Elections are the entertainment division of the military-industrial complex
When you transform yourself into a Hollywood producer, carny worker, and snake oil salesman -- you know that the sharks are at their greatest intensity of feeding and the political season is entering its climax.
Sam Spade was sitting around his dingy, disheveled office swilling his port wine and sucking on a doobie. In walks one helluva babe! I mean, she wasn't much to look at, but beauty is only skin deep. I knew I was dealing with the Data Queen.
Queenie is the mistress of all Big Data. She jinked me onto a caper exposing a big time nest of GOP cockroaches in her matrix, and I outed the dude to the press. So I knew that Queenie was onto something big.
"What's going on sweetheart? You're always one of my favorite dames to talk to."
She sat down in her big girl, geeky way, and she said. " Remember the Occupy meeting?"
I said, "Sure. What about it?"
"Remember the postal workers rally? The Republicans have been screwing the pooch on the post office. And with the mail from the local processing center being routed through Gotham City, that'll interfere in the delivery of ballots to Ecotopia!"
I smacked my head, and I crunched my fedora. Geez why didn't I think of that? , Behind every crisis there's a golden opportunity. Time to get creative.
"I've got an idea. Let's combine the post office rally with the mega-going away party for the elections at Democratic Party HQ."
"Killer idea, Killer!" She said.
It's obvious that I've lived in Los Angeles too long. Everybody thinks they're in the movie business. And here I was with a chance to make a movie, if only in my head. Why not combine the two events into one and start the revolution?
Some background. The Senators and the State Officials and the Congressmen are all being at HQ for the Mother of All Phone Ins on the last weekened of the election.
So I start dialing for dollars, psychically speaking. I tell every local elected official that the rally at the post office is going to be the social event of the year. So why not get the Political All Stars on the dias at the post office. A thousand people can party with all of the cameras there. Maybe even we'll make the national news if we play our cards right.
The first thing I discover is that Democrats are actually skittish about labor unions. I know that that's hard to believe, but it's true. I guess the Supreme Court ruled that it's okay for billionaires from Saudi Arabia to give secret money to a political campaign, but that if an elected Democratic politician is seen talking to a labor organizer -- everyone goes to prison. Or something like that.
Immediately it is apparent that the evil spectre of leftist sectarianism is rearing its ugly head. Occupy will not talk to the Democrats. And the Democrats know that the Occupiers are terrorists. Is this a great country or what?
Ivan delivers the coup de grace to me. I break out into a cold sweat, and I feel as if I've just been punched in the stomach. Ivan is a young, skinny Russian kid who's the gatekeeper to the Political All Stars. Last time I saw him, he had a two day growth of face wearing a tweed jacket and smelling as bad as I did when I talked to him. Now he's on the phone comiserating with me. Sure it's a great idea to combine the two events, but the big political hen has decided to stick to the schedule.
WEINIES! I know deep down, she's having a flop sweat panic about her electoral chances because the Kock brothers are funding some useful idiot on the left who holds his political meetings in a broom closet. The Kocks are counting on the little weinie to siphon off that 0.5% of the vote to get some vote supressor into office.
To make a long story short, I cobble together a smaller demonstration with the local pols, and it's not a total disaster. Now it's time to take the flyers to the cafe by the bus station, where the psychos and the junkies, the homeless and the underemployed, and Occupy scum congregate. They are not fit to be seen in polite company, and they need to be at the rally.