Where Have You Gone, Bill the Cat?

Editor’s Note: Notice the people you knew who slept through high school civics and changed their university major to forestry to avoid college civics have become experts on the Constitution, the Electoral College and political issues of all sorts? They know things. They’re also allowed to vote and drive and birth humans. Yea, your fear is real.

Vote and Vote Often.

Citizens pressed forward to get a glimpse. The front-runner from Cromwell County mounted a contentious, arduous campaign, and with the polls opening in less than 24 hours, his election as state legislator was all but assured. The Bowie Review & Caller was on the scene.

“Helluva a candidate, I say. One HELLuva a candidate,” said Dexter Bottomfeed, long-time political consultant and full-time backslapper, wingman and good buddy. “Bar none. We’re no longer taking names. Gerald P. McGillicuddy will be the finest legislator from Jackson County who’s ever roamed the statehouse.”

“Cromwell County?” said Bonnie Truthfinder, recent graduate of the Texas State School of Journalism and now political reporter. “You just said Jackson County.”

“Didn’t I say Cromwell? Dang. After 20 years, these elections start to run together. Jackson County was last year,” he said. “Well, no matter the county, we all need a Gerald P. The finest man and the finest candidate I’ve ever had the pleasure of representing.”

“Pleasure, I’m sure. You’re declaration, I’m not sure. How much is he paying you?

“Balderdash and folderol. The campaign has nothing to do with compensation. It’s about providing effective leadership to the most downtrodden of our citizens, the disaffected middle class and the hardworking wage earners desperately clawing their way back from the abyss of social decay and economic calamity.”

“You do have a reputation of winning. Even your long shots manage to pull out elections, but that speaks of your ability to run effective campaigns. Results from the capitol indicate otherwise. Seems your most recent successes aren’t cut from the same cloth as our forefathers.”

“More gibberish, slander and misdirection. Janson mistook the speaker’s office for his own. The alleged lock-picking kit was a leather kit he inherited from his grandfather, a noted ‘businessman’ from the piney woods. Janson simply forgot his key and made do with what was.”

Granny Goats, Name Tags and Misunderstandings.

“But what about Sloan? His case comes up before the grand jury in two weeks.”

“Well, you got me there. Boy shouldn’t drink past the 10 o’clock hour. Never does a man good to drink and wind down at the same time. A granny goat looks good. Besides, hookers should wear ID badges. How is a man to know where or not to bring cash. I’m convinced it was trap set by clandestine forces within the majority leader’s office to discredit the honorable legislator before the water bill hit the floor. If the alleged victim is a hooker then the pro tem is a pimp.”

“So I can quote Dexter Bottomed as saying the majority leader is a pimp and should be brought up charges of profiting from the act of prostitution?”

“No, you misunderstand. What I’m saying is the majority leader is engaging in activity that promotes political activity that’s conducive to misunderstandings, misapplication of resources and desolation of the family unit. Yea, Sloan is a turd with legs but no need upsetting the prim and proper set with antagonistic language.”

“Were you a dancer at any point in your life?

“Why no, but don’t let this front porch full you. The feet are nimble and have been known to set a lady’s heart aflame after a turn on the dance floor. It’s a gift and a curse.”

“Not quite the same, but you do have an entertaining way of dancing about the issues. Perhaps the quick step is the best way to describe it. By the way, Mr. Bottomfeed, any comment on the ‘cease and desist’ from Barbara Bush?”

“Hey, call me Dex,” he said with a wink and nod. “And that whole Bush thing? Blown way out of proportion. A deliberate attempt to discredit the candidate with an inferno of accusations flamed from the candle of inadequate research, faulty background and pure dumb luck. And I’m afraid I have to emphasize the dumb. Who knew she didn’t endorse candidates?” 

“Everyone in politics.”

“That goes on my tab. I’m the one who hired the staffer and I’m the one who sent him back to the Serve-It-Soft at Crossroads Mall. My sister’s boy, too. Dang if I’m not going to hear about it at Thanksgiving.” Bottomfeed then shook his head and looked to the stars, “Though he had the fashion sense of a schoolgirl. A bit peculiar but probably because daddy ran off when he was young. He made one helluva margarita, though.”

