All hell broke loose today. And I mean all hell. The Do Naughty elders were not happy with the candidates for President stepping up to the plate. They want a home run in this World Series of politics and all their getting are bunters. The boys in the red hats are looking for a man of the people. We’ll know soon enough when the white smoke blows if they’ll deliver their man or not.
The debate on the floor of the convention went on for hours, days, weeks. How dare the Party Elders introduce a wrinkle in the proceedings. It just wasn’t done. Well, at least not anywhere other than the United States Senate. What with that filibustering and all.
Senator Butt Nekkid from the big orange state in the middle of the country rose to object. “This here mayor from Weazul Snooze just don’t got the kind of gumption we need in a President.”
Senator Boll Weavel (which rhymes with evil), “I say, I say, son. He certainly does have that kind of gumption. He got it from his mama, and she had plenty of gumption. Petticoat gumption.”
I took a heap of heaping. But finally all was well. All the king’s men and all the king’s put Humpty Dumpty back together again. The opposition wore down and everybody played naughty but nice. The party had a winner. P F Sneeze from Weazel Sneeze.
The music played “Thus Sprake Zarathustra” as he stepped onto the stage, one small step for a politician, one giant leap for the mayor from Weazel Sneeze.
He came to the podium, waved and did not say a word. It was as if he were the Pope observing his flock from the balcony of Saint Peter’s. The newly endowed candidate stood there momentarily without saying one syllable of a word. It was the greatest spectacle of oratorical rhetoric since George Washington showed his teeth to Congress one Tuesday afternoon. Then the nominee left the stage. As he left the stage, women swooned. Men patted the jolly good fellow on the back. The applause was deafening. The P.E.s knew they had made the Right Decision. They had picked the Right Man.
As the roll call was called, folks did their best to make everybody think they had thought up the Andy Jackson Choice all by themselves.
The woman from Cold Feet, Alaska was real happy that the Convention was going to avoid frost bite.
“Idaho, California, where the potatoes are raised with an attitude, says Aye,” the California delegate spoke for California.
The fellow from Okee Dokee, Minnesota gave the Minnesota a-ok.
And so the voting went on down the line. Until finally P F Sneaze was The Nominee.
Next Week A Vice President