Two large, but flabby, warbloggers found me passed-out and pantless in the sheep pen this morning. At first, I thought they were Jehovah's Witnesses, so I fought like hell, but then I noticed their Cheeto-stained fingers and the sallowness of their complexions--it was the kind of greenish-gray paleness that can only be acquired from years of living in your mothers basement--and, at that moment, I knew they were on our side.
After hosing me off in the yard, they blindfolded me and drove me to a trailer in an undisclosed location where I was greeted by some of the most beleaguered members of the Republican senatorial establishment. Mitch McConnell was there. So were Norm Coleman, Gordon Smith, Saxby Chambliss, and Elizabeth and Bob Dole.
Sen. McConnell began the briefing, saying, "General, we're getting our asses kicked out there."
"That's right," Elizabeth Dole interjected, "Pat Roberts is already at 55%. He's creaming me."
"Jesus H. Christ," McConnell responded, "how many times do I have to explain it to you? You live in Kansas, so Roberts is your senator, but you are North Carolina's senator, and therefore, your opponent is Kay Hagen. Now enough of this bullshit; let me brief the General."
It was then that McConnell slid a folder over to me. A photo of a man , a very angry man, was paperclipped to the front of it. There was no confusion about who it was. The furious wrinkles between eyes tearing with rage, the teeth gritting angry resentment, and a countenance of evil spite were all there to see. It was one of their own. It was Sen. John Sydney McCain.
"This is your target," McConnell continued, "he's dragging the whole ticket down. You've got to stop him. You've got to bring him in."
"But what does that entail, 'bringing him in," I asked, "what are you asking me to do?"
All eyes turned to Bob Dole. "Get him to drop out of the race; Bob Dole will take his place. Take Bob Dole's pen. He'll recognize it and know you're speaking for Bob Dole. Bob Dole had to stab him with it once when he attacked Bob Dole for taking the last bowl of lentil soup in the Senate dining room. It was Bob-Dole-defense; he was trying to kill Bob Dole."
There was no way I could back out of this. Bob Dole had asked me. You don't say no to Bob Dole.
Tomorrow: I Love the Smell of Vaseline in the Morning.
Heart of Dorkness Index
2. The Mission
3. I Love the Smell of Vaseline in the Morning
4. Never Get Out of the Pinto
5. The Horror