Threeway, ch. 9, Momentum, pt. 1 of 2
Mandy sexes up the debate. Pipp and Kriegman falter. The N-word is said by all. "Threeway" continues in serial form with a link to buy the book at the bottom of the post. To catch up on prior segments, start at the bottom of the blog. Enjoy. Tell your friends.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 9: Momentum (pt. 1 of 2)
At the joint insistence of Pipp and Kriegman, there was one presidential debate. It was held before the conventions, before the candidates even picked vice presidents. Neither major party was committed to tanking the election if it meant losing to a Brown Bagger with no way to predict the endgame four years later. They’d hold the debate early, catch Mandy unprepared, humiliate her, and get her out of the race. Then, they’d get back to business.
An early debate? Okay, but there’d be concessions. Mittelpunkt wanted the debate shown commercial-free, live and uncensored, on pay-per-view cable.
“The Brown Bagger platform cannot get a fair hearing on network TV with its chokehold of FCC censorship,” Mittelpunkt complained as Mandy pouted beside him.
“I want to talk privately with my supporters. I might have something special to share with you.”
Three channels carried the action. Depending on which one you bought from, your candidate would get part of the fee, which each candidate could set. Pipp charged $20. Kriegman charged $150. Mandy charged $69.
The night of the debate, Pipp and Kriegman came out to a lot of heat. Kriegman’s fly was open, and his penis was out. Both men ignored it as did the crowd. The candidates waved, pointed at nonexistent supporters, and feigned small talk, eager to get the party started.
Mandy came out to a roar. She blew kisses, turned around, and shook her hips. Ignoring her opponents’ outstretched hands, she pulled each man’s face down to her level by their ties and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Pipp patted her shoulder and quickly went to his podium. Kriegman stood there dumbfounded, his hand extended. Mandy grabbed it, studied its size for its implications, and then feigned shock when she laid eyes on the thing implied.
“It looks so sad,” she yelled to the laughing crowd. She fanned Kriegman’s penis vigorously with her notes. Nothing happened. She fanned even harder. Still, nothing happened. Mandy shrugged comically at the whooping audience and went to kiss the moderator. So far, she didn’t seem unprepared. Mandy was always ready to be Mandy, especially after a drink or a dime. She took her place behind her podium. As he would several times that night, the announcer reminded Kriegman that he had to stand behind his.
The men had worn suits. Mandy wore a little black leather skirt and stiletto heels. She may not have been wearing a bra. The network linked to each candidate could run its own feed, so the Brown Baggers saw lots of Mandy’s clingy blouse, lots of Mandy fanning her shirt back and forth because of the heat from the lights, and lots of Mandy biting her finger and running it over her lips in thought.
The debate began. Looking to expand into Mandy’s base, Pipp repudiated his education and said nigger. Kriegman said nigger, too. So did Mandy, except she said the actual word, said it comfortably and familiarly, making it sound like community, like there was room for everyone at table even if some tables were in the kitchen or at diners in another part of town. Pipp and Kriegman hadn’t used the actual word, but they said it just the same and managed to make it sound worse.
Speaking about foreign policy Pipp said, “fucked without being kissed.” Kriegman mentioned carrying a big stick. The audience sat on its hands. Mandy laughed.
“That big stick, Mel? I guess you’ve got to carry it. It sure doesn’t carry itself.” The audience roared. Kriegman looked flustered. “As for the president’s comment, I bet I’m the only one up here who’s been fucked without being kissed. It’s not bad. It’s honest, and that counts for something.” The women in the room chorused “Hell, yes.” Mandy continued.
“I’m guessing that for all his dirty talk, President Pipp hasn’t actually been fucked by any world leader. I bet Mr. Kriegman has no plans to assume the position, either. I get why they can’t, but I can. Now, I won’t say I will, but I might because when a woman ‘lets’ a man, she’s got something on him, doesn’t she? Now, let me hear it: do you think the Emperor of China’s a good fuck?”
“Nooo!” the room chorused. “How about some sweaty old sheik?” “Nooo!” again. “How about . . .” she said leeringly, “these two old boys on my right?” The audience went “Oooh,” and the room broke up.
Whatever topic was asked about, Mandy would sex it up. If she couldn’t sex up the topic, she’d roll her eyes, tug on her blouse, and fan herself aggressively. If the home audience heard a tenth of what the men said, it was a miracle.
Anger worked well, too. Asked about job creation, Pipp promised more massive investments in green technology and infrastructure. Kriegman extolled the self-executing magic of lower taxes. Mandy had no plan, just an attitude.
“All of you with your, ‘Folks want jobs, folks want jobs, folks want jobs.’ Stop acting like you know us. Jesus said, ‘You will always have the poor,’ and that’s good enough for me. We are not going away!” This earned a standing ovation.
