A drama in two parts.

Me, calling downstairs neighbor: Hey there Fidel, this is Kables from upstairs.

Fidel, the Ivy-League-Educated Socialist: Hey. I can smell the stench of money emanating from your capitalist pores from down here on the bottom floor, otherwise known as the Proletariat Paradise™.

Me: Cool. I bathe in nickels. Anyway, our free internet and TV is no longer working. They must’ve figured us out.

Fidel: You must have told them, scum, to aid the wealthy in getting wealthier.

Me: Yeah. No. You know I’m poor, right? That each quarter I incur more and more debt in order to finance my education?

Fidel: I don’t believe you. The only debt you’re incurring is the debt your soul must pay for the poor black kids and homos this country piles on each other so you may climb their rotting bodies as you ascend to your shiny glass penthouse in the sky (aka, Belltown).

Me: Dude, my floor slopes. And I have a mold problem. And let’s not forget that I have to pile my laundry into a basket every week and go find some place to do it because I don’t have access to YOUR basement.

Fidel: LIAR!

Me: Whatevs. Anyway, we need to order internet. I’m not interested in getting TV, because I don’t really watch it. (Which is true — I watch shows on my computer long after their original air dates. –ed.)

Fidel: But . . . But . . . We want TV. We NEED TV!

Me: Uh, well, I’m not going to order it. I really am unwilling to pay for it.

Fidel: Maybe we should put the bill in our name, since you’ll likely be moving out next summer.

Me: Suit yourself, mofo.

Intermission.

Fidel, calling on the celly two days later: Hey, Kables, this is Fidel from downstairs.

Me: All praise be unto Rummy. What’s the fuss, Gus?

Fidel: So we ordered internet. You can pay for 1/3. We’ll let you know how much. Oh, and we got TV. I had this coupon, so we go the digital gold package for cheap, like only 40 shekels a month for the first six months. It’s pretty sweet. We get like 700 channels, which should keep us busy 23 out of the 24 hours we live. Good also for, you know, tokin’ the ganja at night.

Me: All right, dude.

Fin.

Rather than go on at length about the hypocrisy in all this, I’ll just say this: thanks to a sweet splice job Josh and I executed last spring, the commies are paying for my cable television. As the capitalist say, w00t!