We interrupt the nation's impending catastrophic doom for the story time minute. Today's tender tale is that favorite children's classic, Bush'n Little.
All around Bush'n Little there was nothing but ruin and collapse. One day, wayward debris plopped down on his feathered brain.
"Laura! Dick! Come quickly. The sky is falling!" he chirped.
"Better do something at once, Bush'n Little," chimed in Brother Dick. "Go agitate those big guns down in Congress or play in traffic. Leave us alone for a change."
And so, Bush'n Little picked himself up out of Pennsylvania Avenue and trundled down the road. He met Fallson Paulson and McCan't McCain along the way. The three of them happened upon Dosie Pelosi, a beguiling creature with her own agenda.
"Oh please, Dosie Pelosi, the sky is falling. Can't you see?," pleaded Bush'n Little. "We need huge wads of cash for my buddies back at the hen house so that they can build a bridge up to the sky. That'll keep it from falling down, for sure."
"I see nothing of the sort, Bush'n Little," snarled Dosie, "And even if I did, you chickens have made such a mess of things, what good would it do?"
Fallson Paulson dropped to one knee. "Fair and gentle soul, Dosie Pelosi, have pity on feathered friends flocking together," he pleaded. "We need your help to stop the sky from crashing over all of us. You must get on board behind our cash grab or the entire sky will collapse."
"Fallson Paulson! How you do make me laugh," Dosie replied. "The Kingship is now up for grabs and I would be a fool to enhance the stature of your contestant over my own." At that point, the wily fox keened her eyes on McCan't. "Pray tell, what are you doing here, McCan't? Shouldn't you be out campaigning?"
"I put that on hold along with today's scary debate to follow in the path of Bush'n Little," replied McCan't with more than just a hint of pride. "He flaps about in noble acts of selflessness, screaming and warning like a bat out of hell, yet proposes nothing worthwhile. Nada. Zip. I can learn much from his chicken ways."
"Speak up, McCan't," urged Dosie, "I must determine whether I should kiss up to you."
"Uh, nope, sorry," said McCan't. "No can do. I cannot speak up. Too political. Besides, Bush'n Little is the one in charge. What he says goes."
And with that, Dosie Pelosi turned her back on the motley crew to seek out her own source of sustenance. The sky and everything in it could rain down on the world, she didn't care. She had everything she owned tied up in off-shore bank accounts, private foreign investments, and a slew of other hedges against catastrophe. She would be just fine in her own little padded lair.
But Bush'n Little and company? Somebody's lunch. She'd make completely certain of it.
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