Asked how their faith would affect their presidency, Pipp said faith was the rudder on his ship, but he kept a firm hand on the tiller. Kriegman looked blank, then said that faith was personal and that the tax deduction for having it would always be sacred.
“I’m looking forward to the second coming,” Mandy said. “We all know the second coming takes much longer than the first.” This drew a laugh. “Sometimes, the waiting is good. Sometimes, you put your mind on other things. While I long for the return of the Lord, I’m going to assume life will go on. That’s what life generally does.” More applause.
The follow-up asked what the candidates would do if Jesus returned during their presidency. Kriegman rejected the premise. Pipp said his duties as Commander-in-Chief would dictate his response. If Jesus came in peace, he would meet with him. Mandy said she’d do him.
“All these losers I’ve done, and I’m not gonna do my Lord and Savior? He’d have me on hello, and about time, too. Inside out, upside down, front, back, you name it.” The audience rose to its feet. Fists were pumped, birds flew, and a familiar smell rose up from the crowd. The moderator begged for decorum.
“Now, the president wouldn’t want it up the butt because he’d have to remove the stick. But, come on, Mel, you old hippie, pretend you’re wrong. Let’s pretend you Jews are wrong. Jesus is Lord. If he says ‘roll over,’ you’re gonna say ‘no, sir.’?”
“If I believed that, I would submit. However, I assume God would stay his son’s hand as he did Abraham’s.”
“Uh oh, Mel. Somebody just lost the homos.”
Mandy’s poll numbers shot up after the debate. In response, Donaldson dug up old hippie chicks to go on TV and talk about Kriegman in his heyday. The First Lady hit the morning shows, too, saying with stiff conviction that Pipp was “very good in bed. Yes, very good. Discerning. Compassionate and inclusive.”
It didn’t help. Mandy ruled the air waves, not just as front runner but as tastemaker. She hadn’t won the gay vote, nor had she wanted to. A gay man walking into a honky tonk would do best to turn around. Still, within two weeks, the distaff anthems, “Shine Your Light Where the Sun Don’t Shine” and “Let Him Come in the Back Door,” had hit the Top Ten.
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
THREEWAY: A Short Novel for a Long Season
by
STEVEN LUBLINER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, dialogue, and descriptions are the author’s creations and are not to be taken as true. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All incidents depicting, suggesting, or referring to public figures or other historical persons are also fictionalized and are not to be taken as true.
Copyright © 2016 Steven S. Lubliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 1530971292
ISBN-13: 978-1530971299
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments
Prologue: The Personal Is Political i
1 Fillmore Pipp’s Boner 1
2 Big Mel Kriegman 16
3 Hi and Bye, Connie and Herb. 32
4 THE BROWN BAGGERS!! 40
5 Mittelpunkt 43
6 Mandy 51
7 Mandy In. Mandy Out. Mandy In. 66
8 Authenticity 75
9 Momentum 79
10 Brother Paul 88
11 Inevitability 98
12 Win. Lose. Repeat 108
Epilogue 112
Chapter 9: Momentum (pt. 1 of 2)
At the joint insistence of Pipp and Kriegman, there was one presidential debate. It was held before the conventions, before the candidates even picked vice presidents. Neither major party was committed to tanking the election if it meant losing to a Brown Bagger with no way to predict the endgame four years later. They’d hold the debate early, catch Mandy unprepared, humiliate her, and get her out of the race. Then, they’d get back to business.
An early debate? Okay, but there’d be concessions. Mittelpunkt wanted the debate shown commercial-free, live and uncensored, on pay-per-view cable.
“The Brown Bagger platform cannot get a fair hearing on network TV with its chokehold of FCC censorship,” Mittelpunkt complained as Mandy pouted beside him.
“I want to talk privately with my supporters. I might have something special to share with you.”
Three channels carried the action. Depending on which one you bought from, your candidate would get part of the fee, which each candidate could set. Pipp charged $20. Kriegman charged $150. Mandy charged $69.
The night of the debate, Pipp and Kriegman came out to a lot of heat. Kriegman’s fly was open, and his penis was out. Both men ignored it as did the crowd. The candidates waved, pointed at nonexistent supporters, and feigned small talk, eager to get the party started.
Mandy came out to a roar. She blew kisses, turned around, and shook her hips. Ignoring her opponents’ outstretched hands, she pulled each man’s face down to her level by their ties and gave them a kiss on the cheek. Pipp patted her shoulder and quickly went to his podium. Kriegman stood there dumbfounded, his hand extended. Mandy grabbed it, studied its size for its implications, and then feigned shock when she laid eyes on the thing implied.
“It looks so sad,” she yelled to the laughing crowd. She fanned Kriegman’s penis vigorously with her notes. Nothing happened. She fanned even harder. Still, nothing happened. Mandy shrugged comically at the whooping audience and went to kiss the moderator. So far, she didn’t seem unprepared. Mandy was always ready to be Mandy, especially after a drink or a dime. She took her place behind her podium. As he would several times that night, the announcer reminded Kriegman that he had to stand behind his.
