Bob Bonehead went to sleep listening to talk radio and after eating a bit too much pepperoni pizza. The issue on talk radio, as he drifted off, was on the horrors of the elite in charge of America. Problems needed to be solved by people more in tune with the common folk. We need leaders that we can sit and have a beer with, not elitists with fancy degrees.

Bob felt a pain in the side. He went to the doctor. His regular doctor, Dr. Smith, wasn’t in. A new doctor was covering. “Dude, what’s the prob?” asked the new doctor, who wore a Hawaiian shirt with what looked like pizza stains on it..

“You are a doctor, right?”

“Oh, heck, yeah. Now, I couldn’t get into one them fancy schools, mind you, so I went to this one in Granada. You remember the place Reagan invaded? That place. Oh, yeah, dude. Great snorkeling.” He shot a load of spit into the waste can. Bob ran out of the office.

He jumped in the car and started it. The engine sputtered. Great, he thought. Now what? He babied the car to his mechanic. Manuel, who normally worked on the car, was on vacation. A teen playing with a hand-held video game sat behind the desk. “Wassup?” the kid asked, once he finally looked up after some time passed.

“Where’s Manuel? I need my car looked at.”

“Where is it?”

“What do you mean? What? You’re going to look at it?” Bob snorted in disbelief. “Kid, how old are you? 15?”

“18? So what? I read these magazines,” the boy said, pointing at a stack of car magazines. “It may take a little while, but we’ll get your car fixed.”

“Not my car,” Bob said, backing out of the shop. A bus ran into the side of the car, Bob hitting the side window. The boy from the mechanic's shop called 911.

About twenty minutes later, an ambulance shows up. Bob sat dazed in his car, blood covering half his face. “What took you guys so long?”

The paramedics looked at each other and shrugged. “We were on break. Then the dispatcher couldn’t tell us how to get here.”

“He couldn’t tell you how to get here? It’s right here on the main drag!”

“Hey, he’s no genius, OK? Not everyone can read a map, so cool it. You want some elitist that reads maps, call someone else next time. Now, get out and we’ll take a look at you.”

“Get out? Aren’t you going to check me here first to see if I’m hurt before you move me?”

The two EMTs looked at each other. “No wonder those other guys take so long. Did you know they did that?” one asked the other.

“Naw. Never asked,” the other replied.

“Don’t you learn that in EMT training?” Bob asked incredulously.

“Training? I work for my neighbor. We were drinking beer one night and I mentioned I needed a job. He liked me, so he hired me,” said the first EMT.

“Hey, that’s how I got my job, too,” cried the second. “I asked if he was going to interview me, at least. He asked me if I thought I could do the job. I said yeah, I drove an ambulance before.”

“You did?” The first guy was surprised.

‘No, man, I drove a delivery truck. But, it’s kinda the same thing. Fortunately, they don’t like asking questions at headquarters. They say asking questions is for elitists. One gal found out I didn’t exactly drive an ambulance, but I told her that my previous employer considered everything an emergency and stuff needed to get there fast or someone was going to get hurt bad. Now, doesn’t that sound like an ambulance driver? They fired her for being too nosey. See, I tell them stories about ambulance driving and they like that.”

Bob started to panic, when he heard a voice coming from somewhere in the ether. “So, again the elitist want to run your government and elitist want to ask about those running. We need to stop this inquisition. People shouldn’t be questioning the credentials of these candidates…” Bob woke up and threw his radio to the floor, smashing it.