Campaign – Chapter 18
Campaign manager Katrina “Kate” Kindling is striving against all odds to get Senator Marcia Brute into the White House.
Chapter Eighteen – White House
Katrina Kindling is standing in the Oval Office, looking around at the paintings of former Presidents on the wall. A Secret Service agent stands quietly by the door leading out to the patio.
“Sure is…ovally in here. Heh.”
The Secret Service agent stares straight ahead, unblinking.
“Yup, not quite a perfect circle,” Kate continues, mumbling. “Definitely round, though. Oblong.”
Another awkward silence fills the room like a slow-rolling fart.
“How many guns do you ha–“
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Katrina.” President Brute rushes in from the patio, followed by a whirlwind of Secret Service, junior staffers and a five-star General. “Busy day, busy day.”
“Congratulations on the inauguration, Madame President.”
“Yes, thank you. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
Kate stands in front of the President’s desk as junior staffers busily hand her document after document to sign.
“So…you wanted to speak to me about the future?”
“Yes, you’re fired.”
“Great. So I was thinki–I’m sorry, what?”
President Brute looks up from her desk, confused at the apparent miscommunication. “Your services are no longer needed.”
“But Madame President, after everything I’ve done. I got you here. There’s so much more to do.”
“Yes, and that will be handled by my Chief of Staff.”
“Hey, hon.” Kate’s ex-husband Alfred Luntz waves from behind the five-star General.
“Alf? I thought you were joking about that.”
President Brute calmly sets down a leather-bound folder and stares her former campaign manager in the eyes. “Kate, you got me here. And I appreciate that. Now it’s Alfred’s job to keep me here.”
Kate’s eyes well up. “I could’ve done more. There’s so much more I could’ve done.”
“Kate, you’re embarrassing yourself. It’s time to move on.”
“Can I at least have this little box of M&M’s with the White House seal on it?”
A Secret Service agent snatches the small box of candy with a “Yoink!” and a condescending shake of the head.
Months later, Kate Kindling is flop-sweating through her pantsuit as she staggers down a long gravel driveway in the sweltering Southern heat toward a sprawling Gainesville, Florida swamp mansion. An older gentleman strides toward her, rifle over his shoulder.
“Governor Bumpo Tungus? I’m Katrina Kindling. I was wondering if you would consider running against President Brute in four years.”
The Republican Governor lets out a hearty “Well golllllly!” and fires his rifle in the air.
Kate removes her hands from cupped around her ears. “So is that a yes, or…?”
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