“Please, I’m asking earnestly or humbly for something.”
“You are begging for my help?”
“Absolutely.”
There he stood, in his best chinos, looking much like a
combo ad for Gucci, Lacoste Lopez, and Ralph
Lauren. C.W. was in one of his favorite forms, Reggie, from The Young
Conservatives Club.
“What sort of help do you need?”
“I’m going to work in what your species calls a political
campaign for the first time ever.”
“You are going to do what?”
“I’m going to help elect a candidate. I may get to go to
Washington, they tell me.”
“I see,” I said, but I didn’t. “I thought you were
permanently assigned here.”
“Oh, but if I can get a ‘behind the scenes’ posting, it will
boost my career.” He paused and scratched his nose. “But first we must get
through the first or highest in rank or importances.”
“You mean the primaries.”
“You are getting bad about repeating everything I say.”
“Never mind,” I said. “Which candidate are you working for?”
“Number Five.”
“Uh,” I said, “and who is that?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Some campaign workers were
having a hard time keeping them separate, so we just go by numbers, now.”
“I see,” I said, but I wasn’t sure I did. “So what is the
major campaign issues that your Number, uh …, Five is going to focus on for the
campaign?”
“That’s what you are going to help me with.”
“Oh,” I see, but I didn’t.
“Take a look.” With that, he turned took me to the kitchen
table where a laptop computer was fired up and waiting. Across the screen was the
beginning of a list, from One to Five, with the word “Against” behind each
number.
“So let’s start filling in,” he said. “What goes by the
first number?”
“C.W.,” I said.
“Reginald, please,” he said.
“Reggie, those are all negatives. What will Number Five be
for?”
He looked at me as if I had just said that dry was wet. “Please,”
he said, “our party has evolved beyond the advocacy paradigm.”
“The what?”
“You seem to be stuck in an era of reality and advocacy.
That’s old fashioned. Get over it. Now let’s get busy. I have a deadline.”
I’d never seen him so forceful and full of hope. “Okay,” I
said. “How about, uh, say, for the first number …Hillary Clinton.”
“Can’t,” he said. “Candidate Two, said early on that he
would like to have her.”
I left that one alone. “President Obama?”
“Candidate Three, we call him ‘The Charmed One,’ captured him
a month ago.”
“The Charmed One. So he is special?”
“Not particularly. It just means that maybe the third time
is charmed, as you say.”
“I see,” I said, but I most assuredly didn’t. “War?”
“Please,” he said, “let’s be serious. We’re wasting valuable
time.”
“Education?”
"Candidates One and Four are fighting over that one. Each
claims he knows more about it.”
“Science?”
“Candidate Seven.” He nodded sadly. “And that’s a popular
one. Wish I’d gotten it.”
“Immigrants?”
“Candidates One and Four are battling over that one as well.”
“Government?”
“Oh heck,” he said. “I wish. But Candidate Eight, you know,
the one with the funny hairpiece, grabbed that one straight away, right out of
Candidate Two’s hands.”
“Children, women?”
“Nope, Candidate Nine, the fat one, is sitting on those.” He
smiled. “Too bad for the women and kids.”
“C. …, Reggie, I’m running out of ideas. Why don’t you go
against the grain and present your candidate as for something?”
He looked at me with a bit of sadness in his eyes. “Do you
know what happens to our candidates who go against the grain, as you say, and
advocate for something?”
“Not something good?”
He shook his head. “Have you ever heard of Archibald
McGregor?”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t.”
“My point exactly,” he said. “Now get busy. Time is money.”
 |
| They rejected this design I did for the campaign. I don't understand why. - C.W. |
I searched my brain. I really wanted to help the poor guy. “Taxes?”
Number Nine, the crazy one, still claims them, but they
really don’t bother our folks much anymore, so it is a weak platform.
I wasn’t sure which candidate he was talking about, but I
kept thinking. Then it came to me. “Obamacare,” I said. “That’s a winner for
sure.”
“Oh,” I said. “I see. And this time I believe I did.
Keep clicking those ads. Big Dope wants us to visit Costa Rico for some reason.
And heck, would you buy his book? Get it from on-line outlets, or
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