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Edited on Mon Nov-07-05 10:55 PM by TayTay
Players:
LB: short for Liberal Base, lovely, very, very high maintenance woman, who is an anthropomorphic representation of the liberal wing of the Dem Party. Bears no relation to any actual person living or dead. (Or it's a coincidence.)
John: A tall, striking Senator from a very Blue, very Northeast State who bears no relation to any living or dead person or it's a coincidence. (It's called fiction for a reason.) (He's a clone, okay.)
Scene: Oh any liberal-leaning, People's Republic type town in America. A very nice townhouse that seems to float above the it's foundation. There is always mist around it, as thought the place belongs in a fairy tale.
John is on his cell-phone vehemently asking his staff if he has to go in talk to this woman. The staff person says yes, that she has been making threatening noises again and only a visit will soothe her frayed nerves. John sighs deeply and tries to put his key into the lock and turn the knob. The key won't work. "Great," he thinks, "just what I need. She's changed the locks again." He sighs deeply and rings the reception bell.
A slightly stressed voice rings out from the intercom box. "Who is it?"
John: "LB, it's me, please let me in. You know, you don't have to change the locks every time you happen to listen to one of the talk shows. How many times do I have to go over this with you? I have not changed."
LB: "I'm not letting you in John. I'm just not. I just heard Ed Scultz and he barely qualifies as a moderate and even he, a political philistine, thinks you changed. Or didn't change. I'm sort of confused on that point. Why should I let you in? You will only break my heart again and walk away. I can't do that. I've maxed out on my Xanax prescription and my doctor says he can't find anything else to give me. I'm at the end of my rope."
John mutters under his breath that what she really needs to to come off the drugs and deal with some reality, but he knows that would just provoke a worse fight. "Please let me in LB and we can talk."
LB sighs and John hears the buzzer that means the door is now open. He walks through, stops at the hallway bar and pours himself a double scotch. He downs it in a single gulp. "Oh God," he thinks, "This is going to be awful."
LB is in the den, watching TV. Amy Goodman is currently on TV explaining why everyone who ever ran for public office is either corrupt or useless. LB is sitting on the couch her arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. She gazes up at John and she seems on the verge of tears.
"Oh John, how could you? I just heard Amy Goodman talking with someone and they claim that you aren't, ahm, one of us anymore. You should have done something else on election night. They say you knew the election was stolen, but you refused to fight it. You wanted the Republicans to win, didn't you. Because you knew, you just knew that it would upset me. And I am upset. I'm beside myself. There was a protest today downtown against the military, animal abuse, freeing Mumia and, ahm, coffee I think, and I didn't even make up a sign. That's how upset I was. Sigh!"
John rubs his forehead for a minute and thinks, not for the first time, if Republicans ever have to confront some elements of their base. What must that be like? Partly the Inquisition, part tax seminar, part pig roast, he guesses. He sighs again.
"LB, we have been over this before. They had 3.5 million more votes. Even if I had gone to court and 'won' Ohio, what would that have been like? I would have been seen as an illegitimate President to more than half the country. The Republicans in Congress would have made it their holy duty to see that I never got anything done and that every action I took was opposed because they would have claimed that I didn't really win the vote, I used trickery. They did this to Clinton and he actually was elected. It would have been a nightmare for the country. We didn't have the votes."
"Oh John, it was stolen from you. And I think I wanted you to have it. I'm pretty sure I did, but it may just be that I didn't want Him to have it. Or maybe I wanted one of those lovely men who ran in the primaries to have it. I think Thom, or was it Al, or maybe it was a poster on one of the blogs said Howard would have fought it. Did you really fight John, did you?"
"Yes, LB. I did. Remember the debates? Remember those? You said it was the best job ever done in a Presidential debate. You called all your friends and told them to give me money and time. Remember that."
LB had a momentary look of delight cross her face. "ah, the debates. You nailed that bastard. Just nailed him." Her eyes refocused and she regained her disapproving look. "John, I have to ask, where you coerced into giving up? I heard that you were programmed at Skulls and Bones in 1965 to go to Vietnam, run for Congress, lose, become a lawyer, then a prosecutor and then a Senator and then get yourself chosen as the Democratic Nominee and then give up. Is this true, cuz, I have to tell you, I've heard worse, you know."
"LB, none of that is even possible, never mind true. Honestly, you need to get out more. You have to stop hanging around with those weird friends of yours, they don't live in the real world."
"John, are you still, you know, one of us? I also heard that you had this Republican Lite conversion experience. Was it painful? I heard this can happen when people watch Fox News. One minute they are normal and think about global warming all the time and then this Hannity guy comes on and, pop, they change. They become Republican. I have Fox News blocked on my TV, just in case. Were you watching Fox News at the time of the election? This would explain a lot."
"No, LB, I give them interviews sometimes, but I don't generally watch Fox News. Listen I have to go now. Could you please get me a set of keys to the front door. I am a card-carrying member of this Party and I deserve a set of keys to the house."
"Well, I'll think about it. I'm going to consult with my friends and see what they think. I'll let you know."
John leaves, having acquired only a slight headache for all his efforts.
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