The men had worn suits. Mandy wore a little black leather skirt and stiletto heels. She may not have been wearing a bra. The network linked to each candidate could run its own feed, so the Brown Baggers saw lots of Mandy’s clingy blouse, lots of Mandy fanning her shirt back and forth because of the heat from the lights, and lots of Mandy biting her finger and running it over her lips in thought.
The debate began. Looking to expand into Mandy’s base, Pipp repudiated his education and said nigger. Kriegman said nigger, too. So did Mandy, except she said the actual word, said it comfortably and familiarly, making it sound like community, like there was room for everyone at table even if some tables were in the kitchen or at diners in another part of town. Pipp and Kriegman hadn’t used the actual word, but they said it just the same and managed to make it sound worse.
Speaking about foreign policy Pipp said, “fucked without being kissed.” Kriegman mentioned carrying a big stick. The audience sat on its hands. Mandy laughed.
“That big stick, Mel? I guess you’ve got to carry it. It sure doesn’t carry itself.” The audience roared. Kriegman looked flustered. “As for the president’s comment, I bet I’m the only one up here who’s been fucked without being kissed. It’s not bad. It’s honest, and that counts for something.” The women in the room chorused “Hell, yes.” Mandy continued.
“I’m guessing that for all his dirty talk, President Pipp hasn’t actually been fucked by any world leader. I bet Mr. Kriegman has no plans to assume the position, either. I get why they can’t, but I can. Now, I won’t say I will, but I might because when a woman ‘lets’ a man, she’s got something on him, doesn’t she? Now, let me hear it: do you think the Emperor of China’s a good fuck?”
“Nooo!” the room chorused. “How about some sweaty old sheik?” “Nooo!” again. “How about . . .” she said leeringly, “these two old boys on my right?” The audience went “Oooh,” and the room broke up.
Whatever topic was asked about, Mandy would sex it up. If she couldn’t sex up the topic, she’d roll her eyes, tug on her blouse, and fan herself aggressively. If the home audience heard a tenth of what the men said, it was a miracle.
Anger worked well, too. Asked about job creation, Pipp promised more massive investments in green technology and infrastructure. Kriegman extolled the self-executing magic of lower taxes. Mandy had no plan, just an attitude.
“All of you with your, ‘Folks want jobs, folks want jobs, folks want jobs.’ Stop acting like you know us. Jesus said, ‘You will always have the poor,’ and that’s good enough for me. We are not going away!” This earned a standing ovation.
Asked how their faith would affect their presidency, Pipp said faith was the rudder on his ship, but he kept a firm hand on the tiller. Kriegman looked blank, then said that faith was personal and that the tax deduction for having it would always be sacred.
“I’m looking forward to the second coming,” Mandy said. “We all know the second coming takes much longer than the first.” This drew a laugh. “Sometimes, the waiting is good. Sometimes, you put your mind on other things. While I long for the return of the Lord, I’m going to assume life will go on. That’s what life generally does.” More applause.
The follow-up asked what the candidates would do if Jesus returned during their presidency. Kriegman rejected the premise. Pipp said his duties as Commander-in-Chief would dictate his response. If Jesus came in peace, he would meet with him. Mandy said she’d do him.
“All these losers I’ve done, and I’m not gonna do my Lord and Savior? He’d have me on hello, and about time, too. Inside out, upside down, front, back, you name it.” The audience rose to its feet. Fists were pumped, birds flew, and a familiar smell rose up from the crowd. The moderator begged for decorum.
“Now, the president wouldn’t want it up the butt because he’d have to remove the stick. But, come on, Mel, you old hippie, pretend you’re wrong. Let’s pretend you Jews are wrong. Jesus is Lord. If he says ‘roll over,’ you’re gonna say ‘no, sir.’?”
“If I believed that, I would submit. However, I assume God would stay his son’s hand as he did Abraham’s.”
“Uh oh, Mel. Somebody just lost the homos.”
Mandy’s poll numbers shot up after the debate. In response, Donaldson dug up old hippie chicks to go on TV and talk about Kriegman in his heyday. The First Lady hit the morning shows, too, saying with stiff conviction that Pipp was “very good in bed. Yes, very good. Discerning. Compassionate and inclusive.”
It didn’t help. Mandy ruled the air waves, not just as front runner but as tastemaker. She hadn’t won the gay vote, nor had she wanted to. A gay man walking into a honky tonk would do best to turn around. Still, within two weeks, the distaff anthems, “Shine Your Light Where the Sun Don’t Shine” and “Let Him Come in the Back Door,” had hit the Top Ten.
Buy Threeway.
Read the review on Kirkus Reviews.
Read an article about the author.
Review Threeway on Goodreads.
Buy A Child's Christmas in Queens.
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