Bernie Sanders, at Fox News Town Hall, Says His Wealth Isn’t the ‘American Dream’

 

“Comity,” said Bernie, his jowls set a’tremble, “Comity is what we need in this country. Delicious comity.”

Bret and Martha looked at each other quizzically.

“What is ‘comity?’” an audience member yelled.

“Well, ah, it’s a kind of, I guess, jam, you could say,” Bernie stammered. “Great on a bialy.”

“Bialy?” Martha asked.

“Jewish English muffin,” Bernie said. “All over Brooklyn. Poor people food. Authentic. Covered in sweet, sticky comity.”

“That’s not what ‘comity’ means, Senator,” Martha said, pressing her earpiece.

“I knew a girl with a sweet Jew muffin,” Bernie mumbled.

“Senator?” Bret asked.

“You both make more money than me,” Bernie said, angry, his skeletal finger pointing at them. “I don’t have any money. I’m like a monk. A Jewish monk from Brooklyn. I watched the Brooklyn Dodgers play, you know. The tickets were only a dollar. I bet you fancy Fox New anchors would be angry if you only had to pay a dollar to see a Brooklyn Dodgers game. Let too many of the poor to sit next to you.”

“Senator,” Bret interrupted, “Your just-released tax returns state that you made over a million dollar in income in both 2016 and 2017.”

“Look, I don’t have a dime, OK. Flat broke,” Bernie said. He turned out his pockets and change, lint, old tokens the subway no longer used, half a fortune cookie, and a few one-hundred dollar bills came pouring out. The change bounced and rolled everywhere.

“See?” Bernie said. “Just the change for the washing machine in my building and a little walking around money in case I meet a constituent.”

“You give money to the people who vote for you?” Martha pounced.

“I never said that. Stop putting words in my mouth!’ Bernie shouted hoarsely. He mimed chewing with his mouth open and then stuck out his tongue. It was fish-belly white. “Your words are chewy and taste funny. All I said is that I occasionally give money to my constituents when they need it. I’d never give it to voters.”

“Your constituents are the people who vote for you,” Bret said drying.

“Lies! Lies and comity!” Bernie raged. “I am poor and broke and grew up poor and broke and I’ll be poor and broke forever. Sure, I have millions of dollars. But I wrote a popular book. Maybe you should write a popular book and be a broke millionaire too!”

“That liberal rag, The New York Times, says that you are now a member of the 1%,” Martha said.

“Lies! I am the 99%!” Bernie said. He turned to the audience and began chanting “We are the 99%! We are the 99%!” but only a few joined him and they were half-hearted at best.

Bernie turned to the camera and looked directly in it, grimaced and ran a liver-spotted hand through his thatch of hair. The HD cameras in the studio caught the small blizzard of dandruff that settled onto his shoulders and sleeves and lapels and the floor.

“I saw the Brooklyn Dodgers,” Bernie said. “I’m just like you, America.”

“The Dodgers play in LA now, Senator.”

“LA?” Bernie asked.

“Los Angeles,” Bret said gently.

“No such place,” Bernie said. “Fake news.”