Big Bruce surveyed the four score and more guys he had called together in the warehouse. They looked like a pretty tough bunch overall.
“Okay, guys, listen up. Let’s get this show on the road…okay, here’s the situation. The women went out there the other day and kicked Trump’s ass. There getting organized and ready to go to work protesting every way they can.
“Now, where does that leave us…sucking the hind tit? sitting on our hairy asses while the women go out there and do the heavy lifting? I say, no way, Jose.
“I say we got to get in the streets too, in just as many numbers. Our women has showed the way and it’s time we get on the same page. I’m proposing today, a new organization called MAT. We are going to the mat and kick some butt. We are…Men Against Trump.
“What’s more is…they got them pussy hats. I like ‘em. They damned sure get the point across and I’m saying we can make a visual statement too.
He rustled into a box, scrambled through the wrapping paper, and triumphantly pulled out his prototype to proclaim: “Cover your ass, Cheeto. Here come the Dickheads!” He pulled it over his head.
But there was silence among the men, and confused expressions. You could have heard crickets in the room. They plainly did not like the big rubber penis that was flopping out of Bruce’s head.
“Aw, man!” said one guy. “I don’t think so. Who the hell wants to be a dickhead. Do you know what that means?”
Bruce retorted: “We can make it mean what we want. Action. Fuck you, Trump. We’re MAT. Ram it to him!”
“Well, it means what it does, Bruce, you can’t change that. What can I say? I say…fuck that design. I ain’t wearing that shit.”
“Fact is,” said another guy, “the women can get by with it. They get praise and admiration for them hats, but we ain’t gonna get nothing but arrested, charged with obscenity and booked into some kind of sensitivity training class.”
“He’s right. I ain’t wearing that damned thing. They’ll be hauling our asses to jail and we be looking at it all from cold bars hotel.”
There was general hubbub. Then came a clear voice from the other side of the room. Chip got their attention:
“Hey! Here’s the thing, mates. We ain’t dickheads but I’ll tell you what….We got BALLS. And BALLS ought to be the name of the movement. We’ve got ‘em literally and figuratively and having balls is what makes us strong. And….two big old brass balls would be something we could show proudly.”
Everybody cheered to that.
“We been looking at the wrong genitalia and the wrong symbol. We got the balls and we already know what that means. Show ‘em your balls.”
“I don’t know, fella,” said Bruce. “I don’t want to look like no pawn shop neither.”
“Aw, shit, Bruce. That’s a great idea. Don’t be a dickhead.” Laughter, of course.
Soon, a Balls hat was in design. There was objection to the color gold since Trump was already flouting it around. The first prototype looked too much like golden Mickey Mouse ears. Some guy wanted to know if we were channeling Annette Funnicello?
Graphic designers argued that the two balls comprised an even number of elements, and most all good design features an odd number of elements. But a third ball was ruled out, and so was one big one. A cluster of balls looked too much like a cluster of grapes, maybe the talking and dancing cluster that was used for Fruit of the Loom underwear.
No to all of this. But BALLS had to have a powerful symbol, understood and admired at a single glance. Several major advertising agencies got to work on it with proposals.
The first agency proposed a giant letter B, with small balls inside the two holes. They said the ball color was optional, and that the organization also had to choose an official color from the pop-out catalog of Pantone color shades he sprawled on the table. He suggested that most official company symbols featured only one color so that it would be universally suited to one-color printing. Everyone does not have the full color capability in their publications, he confirmed.
The second agency jammed capital letter BALLS inside a large round gold circle which they emblazoned upon a headband. They suggested the circle be glowing neon. “Hell, no,” said Chip, “I ain’t putting that kind of money in it. I could buy a pickup truck with that budget, and get two firearms for my rifle rack.” Chip was funny.
With the failure of “them artsy smartsy” ad agencies, the men nevertheless found just what they needed in grandma’s sewing box. She knitted up a pussy hat and changed the pink color to blue. The men liked it. Those little lumps on either side of the female hat actually looked like upturned balls. And this actually did link the male-female components of the movement. Genders working together. Genitals united to fight for genital justice. We stand united as one. Genitals should be united. All of the people must be united against this perverse regime.
None of this was being discussed with the children, as it was inappropriate in either red or blue households. But the adult men and women henceforth marched united. President Trump announced that police forces must be bolstered and expanded nationwide to deal with these rude, inconsiderate people. Congress would not approve the money. He summed it up on Tweeter: Sad!
It was also sad, he noted, that all these people were out marching in the streets over something as harmless as locker room talk. Amazing, he said. He wondered why they didn’t go back to their own cities and work to root out the evils that do-nothing politicians have imposed on them. He said the lack of patriotism being shown by the protestors was disgusting, and also sad. He said he was going to take this power back from the protestors and give it to the American people.
More Trumpery, however. His advisors said marital law isn’t going to work. There is a sea of pink and blue around the Towers. Knitting yarns are in short supply. Imports are ordered from China. A Trump company gets an order. Bisexuals are demanding their own hat design. Many Trump supporters can’t step up to defend him; it’s deer season.