Saturday, July 17, 2004
THE VICTORIA'S SECRET (TM) CANDIDATE:
Dear Mein President:
All you need to win this election "big time" is remember that wisdom of Madison Avenue: SEX SCANDALS SELL. Whose hearings got more TV viewers, Oliver North the arms trader, or Clarence Thomas the video viewer? See what an accusation of erotic interests can do?
The American masses adore the very same sexual references they piously denounce. After 9-11 denizens of bars across the country were shouting, to use the current liberal euphemism, "Cheney those mother-cheneying terrorists!" This is why those photos from Abu Ghraib won't hurt us. If we'd just put the Iraqis on the rack, sure, but posing them to illustrate the Kama Sutra only arouses prurient public panting.
We applied this lesson well with The Clenis. We didn't repeat that boring method used to drive out our only Grecian Veep to make room for old "not-a-Lincoln". Instead of accusing the Arkansas Travailer of taking bribes, we tossed titillating tales of Oval Office oral orgies -- something so exotic and almost unknown in the Red States as to guarantee maximum attention out there.
This year's Democrats are also following that maxim. Why did The Ketchup Consort choose The Breck Boy as his "running mate"? You can see everytime they're together -- the hand holding, the tight whispering, the starry-eyed gazes into each other's faces. They're trying to straddle the sexual divide. Officially they oppose "modern Massachusetts monogamy", but notice that they were the only two Senators who didn't even show up to vote on it. It's not that they want people think they are actually experimenting with "sexual diversity". They just want people to wonder about it. Those poses are calculated conversation pieces.
Karl's current plan is for Bigus Dickus to simply announce later this year that his health precludes his running again. That's too dull. You could liven it up by having him taken to a hospital with "chest pains" which he got while nude in bed with his wife. We wouldn't have to say they were copulating. Let the tabloids jump to that conclusion on their own. It would produce hours of raptly watched hypocritical pontificating.
But even that doesn't go far enough. To get real drooling voyeurism and gigantic ratings, let him be carried off with those pangs from a bed he was sharing nude with another man. This would get more coverage and undercut the far rightists from calling his ticketectomy a sell-out to moderates. They'll be shouting instead to apply Leviticus 20:13, preferably with stones.
Who can we get to be discovered beside him by the ambulance crew? It should be a Log Cabin Republican, thus justifying their endorsement of you again. They'll be bragging about how far you've brought them into your administration. Let's demand that The Second Lady find one of her many "artistic" friends to serve. It's only fair for her to pay for undercutting the Homogeneous Hearth Amendment just before its defeat.
To replace your Number Two, I repeat that the most obvious choice is ME. There would be no complaints from the compulsory pregnancy caucus, as there would be with anti-life wimps like Colin or Rudy. And unlike them, I am a proven team player you know for certain will stand aside for your brother's nomination in four years. This year the press would gush all over themselves about your bold choice, reviving that old slogan "W is for Women".
But I'm willing to go still further to guarantee voters will be distracted by their inner demons instead of pondering their pocketbooks of pawn tickets. At some airport in October we'll arrange for a small accident. One of this candidate's bags will fall open before photojournalists prepared to snap shots of a collection of sex toys.
Once again, we don't have to say they are mine -- let the tabloids do that. Certain favored religious spin artists like Robertson can be prompted to denounce any attack on this discovery as leftist hypocrisy, saying she's a devout young woman (yes, I am old enough to run, thank you for asking), using Yankee ingenuity to eschew the liberal climate of singles bars and extra-marital liaisons. Of course, someone else will have to actually buy all those high-tech bedroom props for this scene, since I've never been short of willing partners myself.
For the rest of the campaign the media will talk of nothing else. Jobs? Health care? Schools? Who cares? There's a sex scandal to write about. The old saying will be proved again: If you get them arguing about the wrong question, then you don't need to worry about their answer. Four more years, then eight of Jeb, then eight of Jenna -- a little T and A is not too high a price to pay for establishing a dynasty.
