatory hurdles to overcome.

Who would have thought the North Pole had so many regulations.  What difference does it make what sort of light bulbs I use?  And don’t get me started on the whole providing health care thing.  I’ll take the fine.  That’s still cheaper than giving health benefits to my employees.  Let the government take care of them.

But once Superman cleared all the regulations he still had to find employees to staff his Fortress of Solitude.

No one wants to come up to the North Pole.  Go figure.  It is kind of out of the way. Even the Norwegians wouldn’t come here.  Christ their entire country is arctic.  So I hired a bunch of Mexicans. One hand washes the other.  I’m paying them ten dollars an hour but it’s steady work so they’re happy.  And I bought some fake citizenship papers for all of them. The government need not know.

Another problem Superman encountered was Lex Luthor.

The bald-headed freak was a real pain in the ass.  It’s bad enough he’s banging Lana Lang.  He tried to stop me from opening this and when he couldn’t do that he tried to get a piece of the action.  But I’m not splitting the money with anyone.  I may be from another planet but that doesn’t mean I’m a socialist.

Finally after months of preparation it was time for opening.  Superman, in his trademark cape, stood by the entrance greeting the guests.

Hi I’m Superman.  Yes I normally dress like this.  Look just because I’m wearing a cape doesn’t mean this is a gay-themed bed and breakfast.   No I don’t want to do the rusty trombone with you.  Look just take your money and get the hell out of here.

Superman looked out at the crowd and pondered his new venture.

The public.  What a bunch of a–holes.  I’m going to hate serving them I know.  But I need the money.  Things should really pick up when my  liquor license comes through.  I’ve already hired a Scotsman to be my bartender.

Rooms in the Fortress of Solitude start at $120 a night not including taxes.  Book now for Spring Break!