Vasilika Vanya Marinkovic
Secret World Entertainment ©
“Governor Seethers is joining us now at his Governor’s picnic” said Terri Malone, a beautiful and somewhat mature blonde news correspondent, at the lavishly decorated Veterans Park in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
“Welcome Governor Seethers and what do you think about this gathering today?”
Several hundred people were already milling about, getting hot dogs, potato salad, popcorn, ice cream, whilst kids were getting their faces painted, having animal balloons made for them and both adults and kids were having their hair sprayed with wild punk colors and glittery tinsels strewn around the top of their heads. A nice rock ‘n’ roll band were covering classic hits.
The Governor smiled, his entourage all climbing out of the limo behind him and other news crews were trying to get in on Terri Malone’s spot.
“Well Terri” said the Governor, “All I have to say is, I can’t wait for the fried pickles to be served.”
Everybody laughed and the governor plugged on, just milking it, since all the cameras were on him.
“Oh, and I’m so happy to see all my constituents here.”
More laughter, but Terri was determined to get just a little more on the governor despite the fact he was walking on and toward the rush of things.
“Governor Seethers, just one more question.”
“Of course.” The governor smiled at Terri Malone, eyes twinkling. He had to appease the press.
“Fried pickles have never been served at a Governor’s picnic before. What is that?”
The crowd laughed and the governor moved in, kind of closely to Terri Malone and became just a bit condescending.
“Well Terri, what do you expect? Picnics usually have the typical fare. Look around you.”
Eyes darted all over the place, as were the cameras. One woman struggled to place a large hot dog in her mouth and the crowd laughed unbeknownst to her. Eyes still wandered around watching picnic goers eat mouth-watering cotton candy. And of course, you could see folks enjoying hamburgers, all the toppings at the ready. There were coffee carts and tables full of soda, water and even juice. There was potato salad, coleslaw and pies of all sorts. The crowd around the governor rumbled all at once, hot wings, barbecue, cakes, pastries and churros.
“You see?” asked the Governor.
“Well, why are we getting fried pickles this year and can the state of Louisiana afford this additional cost?”
Everyone laughed.
“I ordered them,” said the governor. “They’re one of my favorite appetizers.”
Laughter again.
“I assure you; we can afford them.”
“What financial provisions were made to cover this additional cost?”
“Now, now,” said the governor. “You haven’t done all your homework. Any extra state expenditures are covered in last months’ state budget report.”
Everyone laughed.
“Namely” went on the Governor, eyes lighting up. He was going for the kill. “Volunteers prepare all of these delectables and vendors donate everything else.”
Now a ruckus of laughter and Terri’s cheeks went red. Naturally she conceded by shrugging and off went the governor and his party, toward the center of activities, where already, food servers began to hand them loaded plates full of all the aforementioned picnic items. The band played, children laughed and ran, news crews filmed the governor’s party and all surroundings and the sun began to set. People began to dance to the music. As the merriment came upon full blast, Kyle, the young governor’s aide dashed up to his boss.
“Governor Seethers, the fried pickles are served, piping hot and ready. You get to be the first served.”
Governor Seethers, smile on his face walked toward an already forming long line, a female aide was at the head of. She waved him over, indicating he take his place directly in front of her.
As the crowd oohed and aahed, Governor Seethers was served a nice pile of the pickles, steam of the hot fried item, warming his face. The man sat down and bit into four of them, all porked with his fork, news cameras all taking this in.
Seethers swallowed everything down as several other people began to sit down with their plates. And suddenly, the governor began to dry heave; the first person in line halted, just watching, as the six other people who’d been served, began to eat, not knowing the ill effect the fried pickles were having on the governor. Cameras took it all in, as Kyle approached the governor with a towel.
“Governor Seethers, are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” the governor barked, but his color looked quite putrid. And he pushed the towel out of the way, as if its very presence offended him.
“Get that out of the way.”
And as Kyle turned around, Seethers had an episode of projectile vomit right into the aide’s back side. The crowd screamed and laughed simultaneously, just not knowing what was appropriate at a moment like this. The governor angrily yet sluggishly got to his feet.
