[Go to beginning]
Buddy Roemer said nothing. Karl Rove was staring at him, willing him to react to Rove’s statement about a viable third party candidate ‘gestating.’ Roemer considered it an unfortunate metaphor.
“We think someone could run with the Occupy Wall Street movement,” Rove finally said. You know, say all the things the protesters want to hear, form a legitimate party, coordinate with a PAC to--”
“That’s illegal,” Roemer said, interrupting Rove.
“Well, you know, not exactly coordinate, but...”
“Uh huh,” Roemer said.
“Look Buddy, I have some serious money behind this idea. We just need the right guy out front. Not someone like Nader. He’s all hat and no cattle. Know what I mean?” Rove loved using cowboy idioms, which he’d picked up from the Texas crowd.
“Uh huh,” Roemer said. Spit it out Karl, Roemer thought.
“Well, who do you think could do it?”
Roemer said nothing.
“Dennis Kucinich? You know we’re redistricting him right out of a job.” Say something, you fuck!
Roemer shook his head. “He may be far out there on some things, like that ‘Department of Peace’ idea, but he’d see right through your scheme.”
“How about Russ Feingold? He’s dying to get back in the mix. Even considered a run for the Presidency.”
“Maybe,” Roemer said, sounding doubtful.
“Well, Buddy, give me a name,” Rove said, sounding exasperated.
“What’s your pitch to the guy going be, Karl? I mean, how to you get someone to go through all that hardship; all the scrutiny, all the speeches and fund raising, recruiting volunteers. All with malice aforethought?”
“Malice aforethought?” said Rove.
“Knowing it’s a sham. A scheme to draw votes away from Obama.”
Rove thought about this. What would Roemer want, besides the Presidency, that is? “What do you think we ought to offer, Buddy?”
I wonder if the shit is recording this, thought Roemer. “I’ll tell you what, Karl. Let me think about this over the holiday weekend and I’ll get back to you on Monday. You think about how you’re going to make this worthwhile for your spoiler, okay?"
Roemer saw that Rove was about to say something, and preempted whatever it was. "I mean, it’s Thanksgiving, Karl. Let’s go home and give thanks that you and I will be dead before future generations are questioning the legitimacy of our birth because we ignored global warming.”
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.