Based on the skeleton an old story called “The One Armed Piccolo Player” which I first heard over 40 years ago. All I did was adapt it to current places and events.
One day Canadian Senator Ted Cruz, who happened to be carpetbaggin’ down in Texas at the time which after all was how he made his livin’ back then, decided it was time to brush up on the old Republican “man of the people” thing, what with the increase in attacks he was getting’ from the left AND the right after he’d blown up the country and shut down the government, in pursuit of which one Sunday mornin’ he made his way to a little country church, a way off in the sticks in the middle of one of the poorest parts of Tejas, frequented mostly by ranch hands, mgrant farm workers and maybe a propane salseman or two, to get his “aw shucks and country credibility” tickets punched.
Ted made his way down the aisle to a front pew where he could be readily seen by the entire congregation and there was plenty of room for the news fellas and aide types and their cameras and mics and as they were about to sit on down there, one of the “aide” pogies signaled the pastor who had of course been told they were comin’. That worthy then proceeded to introduce Ted to his flock with the floweriest little speech of praise the senator’s alpha backslapper had been able to write down for him on such short notice, embellished by the preacher himself in such quantity as to be deemed sufficient return for the sizable contribution the PR fella had promised to put on the collection plate at the end of the service.
Just as the preacher finished his intro and Ted stood up in his $1000 suit and $100 necktie and $500 shoes to commence “relatin’” to these folks, a loud voice suddenly burst forth from somewhere in the back of the church, clear as a bell and unmistakable: “Senator’s a sonofabitch!”
Ted immediately started stranglin’ on his speech and turned about 10 shades of purple before settlin’ on a dark bergundy that… to add insult to injury… clashed with his lavender necktie somethin’ fierce… and the pastor also looked righteously horrified for a few seconds before regainin’ control of his faculties enough to glare out over the shiny faces of his congregation… although it must be admitted that most of those faces were hidden behind hands and handkerchiefs at the moment and worse, there was the unmistakable sound of snickers and giggles, already beginnin’ to swell in both volume and intensity and threatenin’ to burst forth into uncontrollable guffaws, belly laughs and other kinds of rude sounds that the pastor… bein’ an educated fella having gone all the way through the tenth grade and all… knew would have been a further affront to a sittin’ member of the United States Senate and probably result in the collection plate having nothing more in it this day than the regular dimes and quarters and the usual bran muffin from Sister Chelsea Chesterton who thought the pastor’s colon more important than his pocketbook on Sunday mornin’s..
“QUIET!”, shouted the preacher in his best fire and brimstone “get the word to them what needs it worst” voice and silence ensued. Oh it wasn’t instant silence or nothin’ like that but given the circumstances them folks did a fair to middlin’ job gettin’ themselves under control and after a minute or two the preacher was ready to begin his interrogation.
“Alright”, he said, “which one of you called the senator a sonofabitch?”. You could have heard a pin drop from one end of that hall to the other. Nobody said a mumblin’ word.
Preacher says, “We’re gonna get to the bottom of this if it takes all day. Somebody called the senator a sonofabitch. If that person will just raise his hand and confess, the rest of us can get on with the service. Will the person called the senator a sonofabitch raise up his hand?”, and they all sat there still as statues not even darin’ to breathe hardly.
Pastor decided he’d try a new approach. “Well then”, says he, “will the person sittin’ next to the person called the senator a sonofabitch raise up his hand?”. and again not a hair stirred amongst that entire group of… if not exactly God fearin’ folks, at least preacher fearin’ ones..
“One more chance.”, says the pastor, who by this time is workin’ up a fair size piece of pissed off. “Will the man sittin’ next to the man sittin’ next to the man called the senator a sonofabitch raise his hand”. At this point, a small meek lookin’ little fella sittin’ just off the aisle near the middle of the church stuck his hand up kind of timid like. “AHA!”, shouts the preacher, “Out with it man, let’s hear it!”.
“Well,”, said the man, “I ain’t the one called the senator a sonofabitch and I ain’t the one sittin’ next to the one called the senator a sonofabitch. I ain’t even the one sittin’ next to the one sittin’ next to the one called the senator a sonofabitch. All I want to know is… who called that Canadian sonofabitch a senator?”