“Help!” someone yelled off a bit in the distance. “Call 911!”
But naturally, since it was a governor’s picnic, they were already there. Five EMT’s ran toward a woman convulsing next to a picnic table, three kids screaming and crying, while the husband downed his Long Island Iced Tea.
“She ate the pickles!” came a shout near the table, as many news teams headed away from the governor, toward the lower outskirts of the picnic area.
“Get the cameras out of my face!” the governor barked. And as he managed to shove one camera out of his face, he sprayed the lens of a news team still lingering directly in his space, with another round of vomit.
The crowd ewed and awed as a couple camera people backed up quickly.
“Why are you naked, for the love of God and all things holy?” asked the governor of his assistant Kyle, who was at present, bottomless.
“Because you threw up on me Governor.”
People laughed at the young assistants’ remark and his naivete and willingness to go in the buff, in the line of duty, apparently.
Then more shouts began, as a husband and wife who’d had pickles began to vomit. At this point, EMT’s began to stabilize the convulsing woman, and an ambulance tooted its siren marking its’ arrival.
“Who is responsible for these pickles?” demanded the governor, as the servers of the now empty line shrugged their shoulders. They were quite frightened.
“Who’s responsible for these pickles?” The governor demanded once again. “I want answers, and I want them now!”
A borderline slovenly woman in her forties approached, dark brown hair, housewife type red house dress and hair prematurely in a bun.
“Governor, I made the blueberry, apple and rhubarb pies and my neighbor Melba and her husband were responsible for the hamburgers.”
A man began to yell in pain, clutching his side, collapsing to the ground and two emergency technicians ran over to him, as the now stabilized convulsing woman was loaded onto the ambulance.
“Well thank you very much” said the governor to the woman. “But that doesn’t answer my question about the GOD DAMNED FRIED PICKLES! Who done it?”
Everyone gasped. This was the Bible belt. And suddenly everyone gasped, as the semi- nude Kyle, sporting shit down his legs stood in line at the fried pickle station. He tried one pickle.
The servers backed away in disgust.
“Your evaluation is not going to look good young man” warned the governor.
“I was just trying to take one for the team sir.”
“I’ve already taken it you moron!” yelled the governor, face full of sweat and two emergency technicians now at his side.
Then, just a few feet away from them, a man began to convulse and a woman, quite possibly his wife began to scream.
“Code blue, code blue!” shouted an EMT and the crowd gasped, all cameras and newscasters homing in on this, the governor left momentarily alone.
“Heads are going to roll” he admonished. “I want all picnic food contributors, all Chefs right here!”
He pointed at the spot in front of him.
“Right now!”
Kyle, who was shit soaked and butt hugger adorned, got on a microphone and echoed the governor’s order. About a dozen very frightened people formed in front of the governor, press and spectators.
Including those gathering, were the pie woman, despite the fact, she had not made the pickles.
Two ambulances loaded the man, the woman and a third arrived, as three EMT” s performed CPR and lifesaving maneuvers on the man who had just crashed.
“Why are you here?” demanded the governor, of the pie woman.
“You already said you were in charge of the pies. What’s the matter with you? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
Then the governor puked some more, hitting the pie woman on her dress and the crowd gasped, oohed and aahed.
Now the cameras pointed around the governor, his bare ass naked assistant and EMT and a dozen scared looking chefs and contributors, as the governor walked unsteadily around them, like an animal stalking his prey.
“Governor Seethers” said an EMT. “Are you okay? Do you need any medical attention?”
The governor shoved the man out of his way and pointed at the pie lady.
“You! Pie woman, on the sidelines! If you didn’t make the fried pickles, get out of the center!”
She promptly left and another woman spoke up.
“Sir-Governor, my husband and I made the hamburgers. My husband-
She indicated the man next to her. “Hunts only the best deer and moose and our cows are grade A, USDA.”
“Did he hunt any God damned fried fucking pickles?” asked the governor, ready to kill almost.
The crowd gasped. An old crucifix wearing Christian woman fainted.
“One. Two” yelled an EMT, trying to save the crashing man.
“Um, no-no sir” stammered the hunters wife.
“Three!” yelled the EMT, down field.
