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The Candidate

The Candidate

Scene is two men, one man, the Speechwriter is in his 20s and one man, The Candidate is in his 70s sitting across from each other in comfortable chairs.

S: Okay sir I’m glad we could sit down and prepare your speech.

TC: Me too.

S: How do you want to start?

TC:  I want to start with the truth, you and I can work together to make it acceptable for the people.  Sound good?

S: Sure, I can work with that.

TC: Okay let’s get started.

(He stands up, pauses and farts, with no reaction.)

I really don’t give a shit about people; I see them as merely a means to get me what I want.

S: (Starts a recording on his phone and begins writing) Ok got it.

TC: Ok.

You can convince people of anything especially when using religion or fear. People have a need to idolize a father figure because they feel he will take care of them and has their best interest at heart

S: Ok.

I got here by fucking everyone over and especially those who disagreed with me.  People see they have to agree with me, or I will humiliate and do them maximum harm.  They get in line fast to keep their place in my depraved organization.

S: Ok.

They say I truly am corrupt and often don’t pay the people who work for me, except for my family and especially my luscious daughter. I launder money for the mob and don’t have to provide my income or tax returns.  Foreign banks have my back and so do my well-armed supporters! 

S: Ok.

TC: I really don’t care about people other than the ones who support me.  Don’t call me a narcissist when one third of the population gives me the support that I obviously deserve.  How could so many support someone who only cares for himself?  They like me because I’m selfish and make them feel better about themselves and their own selfishness.

S: Ok.

TC: The good thing about having fanatical followers is they believe every lie you tell them.  In fact, the more lies you tell the better.  My assault on the truth is intentional, it’s my political secret sauce.  When there really is a truth about me that doesn’t serve my interests I call it fake.

S: Ok.

TC: The fanatic needs to feel like he knows something that you don’t.  Why do you think there are so many conspiracy theorists that follow me?  The beautiful thing is that you can feed them more conspiracy theories and they believe it.

S: Ok.

TC: You have to love my looks; they are unique with a special color and a special hair-top. It looks distinguished and makes me stand out as someone you can remember.  I’m also a great salesman, I can make anything that happens better with a few words and distract you from the bad stuff by changing the subject, it works every time.

S: Ok

I recognize politics for what it is and do whatever it takes to win, no matter how much I have to lie and attack my opponents.  My agenda is only about me, really, me, just me.  I say everything in a way that makes me more interesting, makes me more impressive.  I know how to say things with the right tone to make it sound impressive.  I know what presidential sounds like. Presidential sounds like yesteryear.

S: Ok.  Let me work on this, can you give me until tomorrow?

TC: I will give you until tonight.

S: Ok.

End of Scene.

Scene 2

That evening.  Same place.

S:  Here is what I have.  (Speechwriter hands The Candidate a few pages).

TC:  Ok here goes:

A truthful word unlike the typical;

To admit my regard for humankind,

And reckon them to a means to an end

That supports my designs, who needs a friend?

Can always use flimflam to convince them.

(Pause.)

Pick godly a subject for artifice.

Fear the other is special a device,

Play the father, so safely they feel

Always he provides the next mortal meal.

He reminds us human heart is his prize.

(Pause.)

My ascent is easy to demonstrate.

I ruin each person who disagrees

And accept only those propitiates.

And those who continue to choose debate,

Instead of accord with the potentate,

Learn quick everyman I humiliate.

Maximum harm is the aim by decree

Joining the line to rank and colligate

No matter how depraved the constellate.

(Pause.)

But depraved is a badge worn with honor

My blinded who choose their oblivion

As compensation for a follower,

Never forget those close and my daughter.

The money is cleaned for Ivan even.

Some stays with me and without a receipt,

A Hun banker’s friend am I and Stephen.

My train and generals serve two masters,

And hope they converge before the last term.

(Pause.)

A concern for people is limited

To only those who are so riveted

By a boor thriving on their division.

No sign of egomania or creep

Just mollycoddle me -make my oozes seep

On angel doves following like sheep.

Faults feel better when I am the villain

Natures cult law leads to occision.

(Pause.)

Fanatics as followers an asset,

Consumers of lies like a toady pet.

The size of portion served fits how they feed.

And truth is a game that people play,

It works best in a country in decay.

Truth meets my lies it must be a mistake,

The response is simple -just call it fake.

The external world is all mine you see,

Pinocchio has got nothing on me.

(Pause.)

My fanbase thinks they have the inside scoop,

A something you don’t know and smells of poop,

A secret, a clan or a coterie

Only thing that matters they follow me.

A supply and demand I feed the beast

Their ranks receive comfort from me their priest.

(Pause.)

The good looks I have and the handsomeness

A unique and special color my skin

The bird’s nest on top that wind makes a mess.

But protrudes it must my trademark akin

It reminds you that there is the jig pitchman.

The device, the ruse, the sleight, the smoke screen,

A distraction from my real rotten scheme.

(Pause.)

An idea of politics clear to me

One must say or do whatever it takes

Every tool available you see

To lie or cheat or steal or kill a key

All to win the presidency for me.

Then ask my agenda further you see

About me, about me, about me, weeeeeeeeee!

The way a word can be spoken a frink

Makes interesting, impressive a stink

Use the right tone pull an oink from a mink.

Who knows my intention under the shell

Turn to long words, old idioms, Orwell

Make presidential sounds I say too wistful

Just “like a cuttlefish spurting out ink.”

To be continued

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