Politics in America 13: The Meeting of the Titans

Big Al Fresco had his work cut out for him. How was he going to convince America to vote for a pig farmer from Weazel Sneeze? Of course, he had an answer for that. Lie. He had done it before. He would do it again. So why not now?

There was no way he was about to let the Do Evies have another term. Big Guy or no Big Guy, there was no way Little Twerp was going to sneak his butt into the White House. He would be a disaster. It was Big Al Fresco’s constitutional duty to lie and save the Republic from a fate worse than death. If he had to do a some bare-face lying, he would.

He met the Mrs. at the train station. He sized her up and decided that this was going to make one heck of an excellent First Lady. One little looksee convinced him that she had the goods.

Standing next to the nominee, eyes would immediately move to Betty Sue. As they used to say in the South, she was comely. In other words, she was very pleasing to the eye. The women would love her because she was prim and proper. The men would love her because she had just a dash of sex appeal but not too much. Too much would have made her a star in Hollywood but not in politics.

Then there was that baseball bat she carried. That showed that she could be as tough as nails if she had to be. Yes, it was obvious she had the kind of petticoat gumption a First Lady needed.

On top of all that, Big Al took an immediate liking to her. He walked over and said, “How’d do, ma’am.”

“Don’t how’d do me,” Betty Sue came back with. “Where is that sumbitch of a husband of mine.” It was obvious she was ready to swing that bat and hit a homerun.

Now no one really knows what Big Al said to Betty Sue Pudding Sneeze. It must have taken a heap of convincing. But he finally pulled her around to the idea that her husband would make a good president. Even a great one. Depending on events. If he could do a halfway good job of marrying a good lady like Betty Sue, he must have the goods.

She smiled. “Why y’all flatter me so, Sir.”

“No flattery, Ma’am. No flattery at all. You’re just what America needs in a First Lady.”

Next Week The Big Re-do

Politics in America 12: A Lot of BS

At first, Betty Sue Elmora Doris Bobbie Jo Pudding-Sneeze was not pleased at the Do Naughty nomination of her husband as President of these United States of America. Not pleased at all. It scared the bejeesus out of her but good. The furthest she’d been out of Weazel-Sneeze was Snort Holler. She wasn’t sure she’d know what to do with herself anywhere else. She might even have to take on manners.

On top of that she would have to learn how to speak foreign. Oh, sure she could understand a bit of Alabama and some of Mississippi, but she’d now have to communicate Yankee. Why she couldn’t understand a lick of New York. Them folks not only spoke foreign, they acted foreign too. It would be like a person going to a completely planet. What she’d heard of New Yorkers, they didn’t seem to have a bit of manners.

Then there was this campaign manager business. What in the name of Goof-Off Sneeze did she know about campaign managing? Not one thang. All she’d ever wanted to do in her life was settle down with P F Sneeze, help him with his pig farm and raise a boodle of kids. She’d gotten her first two wishes and they had been over-the-moon. The house was spick and span. The pigs were doing real good. Why, Bessie Mae Hogg could win first prize this year at the Podunk Fair.

And she loved that fair too. It was her big chance to hang out with all her friends and gossip about the gossip. All them lights. She bet even New York City didn’t light up like the Podunk Fair. Here she was going to have to give up all that, and for what? To run the campaign of her husband who had decided to get too big for his britches. What was he thinking? He couldn’t be no President. He could barely run the pig farm. How was he going to run the country?

Besides all of that, she wasn’t a Do Naughty. She was a registered Do Evie. They’d find out and she would be the laughing stock of Podunk County. She wasn’t having anything to do with that.

She put on her best knickers, picked up her baseball bat and headed off to catch a train for the Do Naughty Political Convention. She was going to knock some sense into that fool if it killed her.

Next week A Whole Lot of Convincing