“We got a pulse!” exclaimed his partner. “His readings are coming back.”
There was a cheer from a far and three reporters began to trek away from the governor’s spot.
“Well, you dicks won’t get the Pulitzer Prize when I discover who made the fried pickles and kill the bastard!” taunted the deranged governor as many a spectator, picnic goer cautiously backed away.
Promptly, the three reporters and crew turned round. Although an ambitious crew kept panning back and forth.
“So, get the hell out of the center area-hunter and hamburger wife!” spat the governor. Another gasp, as this nickname, seemed to coalesce with the woman’s chubbiness. She promptly burst out crying as her husband followed her out of the circle of chefs. Now, eight people were left, including one little boy and a young teenage girl of about thirteen. The governor scowled at the children.
“Now what the hell did you brats make? Queried the governor, pointing from the boy to the teen girl.
“It better not be fried pickles!” warned the deranged governor. “It’s going to suck, prospect of killing innocent or not so innocent children, if you made those damn ass pickles!”
The crowd gasped and the boy began to howl in a crying fit. His mother came into the center to offer tissues and an embrace.
“Sir, you’re not well” said the incessant EMT. “Let’s get you checked out.”
The governor socked the EMT, with many a camera panning from the governor to the ground, with the now unconscious EMT.
“You!” spat the governor to the boys’ mother. “Get out of the center. If you didn’t make the pickles, get out!”
“Oh, it definitely wasn’t me” said the little boys’ mother, bolting out of the circle quickly as if her life depended on it. And the boy began to wail harder, with his mother now AWOL.
“Stop crying, son. Are you crying because you made so many people sick here today?” demanded the governor.
“Governor Seethers” the thirteen-year-old girl spoke up. “Ricky made a nice batch of rock candy is all.”
“Oh” the governor seemed disappointed. “Kid, you’re dismissed. “Go!”
The little boys’ mom came up to yank him out and the boy finally stopped crying.
“Now what the hell did you make young lady?” the governor asked the teenage girl who’d spoken up on behalf of the little boy.
“I made the cheese chili sir. It’s award winning.”
“Well, good for you!” boomed the governor. “Out of the center.”
Now, only six people remained: three men, three women, with one of the ladies crying.
“Good God, what is wrong with everyone today?” griped the governor.
“I’m sorry Governor” said the crying woman. “I’m the one who recommended the chef for the fried pickles. But, in his defense, he’s homeless.”
Everyone, the governor included, eyed the group. She’d used the word “his”. That left one of the three men as the pickles perp.
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere” soothed the governor and the crowd wondered if it was sarcasm or for real.
The two ambulances took off, with the last being loaded with the man who’d just barely been saved. The governor waved a shaking finger at the last remaining folks in the circle of shame.
“You two ladies out, you stay.”
The crowd gasped. The EMT on the ground came to, rubbing his jaw. Up above him, naked ass of the governor assistant, Kyle who farted down at him.
“Why would you recommend a chef to make bad fried pickles young woman?” the governor asked of the remaining woman in the circle.
“I-I didn’t know he was going to season them to death-I didn’t-
“And you knew he was homeless? Holy hell! The filth on his hands alone!”
“Governor” the ruffled man spoke up. He was in his early sixties. “I have been to culinary school, have cooked for some of the best places in Alaska, have the best references-
“And yet you’re homeless and you made a batch of fried pickles today that could have killed every one of us, and to top it all off, you burst my bubble by preliminarily announcing yourself before I had the pleasure of weeding you down!”
The governor looked cockeyed at the remaining other two men. “You two out!”
And with this order, the two men fled, seemingly for their very lives.
“You stay!” he ordered the woman, who’d been responsible for recommending the homeless man/chef.
“I’m going to hunt down all your references and destroy! And have them all shut down, all the restaurants you’ve cheffed at! He barked at the homeless man.
“Well, you’ll be shutting down some of your favorite establishments” said the homeless man, smugly.
“You!” chided the governor. Then he began chasing the homeless man around the picnic grounds, everything turning into even more wild upheaval.
