May
4
“(A lurid montage. I am running for president. I mobilize an army of tramps to get out the vote. Petitions, well-attended cockfights in public squares, free “Vote for Tag” shoes. Newspapers proclaim me a “popular visionary,” a “man of rustic tastes,” and “the truest American to ever sprint for her highest office.” Darker days: an army of tramps devours my opponent’s running mate. I denounce them and deny involvement. In a smoky room, a cash transaction, the parties to it are never seen. “TRAMPS!” screams the headline of our nation’s paper of record. I shrug off the libelous accusations of that “bootlicking fishwrap.” My army grows. Tramps. Rich men, terrified, pay advisors to teach them trampy ways, to buy them trampy clothes. Tramps! Your scream echoes through the nation, but it is too late to stop the march of: Tramps! In the waning days of the campaign I encode my speeches with nods to the trampery. I speak of “ordinary Americans chatting around the oil drum” and “star-spangled bindles to carry a nation’s hopes and dreams.” Tramps. I am elected, bones litter my campaign trail. The honeymoon. The speculation The swearing in. The Chief Justice, her face badly mangled but somehow familiar. From where do I know that face…?)”
Gmail chat to my now-fiancée, 2009. (via sexpigeon)
