I have this friend who works in the New York Harbor. Well, she used to work in the New York Harbor. But last week, like so many of us in the last year, she got a pink slip from the boss. And when the Statue of Liberty loses her job, this country MUST be having money problems.
They’ll bail out the banks and the auto companies, but do you think they could find it in their patriotic hearts to throw a few bones to Penelope? After all she’s done for this country? Not to mention that she never once called in sick. You’d think that would stand for something!
Poor Penelope doesn’t qualify for unemployment either (not the right blood type – whatever!), so she has to hunt for a new job right away. I mean, she’s a single mom with 350 million mouths to feed: her tired, poor and huddled masses.
Last month, when she was caught by TMZ.com paparazzi while standing in a bread line, her towering image was splashed all over the nation’s headlines. She hung her head in shame and stayed home all day, watching soap operas and nearly starving to death.
“C’mon, Penny”, I wrote on her Facebook wall, “You need the California sunshine to pull you out of your funk. I bet you’ll get scooped up in no time out here. If nothing else, you’re hot, you have big boobs and you’re an SILF, and that counts for a lot in this state.”
“What’s an SILF?” she asked.
Sometimes I think Penny has little acronym-challenged people wandering around inside her head with cameras and maps, constantly pointing at the pretty boats floating by.
“Well, let me just say that ‘S’ stands for ‘statue’ and the rest you’ll have to look up on Wikipedia because I‘ve sworn off swearing.”
So she came out to the Golden State with the clothes on her back and $3.27 to her name. I’m letting her stay with me while she pounds the pavement in search of a job:
After picking her up off the street one day, she seemed dejected. I told her what she needed was a schtick. Something that showed the commuters she wasn’t panhandling, but that she was interested in gainful employment.
She’d had accounting experience in the past, so she ran out and got a sex change (changing her name to Penal Opie) and made a sign:
Unfortunately, that didn’t work either. I asked her about why she felt the sex change was going to help and we got into a chaotic conversation that ended with me screaming: “I said ‘schtick’. SCHTICK!”
Thinking that perhaps northern California wasn’t right for her. I suggested she hit Hollywood and see if she could get some bit parts in movies. They’re always looking for New York characters. She does a great “Fuhggedaboudit!” Plus with the sex change thing, she would find amicable company in West Hollywood.
So the next time you’re sitting in a darkened theatre and a shot of a green copper man donning a toga and spiked hat and holding a torch appears on the screen, you’ll know that Penal Opie has once again achieved the occasionally elusive American Dream.
Also posted on Nanny Goats in Panties
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