THE END Vasilika Vanya Marinkovic
Secret World Entertainment ©
“Governor Seethers is joining us now at his Governor’s picnic” said Terri Malone, a beautiful and somewhat mature blonde news correspondent, at the lavishly decorated Veterans Park in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
“Welcome Governor Seethers and what do you think about this gathering today?”
Several hundred people were already milling about, getting hot dogs, potato salad, popcorn, ice cream, whilst kids were getting their faces painted, having animal balloons made for them and both adults and kids were having their hair sprayed with wild punk colors and glittery tinsels strewn around the top of their heads. A nice rock ‘n’ roll band were covering classic hits.
The Governor smiled, his entourage all climbing out of the limo behind him and other news crews were trying to get in on Terri Malone’s spot.
“Well Terri” said the Governor, “All I have to say is, I can’t wait for the fried pickles to be served.”
Everybody laughed and the governor plugged on, just milking it, since all the cameras were on him.
“Oh, and I’m so happy to see all my constituents here.”
More laughter, but Terri was determined to get just a little more on the governor despite the fact he was walking on and toward the rush of things.
“Governor Seethers, just one more question.”
“Of course.” The governor smiled at Terri Malone, eyes twinkling. He had to appease the press.
“Fried pickles have never been served at a Governor’s picnic before. What is that?”
The crowd laughed and the governor moved in, kind of closely to Terri Malone and became just a bit condescending.
“Well Terri, what do you expect? Picnics usually have the typical fare. Look around you.”
Eyes darted all over the place, as were the cameras. One woman struggled to place a large hot dog in her mouth and the crowd laughed unbeknownst to her. Eyes still wandered around watching picnic goers eat mouth-watering cotton candy. And of course, you could see folks enjoying hamburgers, all the toppings at the ready. There were coffee carts and tables full of soda, water and even juice. There was potato salad, coleslaw and pies of all sorts. The crowd around the governor rumbled all at once, hot wings, barbecue, cakes, pastries and churros.
“You see?” asked the Governor.
“Well, why are we getting fried pickles this year and can the state of Louisiana afford this additional cost?”
Everyone laughed.
“I ordered them,” said the governor. “They’re one of my favorite appetizers.”
Laughter again.
“I assure you; we can afford them.”
“What financial provisions were made to cover this additional cost?”
“Now, now,” said the governor. “You haven’t done all your homework. Any extra state expenditures are covered in last months’ state budget report.”
Everyone laughed.
“Namely” went on the Governor, eyes lighting up. He was going for the kill. “Volunteers prepare all of these delectables and vendors donate everything else.”
Now a ruckus of laughter and Terri’s cheeks went red. Naturally she conceded by shrugging and off went the governor and his party, toward the center of activities, where already, food servers began to hand them loaded plates full of all the aforementioned picnic items. The band played, children laughed and ran, news crews filmed the governor’s party and all surroundings and the sun began to set. People began to dance to the music. As the merriment came upon full blast, Kyle, the young governor’s aide dashed up to his boss.
“Governor Seethers, the fried pickles are served, piping hot and ready. You get to be the first served.”
Governor Seethers, smile on his face walked toward an already forming long line, a female aide was at the head of. She waved him over, indicating he take his place directly in front of her.
As the crowd oohed and aahed, Governor Seethers was served a nice pile of the pickles, steam of the hot fried item, warming his face. The man sat down and bit into four of them, all porked with his fork, news cameras all taking this in.
Seethers swallowed everything down as several other people began to sit down with their plates. And suddenly, the governor began to dry heave; the first person in line halted, just watching, as the six other people who’d been served, began to eat, not knowing the ill effect the fried pickles were having on the governor. Cameras took it all in, as Kyle approached the governor with a towel.
“Governor Seethers, are you okay?”
“I’m fine!” the governor barked, but his color looked quite putrid. And he pushed the towel out of the way, as if its very presence offended him.
“Get that out of the way.”
And as Kyle turned around, Seethers had an episode of projectile vomit right into the aide’s back side. The crowd screamed and laughed simultaneously, just not knowing what was appropriate at a moment like this. The governor angrily yet sluggishly got to his feet.
“Help!” someone yelled off a bit in the distance. “Call 911!”
