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Campaign – Chapter 15

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 07/14/2016

Campaign

Campaign manager Katrina “Kate” Kindling is striving against all odds to get Senator Marcia Brute into the White House.

Chapter Fifteen – Debate

“Senator, your campaign has devolved into a full-on War on Men. Let’s face it: A woman just isn’t built for the White House, folks.”

Tony Flowers mugs for the camera at the First Presidential Debate to mixed applause as CNBC debate moderator Clam Pickling turns to Sen. Brute.

“Sen. Brute, your rebuttal?”

“Mr. Flowers, I assure you my campaign has been but a war on one man: You. And although I’m impressed you’re familiar with the word ‘devolved’ I promise everyone in attendance and everyone watching at home that I am far more qualified for the job. For I have actually held office. You Mr. Flowers, on the other hand, have only held your two tiny ba–“

“Why don’t we take a quick break,” Clam chimes in.


Backstage, campaign manager Kate Kindling pumps her fist at Marcia Brute’s debate performance when she’s joined by her ex-husband and Flowers ’16 campaign manager Alf Luntz. “Why the celebration? Is there a sale on shitty pantsuits for your boss?”

“Your guy’s getting trounced out there, Alfie.”

“Everyone knows debates don’t change minds. All minds are already made up. And there’s more old baby boomers than young millennials. You can keep your youth vote and cram it.”

“How’s your porn star girlfriend?”

“It’s her mom who was the porn star and not great, thanks for asking. How’s Mr. Fox News fiancee?”

“Miserable.”

Kate & Alf share a smile before they’re interrupted by mob henchmen Ricky Faulk & Harry Schette.

“Hey dere, Alf. Eat any good cats lately?” Faulk guffaws.

Schette smacks the back of his partner’s head. “You used that one already, numbnuts.”

Alf backs away with his hands raised in front of him. “Whoa, fellas. I don’t have your money yet. You gotta give me more ti–“

Faulk waves a hand. “Fuhgeddaboutit. Our boss died last night.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that, fellas,” Kate offers.

“Aw, he was a prick,” Schette tosses back. “But thanks, Ms. Kindlin’. And we took care of that coma jamoke for ya’s.”

Kate frowns. “You mean Foster Vincent? What did yo–“

Faulk grins, his meatball-shaped head contorting sweatily. “He won’t be tellin’ your fiancee how your boss put him in a coma where we put him.”

Kate, almost afraid to ask, asks. “Where did you put him?”

“In another coma!”

Faulk & Schette burst out laughing as Kate’s face goes white.

Alf grabs a folder and backs away slowly. “Well, I’m gonna let you…get back to it.”


Send all hate mail to ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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