THE CUOMO BROTHERS IN: LET'S SLASH TEMPS!

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"Slash! Slash! Slash!" Whenever he got too stressed out from running New York State like his own private empire, Governor Andrew Cuomo knew just what to do. He took off all his clothes and ran around the office in his underwear, pretending to slash the state budget with a toy sword.

"Wouldn't it be cool if we could slash people instead of expenses?" Andrew's baby brother Chris drooled one day. Chris was mentally challenged, so he couldn't just inherit a job from his papa. He was a network newscaster instead. "You could fire a bunch of people from the state government, and then I could do a story about how sad they are!"

"You can't fire state workers," Andrew patiently explained, smacking his feeble-minded sibling in the face. "They have things called unions. And rights. You have to pretend to treat them like human beings!"

"Duh, what about temp workers?" Chris Cuomo drooled. "Nobody even pretends to treat them like human beings!"

"Hey, yeah!" The Governor began jumping up and down excitedly, waving his toy plastic sword all around. "Let's slash temps! Let's slash temps!"

"Telephone," Chris slobbered. "Telephone!"

Andrew understood what his poor simple-minded kid brother was trying to say. He picked up the telephone and began talking in a grown-up voice, like a liberal full of compassion who favored a tough, pragmatic approach.

"Temp agencies," he barked. "I want to know which agencies we've been using. They've been overcharging us for years at Rockefeller Plaza. What's that? Kelly and Fusco?"

"Smelly and Puss-filled!" giggled little Chris Cuomo, flopping on the floor and happily chewing on a magic marker. He made a mess in his pants, but big brother didn't even notice.

"Well, what are they paying their temps, anyway?" The governor demanded over the phone. "What's that? What? We have temps working for the state making thirteen dollars an hour? That's more than I pay the Dominican who polishes my golf clubs!" The steely, pragmatic governor took a deep breath. "All right, you listen to me. I want you to find the cheapest, and I mean the cheapest, temp agency you can find to supply us with clerical help at the state capitol. No, I don't care what kind of temps they supply. They can be drug addicts, criminals, even college kids. I don't want skilled workers in the state capitol. I want mugs! Pugs! Thugs!"

"Ditto," drooled Chris Cuomo. He had lost the magic marker and was happily rolling around in his own excrement. "My brother does what it takes! He makes tough choices! He cuts the budget! And now Diane, on a lighter note, here's a heartwarming Christmas story about hundreds of trained, experienced temps being fired for no reason!"