Dear Mein President:
All you need to win this election "big time" is remember that wisdom of Madison Avenue: SEX SCANDALS SELL. Whose hearings got more TV viewers, Oliver North the arms trader, or Clarence Thomas the video viewer? See what an accusation of erotic interests can do?
The American masses adore the very same sexual references they piously denounce. After 9-11 denizens of bars across the country were shouting, to use the current liberal euphemism, "Cheney those mother-cheneying terrorists!" This is why those photos from Abu Ghraib won't hurt us. If we'd just put the Iraqis on the rack, sure, but posing them to illustrate the Kama Sutra only arouses prurient public panting.
We applied this lesson well with The Clenis. We didn't repeat that boring method used to drive out our only Grecian Veep to make room for old "not-a-Lincoln". Instead of accusing the Arkansas Travailer of taking bribes, we tossed titillating tales of Oval Office oral orgies -- something so exotic and almost unknown in the Red States as to guarantee maximum attention out there.
This year's Democrats are also following that maxim. Why did The Ketchup Consort choose The Breck Boy as his "running mate"? You can see everytime they're together -- the hand holding, the tight whispering, the starry-eyed gazes into each other's faces. They're trying to straddle the sexual divide. Officially they oppose "modern Massachusetts monogamy", but notice that they were the only two Senators who didn't even show up to vote on it. It's not that they want people think they are actually experimenting with "sexual diversity". They just want people to wonder about it. Those poses are calculated conversation pieces.
Karl's current plan is for Bigus Dickus to simply announce later this year that his health precludes his running again. That's too dull. You could liven it up by having him taken to a hospital with "chest pains" which he got while nude in bed with his wife. We wouldn't have to say they were copulating. Let the tabloids jump to that conclusion on their own. It would produce hours of raptly watched hypocritical pontificating.
But even that doesn't go far enough. To get real drooling voyeurism and gigantic ratings, let him be carried off with those pangs from a bed he was sharing nude with another man. This would get more coverage and undercut the far rightists from calling his ticketectomy a sell-out to moderates. They'll be shouting instead to apply Leviticus 20:13, preferably with stones.
Who can we get to be discovered beside him by the ambulance crew? It should be a Log Cabin Republican, thus justifying their endorsement of you again. They'll be bragging about how far you've brought them into your administration. Let's demand that The Second Lady find one of her many "artistic" friends to serve. It's only fair for her to pay for undercutting the Homogeneous Hearth Amendment just before its defeat.
To replace your Number Two, I repeat that the most obvious choice is ME. There would be no complaints from the compulsory pregnancy caucus, as there would be with anti-life wimps like Colin or Rudy. And unlike them, I am a proven team player you know for certain will stand aside for your brother's nomination in four years. This year the press would gush all over themselves about your bold choice, reviving that old slogan "W is for Women".
But I'm willing to go still further to guarantee voters will be distracted by their inner demons instead of pondering their pocketbooks of pawn tickets. At some airport in October we'll arrange for a small accident. One of this candidate's bags will fall open before photojournalists prepared to snap shots of a collection of sex toys.
Once again, we don't have to say they are mine -- let the tabloids do that. Certain favored religious spin artists like Robertson can be prompted to denounce any attack on this discovery as leftist hypocrisy, saying she's a devout young woman (yes, I am old enough to run, thank you for asking), using Yankee ingenuity to eschew the liberal climate of singles bars and extra-marital liaisons. Of course, someone else will have to actually buy all those high-tech bedroom props for this scene, since I've never been short of willing partners myself.
For the rest of the campaign the media will talk of nothing else. Jobs? Health care? Schools? Who cares? There's a sex scandal to write about. The old saying will be proved again: If you get them arguing about the wrong question, then you don't need to worry about their answer. Four more years, then eight of Jeb, then eight of Jenna -- a little T and A is not too high a price to pay for establishing a dynasty.