But naturally, since it was a governor’s picnic, they were already there. Five EMT’s ran toward a woman convulsing next to a picnic table, three kids screaming and crying, while the husband downed his Long Island Iced Tea.
“She ate the pickles!” came a shout near the table, as many news teams headed away from the governor, toward the lower outskirts of the picnic area.
“Get the cameras out of my face!” the governor barked. And as he managed to shove one camera out of his face, he sprayed the lens of a news team still lingering directly in his space, with another round of vomit.
The crowd ewed and awed as a couple camera people backed up quickly.
“Why are you naked, for the love of God and all things holy?” asked the governor of his assistant Kyle, who was at present, bottomless.
“Because you threw up on me Governor.”
People laughed at the young assistants’ remark and his naivete and willingness to go in the buff, in the line of duty, apparently.
Then more shouts began, as a husband and wife who’d had pickles began to vomit. At this point, EMT’s began to stabilize the convulsing woman, and an ambulance tooted its siren marking its’ arrival.
“Who is responsible for these pickles?” demanded the governor, as the servers of the now empty line shrugged their shoulders. They were quite frightened.
“Who’s responsible for these pickles?” The governor demanded once again. “I want answers, and I want them now!”
A borderline slovenly woman in her forties approached, dark brown hair, housewife type red house dress and hair prematurely in a bun.
“Governor, I made the blueberry, apple and rhubarb pies and my neighbor Melba and her husband were responsible for the hamburgers.”
A man began to yell in pain, clutching his side, collapsing to the ground and two emergency technicians ran over to him, as the now stabilized convulsing woman was loaded onto the ambulance.
“Well thank you very much” said the governor to the woman. “But that doesn’t answer my question about the GOD DAMNED FRIED PICKLES! Who done it?”
Everyone gasped. This was the Bible belt. And suddenly everyone gasped, as the semi- nude Kyle, sporting shit down his legs stood in line at the fried pickle station. He tried one pickle.
The servers backed away in disgust.
“Your evaluation is not going to look good young man” warned the governor.
“I was just trying to take one for the team sir.”
“I’ve already taken it you moron!” yelled the governor, face full of sweat and two emergency technicians now at his side.
Then, just a few feet away from them, a man began to convulse and a woman, quite possibly his wife began to scream.
“Code blue, code blue!” shouted an EMT and the crowd gasped, all cameras and newscasters homing in on this, the governor left momentarily alone.
“Heads are going to roll” he admonished. “I want all picnic food contributors, all Chefs right here!”
He pointed at the spot in front of him.
“Right now!”
Kyle, who was shit soaked and butt hugger adorned, got on a microphone and echoed the governor’s order. About a dozen very frightened people formed in front of the governor, press and spectators.
Including those gathering, were the pie woman, despite the fact, she had not made the pickles.
Two ambulances loaded the man, the woman and a third arrived, as three EMT” s performed CPR and lifesaving maneuvers on the man who had just crashed.
“Why are you here?” demanded the governor, of the pie woman.
“You already said you were in charge of the pies. What’s the matter with you? Are you a glutton for punishment?”
Then the governor puked some more, hitting the pie woman on her dress and the crowd gasped, oohed and aahed.
Now the cameras pointed around the governor, his bare ass naked assistant and EMT and a dozen scared looking chefs and contributors, as the governor walked unsteadily around them, like an animal stalking his prey.
“Governor Seethers” said an EMT. “Are you okay? Do you need any medical attention?”
The governor shoved the man out of his way and pointed at the pie lady.
“You! Pie woman, on the sidelines! If you didn’t make the fried pickles, get out of the center!”
She promptly left and another woman spoke up.
“Sir-Governor, my husband and I made the hamburgers. My husband-
She indicated the man next to her. “Hunts only the best deer and moose and our cows are grade A, USDA.”
“Did he hunt any God damned fried fucking pickles?” asked the governor, ready to kill almost.
The crowd gasped. An old crucifix wearing Christian woman fainted.
“One. Two” yelled an EMT, trying to save the crashing man.
“Um, no-no sir” stammered the hunters wife.
