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"Scam" ads the norm Trail Mix: Hillary haters spam cyberspace Gunning for the center Democrats make Hillary legit The blundering pundit Don Giuliani Campaign video: |
Stalking Gary Bauer | page 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 I tell Andy I was really looking forward to meeting Gary and getting his autograph, and Andy tells me to come to the press conference at the World War II Memorial. "Grab my arm at the press conference," he said, "and I'll make sure you get to meet Gary."
Crushed that I won't be going to the pizza party, I sit at the phone and make calls. An hour and half later, everyone else has left for the pizza party -- except for Bauer's press secretary, who is sitting in her cubicle rustling up media for Bauer's W.W. II press conference. All alone, just me and the phones, the phones and me. I was going to miss the party, and that depressed me, but my sinuses were running like an open tap, so I probably didn't need the pizza. And, anyway, I have work to do. I went from doorknob to doorknob. They were filthy, no doubt, but there wasn't time to find a rag to spit on. My immune system wasn't all it should be -- I was in the grip of the worst flu I had ever had -- but I was on a mission. If for some reason I didn't manage to get a pen from my mouth to Gary's hands, I wanted to seed his office with germs, get as many of his people sick as I could, and hopefully one of them would infect the candidate. So, much as it pains me to confirm a hateful stereotype of gay men -- we will put anything in our mouths -- I started licking doorknobs. The front door, office doors, even a bathroom door. When that was done, I started in on the staplers, phones and computer keyboards. Then I stood in the kitchen and licked the rims of all the clean coffee cups drying in the rack. Feeling slightly sickened by what I had just done, I pulled a small bottle of Maker's Mark out of my bag. I packed it so I could have a little drink before bedtime, without having to pay hotel mini-bar prices. But since I'd been sick the whole time I've been in Iowa, I hadn't been drinking. I took a swig, swished it around my mouth, and spit the booze and germs into the toilet. Having licked all the doorknobs, telephones, keyboards and coffee cups, I returned to Andy's desk to get my coat. But I couldn't bring myself to lick Andy's keyboard or phone. He'd been so nice, and however far apart we were politically, I wouldn't wish this flu on him. My phone calls to Bauer supporters didn't convince many folks to come to the war memorial in the freezing cold. I'd spoken with dozens of Bauer supporters that day, and left at least hundred messages, but the turn out at the war memorial was skimpy. There were about two-dozen people there, mostly campaign staffers, their husbands or wives, and children. I had failed, failed utterly, but Andy didn't seem to hold it against me. He clapped me on the back, handed me a Bauer sign, and told me to stand behind the podium with the rest of the crowd. It was freezing cold and windy. Waiting for Gary, I took my pen out of my pocket and put it in my mouth. This was it, my one shot. I chewed the pen, cracking the plastic shaft. I turned the pen around and chewed on the tip, cracking that end, too. Gary arrived, toddled up to the podium and made some remarks about Red China. Gary's remarks were mercifully brief, and as he stepped away from the podium, I stepped toward him, holding my photograph. "This is my son," I said. "Will you autograph it?" Bauer gave me an blank look. I needed to give him a little more. "I talked his mother out of aborting him. You're my hero, Mr. Bauer." He looked at me with his little bug eyes, and broke into a wide smile, his strangely splayed teeth poking out from under his upper lip. "Good for you," Gary said, "that's wonderful." He took the picture, and then I pulled the pen out of my mouth and handed it to him. Score! My bodily fluids -- flu bugs and all -- were all over his hand! When he went to sign the photo, no ink came out. Gary looked up at the cameras and said, "Looks like everything is frozen." He grabbed a poster and scribbled on it to get the ink flowing, then signed the picture. He handed me my pen, and started to walk toward his van. He stopped to answer a reporter's question, and I saw him run a finger under his nose. Perfect. I didn't need to lick all those doorknobs after all.
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