Most of you still don’t know me but soon will since President-elect Trump asked me to be his Secretary of Labor. He knows I’ll put America back to work. I’m an expert worker and CEO of the restaurant holding corporation that includes Carl’s Jr. and Hardee’s. I understand business and money and jobs. Listen to me, not my critics who complain I oppose raising the minimum wage beyond a too-generous nine dollars an hour and pay my employees so little they’ve got to live in public housing and dine on food stamps while getting health care through Medicaid. I guarantee paying workers too much destroys businesses and jobs. That’s the only reason I want to suppress the minimum wage, to help the little workers of America. I don’t want to replace people with robots, but I will if the former become too expensive.
Workers must realize I was called in to save Hardee’s from a financial grave. I transformed the company into a profitable venture and didn’t do so by paying outrageous overtime wages. It’s too easy to get overtime which costs me money and will destroy your jobs. Remember, what workers lose in extra overtime pay they more than make up for in pride. Let me show you. I’ll pull into this Carl’s Jr. and introduce myself and show everyone how to produce.
“Howdy, I’m Andrew Puzder.”
“Mabel, call the cops,” says an energetic young lady.
“Relax. I’m the CEO of this corporation.”
“What’s a CEO?”
“It’s the person who guides the corporate ship.”
I walk behind the counter and say, “Give me an apron, please.”
A nice young man hands me one and I put it on over my suit.
“Where are the fries?” I ask, and go to work cooking them. “I’ve always wanted to do this. Makes me feel very useful. I’m sure you’re the same way. A man’s got to produce to feel like a man, same for you ladies. Oh, Lord.”
The damn grease must’ve boiled too long before it splattered my face, hands, and arms. I stagger around the kitchen and fall onto a grill full of burgers and fry hell out of my elbow and scream, “Call nine-one-one.”
One of the dimwits rubs grease on my wounds and another guides me to a chair where I hold my greasy face in throbbing oily hands,
“Mr. Puzder, this is Mabel. I want you to know I just googled your name, and I’m shocked.”
“This article says more than half of the Department of Labor investigations of Carl’s Jr. have uncovered violations.”
“Don’t believe that hooey. It’s just a bunch of bureaucrats who’ve got nothing to do except cause trouble for working people like us. Besides, most of these joints are independently owned franchises. When I’m charge, everything will be ideal.”
“Who the hell’re they?”
“People writing these articles…”
“It says you like advertising photos of nearly naked women eating Carl’s Jr. hamburgers.”
“Damn right I do. Americans love women in bikinis, especially with hamburgers. Where’s that damn ambulance?”