“So you made a play for women voters and got served by the constable.”

Nuances, Sororities and the Family Business.

“A simplistic and, may I add, inaccurate, purposely misleading and ineffectual explanation that ignores the nuances that go with endorsements. But we’ve moved past the trivial and might I add, non-newsworthy, event and plan to make an announcement tonight. Suze Orman has inquired about coming aboard. You know she’s an old friend of the candidate’s wife.”

“THE Suze Orman?” said Truthfinder, her demeanor bordering on disbelief and surprise. “Are you throwing me a bone to get me off the scent. Because your bones are usually old sticks. A little chew and even less taste … Now, you have me talking like you … You do know we’re on the record? And you understand you’re talking to the Bowie Review & Caller? Not one of your political groupies from the community college.”

“Hold on there. No one said anything about being on the record. I’m not the candidate. Maybe deep background, but nothing more than ‘an official indirectly attached to the unaffiliated campaign of the expected victor.’ Never know when I’ll find myself working the other side.”

“Well, Mr. Bottomfeed, up to this moment everything HAS been on the record, not that you’ve said anything of substance or for that much useful. So I’ll repeat my question. Are you talking about THE Suze Orman?”

“Ask me again, Ms. Bonnie, but ask me off the record.”

“Look, I’m done with this circus in 48 hours, so I’ve give you this one. But I repeat … and off the record … Are you talking about THE Suze Orman?”

“Hell no. Some sorority sister of Mrs. Gerald P. Real name is Susan, but the girls have been calling her Suze since the television gal went national. Besides, Susan uses a cell phone and isn’t quite as scary. We’re not saying Suze Orman, cable TV financial guru. We’re just saying Suze Orman. It’s all about the nuances.”

“You truly have no filter. And you’re misleading the voters. Without clarification, the voters will assume the woman on cable, and not some middle-aged Tri-Delt.”

“I’m not saying it’s a done deal. Well, it is a done deal, but timing is everything. We’ll leak the endorsement late tonight. By the A.M. most voters will be heading to the polls or into work. Either way, the election will be packed, wrapped and posted. Straight your front door.”

Truthfinder pressed the issue. “This might be disturbing if I hadn’t heard of the same tactics from colleagues. But your unbridled zeal is unsettling. You have the enthusiasm of child awaiting Christmas morning. Were you ever a child?”

“Darlin’. You don’t mind if I call you darlin’? Daddy was a bootlegger. Momma was a bookmaker. Raised me right. Politics just seemed like a natural progression of the family business.”

“That actually makes sense.”

“Pardon me, darlin’. What did you say?”

The Kaiser, Blue Plate Specials and Tree Frogs.

“Uh, nothing. Just thinking out loud. By the way, nice spread you have here backstage. But what’s in the iced tea? Tastes like …”

“Sassafras, Ms. Bonnie. Sassafras. Seniors can’t get enough. Only 10% of the eligible voters but a guaranteed 90% will be standing in line come 7:00 A.M. Nothing closer to a lock than the ‘blue plate’ crowd. You get them, you win the election. And nothing gets them more excited than a little back home sassafras to bring back memories of the good old days. When women were women and men …”

“Excuse me?”

“There you go again. I can see the fire in your eyes. Back off on the pedal just a bit and you just might make a great reporter. Already have that bulldog edge. Not that I think you look like a bulldog. In fact, you have the look of a newborn pup. Are you single?”

“Mr. Bottomfeed. Did you just say, I’d like to go back on the record?”

“Forget I brought it up.”

“Fine. But back to the iced tea. Did you feed this to the seniors on the front row?

At that very moment, a senior gentleman, in military uniform, on the front row stood up. Actually he been trying to stand up for 15 minutes, with considerable but determined difficulty, and the candidate was trying to get through his speech before the inevitable interruption. The candidate failed. Up stood Pvt. 1st Class William J. Chestnut, U.S. Army 1st Infantry. Expeditionary Forces, World War I. 105 years old and a registered voter.

