Big Mike: The Muppets Of Hate

August 20th, 2009

Two old birds hang out in the Barnes & Noble cafe near my house. They’re about 70 or 75, gray, wrinkled and wizened. They would remind me of the two aged balcony Muppets, Statler and Waldorf, but only if Statler and Waldorf were bitter, mean, angry pricks.

The Muppet characters were lovably ornery. The two at the cafe ooze malice out of their pores. They make Pat Buchanan look like Fozzy Bear.

I had the great and good fortune to be sitting near them Sunday. Hah! Not that it was my choice. They came in after I did and sat one table down. They love to speak loudly about the state of the world, the nation, the presidency, the economy, the assorted wars — any and all of which are going as badly as possible and can be blamed directly on liberals and Barack Obama.

I first ran into them about six months ago. I was carrying my coffee and New York Times on a rainy, chilly Tuesday morning to my seat. Tuesday’s Times is the best because the Science Times insert comes with the paper that day. All seemed right with the world.

One of the two old birds, let’s call him Waldorf, announced to his chum in a loud basso after espying my paper that he too occasionally buys the New York Times.

Statler was taken aback. “What the hell do you give those bastards your money for?”

Waldorf smirked, “I gotta know what the enemy is thinking.”

“Oh, okay,” Statler said.

I mulled advising the two to kiss the largest, fleshiest part of my anatomy but decided against it. After all, I reasoned, they’re old coots, and maybe they don’t know how loudly they’re speaking. They knew.

For the ensuing half year I’ve endured their diatribes against all things Obama, Democratic and, frankly, non-white. One day, they explained how Obama won the election.

“You ask any of these stupid idiots that voted for him,” opined Statler, “they don’t know a damned thing about Obama. They voted for him because of guilt! White guilt!”

“That’s right,” Waldorf chimed in.

“You’re goddamned right that’s right. That’s what Obama and all the rest of them play on: Oh, slavery! Poor us! You have to vote for me!”

My stomach commenced digesting itself. I bit my lower lip. I ripped a hangnail off with my teeth. The two carried on with their psychoanalysis of Democratic voters until, finally, I expelled an enormous huff, meant to convey my distaste. Rather than quiet them, it only made them speak louder.

I endure these little sessions of stultification twice a week or so. Statler is usually at the cafe first. Believe it or not, he spends his time phoning long-winded protests to NBC in New York or some newspaper in, say, Cleveland for having the audacity to defend an Obama policy. Along about a half hour later, Waldorf squeals into the Barnes & Noble parking lot in his little red two-seater sportscar (I kid you not — talk about a phallus substitute!) and joins his partner in wretchedness.

(Maybe Waldorf is just a randy old thing. The manager of the cafe once told me he gave her a coupon for free lingerie from Frederick’s of Hollywood. She said that when she saw what it was, she let it flutter from her hand, as if it were poison. Waldorf pointed out that she’d dropped it. She told him she knew she had.)

That’s how it all set up Sunday, except that Waldorf’s daughter accompanied him. My first instinct was to pity the poor thing. My mistake.

The three of them rattled their newspapers, reading and flipping until their blood started to boil. “These people who believe in global warming are really sick,” the daughter said. She may as well have fired a starter’s pistol.

“Tell me about it!” Statler cried. “My nephew’s getting his college degree in environmental studies. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! What’s he studying? You tell me. What the hell is he studying? How to make lies?”

“And how’s he ever gonna get a job?” the daughter said. “There aren’t any jobs in environmental studies, what the hell ever that is!”

“Oh yes there are,” Waldorf said. “Obama’s giving all these idiots jobs in this environmental studies bullshit.”

Statler and Waldorf’s daughter grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, well first he has to give all the jobs to his people, if you know what I mean,” Statler said, meaningfully.

“Oh, I know exactly what you mean,” Waldorf said. “You can’t get a job in Washington now if you’re white.”

At this point, my eyes were spinning in their sockets. I had to get up and leave, otherwise I’d have taken either Waldorf or Statler’s neck in my hands and given it a good throttling. Hate breeds hate.