“Three!” yelled the EMT, down field.
“We got a pulse!” exclaimed his partner. “His readings are coming back.”
There was a cheer from a far and three reporters began to trek away from the governor’s spot.
“Well, you dicks won’t get the Pulitzer Prize when I discover who made the fried pickles and kill the bastard!” taunted the deranged governor as many a spectator, picnic goer cautiously backed away.
Promptly, the three reporters and crew turned round. Although an ambitious crew kept panning back and forth.
“So, get the hell out of the center area-hunter and hamburger wife!” spat the governor. Another gasp, as this nickname, seemed to coalesce with the woman’s chubbiness. She promptly burst out crying as her husband followed her out of the circle of chefs. Now, eight people were left, including one little boy and a young teenage girl of about thirteen. The governor scowled at the children.
“Now what the hell did you brats make? Queried the governor, pointing from the boy to the teen girl.
“It better not be fried pickles!” warned the deranged governor. “It’s going to suck, prospect of killing innocent or not so innocent children, if you made those damn ass pickles!”
The crowd gasped and the boy began to howl in a crying fit. His mother came into the center to offer tissues and an embrace.
“Sir, you’re not well” said the incessant EMT. “Let’s get you checked out.”
The governor socked the EMT, with many a camera panning from the governor to the ground, with the now unconscious EMT.
“You!” spat the governor to the boys’ mother. “Get out of the center. If you didn’t make the pickles, get out!”
“Oh, it definitely wasn’t me” said the little boys’ mother, bolting out of the circle quickly as if her life depended on it. And the boy began to wail harder, with his mother now AWOL.
“Stop crying, son. Are you crying because you made so many people sick here today?” demanded the governor.
“Governor Seethers” the thirteen-year-old girl spoke up. “Ricky made a nice batch of rock candy is all.”
“Oh” the governor seemed disappointed. “Kid, you’re dismissed. “Go!”
The little boys’ mom came up to yank him out and the boy finally stopped crying.
“Now what the hell did you make young lady?” the governor asked the teenage girl who’d spoken up on behalf of the little boy.
“I made the cheese chili sir. It’s award winning.”
“Well, good for you!” boomed the governor. “Out of the center.”
Now, only six people remained: three men, three women, with one of the ladies crying.
“Good God, what is wrong with everyone today?” griped the governor.
“I’m sorry Governor” said the crying woman. “I’m the one who recommended the chef for the fried pickles. But, in his defense, he’s homeless.”
Everyone, the governor included, eyed the group. She’d used the word “his”. That left one of the three men as the pickles perp.
“Okay, we’re getting somewhere” soothed the governor and the crowd wondered if it was sarcasm or for real.
The two ambulances took off, with the last being loaded with the man who’d just barely been saved. The governor waved a shaking finger at the last remaining folks in the circle of shame.
“You two ladies out, you stay.”
The crowd gasped. The EMT on the ground came to, rubbing his jaw. Up above him, naked ass of the governor assistant, Kyle who farted down at him.
“Why would you recommend a chef to make bad fried pickles young woman?” the governor asked of the remaining woman in the circle.
“I-I didn’t know he was going to season them to death-I didn’t-
“And you knew he was homeless? Holy hell! The filth on his hands alone!”
“Governor” the ruffled man spoke up. He was in his early sixties. “I have been to culinary school, have cooked for some of the best places in Alaska, have the best references-
“And yet you’re homeless and you made a batch of fried pickles today that could have killed every one of us, and to top it all off, you burst my bubble by preliminarily announcing yourself before I had the pleasure of weeding you down!”
The governor looked cockeyed at the remaining other two men. “You two out!”
And with this order, the two men fled, seemingly for their very lives.
“You stay!” he ordered the woman, who’d been responsible for recommending the homeless man/chef.
“I’m going to hunt down all your references and destroy! And have them all shut down, all the restaurants you’ve cheffed at! He barked at the homeless man.
“Well, you’ll be shutting down some of your favorite establishments” said the homeless man, smugly.
“You!” chided the governor. Then he began chasing the homeless man around the picnic grounds, everything turning into even more wild upheaval.
THE END
Secret world entertainment 