“You’re the henchman for the Kaiser, you son of a bitch! Marauder of the Belgium hinterlands. Desecrator of French farms. I’ve been introduced to men like you at the point of my bayonet. You’ll not march on Washington while I’m on watch. Come down here and take on my version of Versailles, you lousy Kraut bastard.”

Two sheriff deputies immediately approached the veteran, taking him by the arms and helping back into his seat. One whispered something into his ear that seem to take the fire out of the old veteran’s belly. As he sat the old man was overhead saying …

“Give ‘em hell, Harry. Give ‘em hell.”

Fine. But back to the iced tea. Did you feed this to the seniors on the front row?

“What was that all about? With their over-yonder stares I’d swear you’ve been raiding the alzheimer ward.” 

“Maybe one or two. Wanted to get them out in the sunshine. Get color on those tired old cheeks.”

“You’re not picking them up tomorrow and taking them to the polls?” 

The smile on Bottomfeed’s face exhibited the look of a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and not caring. After all, when you have one in your mouth and two in your pocket, what’s the point of playing naive. 

“It’s their Constitutional right and who am I to trample on the world’s greatest legal document. Those seniors may not know a dandelion from a tree frog, but they have rights. Besides, I only bring along those on the front end of their competency hearing.”

Empty Cupboards, Harry S and Election Day.

“Seems one thinks the candidate is either Kaiser Wilhelm or Harry S Truman. I’d question him but he a .45 strapped to his hip.”

“No cause for alarm, darlin’. Firing pin was removed during Hoover. Pistol hasn’t been fired since the Argonne forest.”

“So you do have a conscience?” she said. “Of some sort.”

“Darlin, these campaigns are draining. You have to put in twice the hours for candidates with half the cerebral qualities. Fortunately, voters vote the way they’re told. Almost too easy. Most of the time voters vote against their own best interests.”

“All Gerald P. has to say is patriotism and newborn babies. Toss in liberty and Ronald Reagan. Perhaps school prayer and the Second Amendment. Just use the words, and the crowd goes WILD. Context, the before and after, doesn’t mean a thing.”

“So, Mr. Bottomfeed, you don’t have a conscience but more than a little cynicism?”

“Ms. Bonnie, gone are the days when we could take the issues and debate them with half a chance of finding common ground. Now it’s machete warfare. Sound bites, search engines and ‘gotcha’ revelations. Voters don’t take responsibility for their daily lives. When everything does south, someone else is to blame. When all goes well, they made it happen with hard work. It’s all bull pucks.”

Truthfinder filled her notebook as quickly as the words poured from Bottomfeed’s mouth. The conversation might have been off-the-record, but in her spare time she was writing a novel. He was writing the third chapter.

“Most people zoned out by middle school, so who’s going to challenge us,” he continued. “Certainly not the voters. We say the magic words and hope a bit of what we say about the other guy sticks. The truth be damned. And we hope beyond hope no one reads past the third paragraph of your weekly political round up.”

Truthfinder said, “We would hope the voters would read beyond the third paragraph. But it appears we’re fighting a losing battle. De minimis satisfaction due to snippets and crowd-pleasing photo ops. Political operatives such as yourself are keeping the voters in a frenzy … and ill-informed.” 

“Oh, don’t let the weepy willows of reform fool you. It’s ALWAYS been this way,” he countered. “I few soft-hearts picked up on it, but no one’s listening. Hell, if voters would give up one hour of one week they spend complaining about their government, and spend one hour each election learning about the issues, we just might find ourselves another Harry S.

“Instead it’s so much easier for voters to fuss and ignore. And that’s where I come in. Guys like me are keeping the republic alive despite an imperfect system. But the imperfection paves the way for the likes of Gerald P. because the cupboard is pretty much bare. I wouldn’t recommend running a government with leftovers, but it’s all you got. 

“We represent the republic in action. The dream of the founding fathers. It’s Columbia. It’s apple pie.So have yourself a glass of sassafras tea and let’s have ourselves an election. And don’t forget to vote. And vote often.”

Copyright (c) 2022 by Jeffrey Rembert. All Rights Reserved