Barack Obama and His Cabinet of Doom: Red Mobster

January 23, 2009

Dye City, Michigan – Milton Krozinski woke up with a start, nearly breaking the poorly-made cot that serves as his living space in one of Union City’s many homeless shelter. ‘I’m late. The most important day of my life, and I overslept. I’m never going to get out of this shelter.’ He mutters a string of obscenities as he quickly gets his rumpled, threadbare zoot suit on. It is the closest thing he has to interview clothes and he knows they are inadequate. Milton only hopes that he can still get a job in spite of his appearance and lateness.


Some history, for those not familiar with this little slum in a long forgotten section of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. Dye City was a town that was built around a dye factory in the 1800’s. When the Great Depression hit, the city came up with the novel idea of unionizing the town. They figured, if the town could use collective bargaining, maybe the depression would not be so bad. Essentially everybody with a job joined the Dye City Union; the few dissenters were run out of town. Initially, the plan worked. The union ensured that everybody got a livable wage and decent hours.

Problems began when employers could no longer afford to stay open. Labor costs were extremely high and costs of supplies were rising; the situation was further exasperated when, every time they would raise prices to pay their costs, the union would either force the prices back down or demand higher wages for union members. One by one, business owners would sneak out of town in the cover of darkness, looking for fortune elsewhere. By the time World War 2 was over, the only employers left were the Dye City government and the dye factory that gave the town their name. The only reason it stayed in business was by making incredibly dangerous chemicals on the side to increase their profits; the only reason the town stayed in business is the giant wall designed to keep people in. The most lucrative jobs in Dye Town is smuggling people out.

Milton would not afford to get out. He was born and raised in the same homeless shelter he sleeps at now. Neither of his parents could get jobs and had to eke out a living off the meager food rations the unionized shelter employees did not sell to the highest bidders to line their pockets. They died of malnutrition in the dead of winter, their bodies shoved into the furnace to temporarily heat the creaky, poorly-insulated building.


Milton arrived at the dye factory an hour late, but apparently was the first one there. Unemployment with no end in sight made many job seekers lazy, especially when none of them could afford a watch, let alone an alarm clock. The dye factory employees brought him a brand new jumpsuit and led him to his new station.


Noon came and Milton was led to the factory cafeteria. He has never seen so much food in his life. “What’s that?” Milton exclaimed as the cafeteria worker loaded a plastic tray with more food than he had yesterday.

“Salsbury steak.”

“Wow! I’ve never seen steak before. And what are you pouring on top of it?”


“Gravy? What’s gravy?”

“You been living under a rock are you just retarded?”

The worker handed Milton the tray. He gorges himself on the rubbery cow-like flesh, gravy dripping from his chin. ‘This is the best day of my life’


That afternoon, some men in trench coats came in. Milton saw that one of them has carrying a Thompson Machine Gun underneath his coat. They went to every worker and collected an envelope from each of them. Milton thought about sneaking off but they got to him before he could figure out how.

“Time to pay yer union dues, see?” The head guy says.

“My what?”

The head guy shakes his head. “You must be new. I’m yer union representative. I represent you in the union. You have to pay yer weekly dues, see, so that the union continues to function. Pay up!”

“I don’t have any money. This is my first day.”

“Listen, wiseguy; everybody pays their dues when we come over, see. That’s how this works.”

“Can’t you wait until I get paid. I mean, you haven’t done anything for me yet.”

The head guy was physically annoyed. He starts poking Milton in the chest.

“Oh yeah. Who negotiated with the factory to open up another job?” Jab. “Who paid for yer new uniform? Jab. “Who paid for yer lunch?” Jab. Milton is leaning over the edge of the catwalk. “Now pay up or the factory is going to have to find someone else to do this job.”

“I seriously do not have any money. I’ve been living in a homeless shelter all my life. I’ll pay you as soon as I’m able. Honest.”

“Throw the bum over boys.”

The other men grabbed Milton and threw him over the edge of the catwalk and into the vat of chemicals Milton had been stirring.


That night, a body crawled out of the vat. It was dyed a hideous shade of red.

“Myeah, see. I’m going to rule this town, see. Make it to where everybody has a job, see. Just need to make the factory less efficient, see. Starting at the top.”


Thus the Red Mobster was born. He muscled his way into the union and mowed down the union bosses. He then doubled the size of the union forces by having a guy hold extra rounds for every guy with a gun. He forced the dye factory and the city in increase inefficiencies to ensure that everyone can work. It took massive pay cuts (and a massive decrease in union due collections) but Red Mobster robbed banks to pay for the extravagant lifestyle the union was used to.

He received a letter from Barack Obama. He asked the Red Mobster to serve as his “Secretary of Card Checking” for his Secret Cabinet. He loves the idea. It is a challenge to make government bureaucrats even more inefficient than what they are. He starts to hitch up the squirrels he uses to power his Model T. Washington is far away, especially when you have to replace all 10,000 squirrels every 30 miles.


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