David E. Manuel alligators and other stuff

[David]

Okay, that got his attention!

[Gingerlily - The Full Wild]

He does look a little worried there. Tell him to relax, thats just a dog in an alligator costume.

[David]

Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "He does look a little worried there. Tell him to relax, thats just a dog in an alligator costume."

His reaction: "Whew!"

[David]

Well, we're not in full-loony election mode here in the U.S. So following is a rather lengthy excerpt from A Feast of Famine that seemed zany when I wrote it but feels tame now compared to actual events.

Frederick Dunston Slickman was having trouble believing his luck. Things had been falling his way for a year and a half now. First the decision to run for president, not all that popular with his advisers. [President] Mush was a strong incumbent with years of experience, a solid reputation in foreign policy, credentials as a legislator, senior diplomat. Hell, the man was even a war hero. Back before the primaries, the consensus had been that Mush had a lock on another four years in the White House. Rob Chester, Slickman’s campaign manager, had been blunt. “This is not the year. You’ll get beat up in the primaries, and if you get through that, the best you can expect is to lose the election. Badly.”
Mush’s campaign team was ruthless, too. They’d crushed the Democratic nominee four years ago, bombarding the country with ads labeling Sturgis Mokowski a godless philanderer and hinting broadly that his financial backing came predominantly from the homosexual community. The coup de grace had been arranging a last-minute leak from a plant inside Mokowski’s campaign that he was considering pardoning Charles Manson if elected. The sheer audacity of the lies had left Mokowski speechless—and had convinced an overwhelming majority of the electorate that some of the lies must be true. The last Slickman had heard, Mokowski was still in hiding somewhere in Canada.
But the strength of the President had kept the Democratic primary field weak, which Slickman had seen as opportunity even if most of his advisers had not. Bidding for the nomination in such a weak field was the perfect way to raise his profile from obscure southern governor to national political figure. His only miscalculation had been that the field proved too weak. He’d been shooting to get enough attention and delegates to position himself to grab the vice-presidential nomination, the perfect place to be on a losing ticket. Then he’d have been ideally situated to make a real run four years down the road when Mush would no longer be a factor. Slickman had relished the thought of running against Mush’s current vice-president; the man could barely tie his shoes.
But he’d found himself leading the pack, his campaign gaining momentum. He couldn’t very well have bowed out, although he’d considered it. Phony up some personal crisis, have his wife fake a debilitating disease; but that meant no place on the ticket at all and possibly even dropping back into obscurity. He’d agonized during the final months of the primary season, finally deciding to stick it out, accept the nomination, pray for a miracle. Still, the night after his acceptance speech to the national convention, he’d sat drinking scotch with Chester, veteran of twenty years of Slickman campaigns, staring failure in the face. Rob hadn’t been encouraging.
“Mush is gonna kick our ass from Maine to Montana, Fred. Jesus H. Christ, you’re running against the man who ended the Cold War and liberated Kuwait from the reincarnation of Hitler. You’d have a better chance of winning against the Pope in Italy.”
“Maybe he’ll be overconfident.”
“Don’t see how he can help it.”
But being such an underdog had its advantages. Mush had been overconfident, so much so that he’d decided against the underhanded mudslinging campaign approach that had so devastated Mokowski, opting instead to take the high ground, presenting himself as accomplished and statesmanlike, underscoring Slickman’s lack of foreign policy credentials at every turn. It had been effective. By August, Mush was leading by seven points in every national poll. Slickman hadn’t been happy to be so far behind, but he had been relieved not to be the target of ceaseless character assassination. Mush’s campaigners wouldn’t even have needed to make up outrageous lies like they had with Mokowski. Women had been Fred Slickman’s weakness his whole life. In his home state, he’d had the clout to keep a lid on the scandals over the years. But a national dogfight could have been ugly.
Then his luck had started to turn. First it had been small things; Mush delivering a Pearl Harbor commemoration speech to a veterans’ group on September 7th, Vice-President Bobbin blasting “rogue nations” when asked a question about Quebec. Silly mistakes politicians make all the time, Slickman knew, but quickly blown out of proportion during an election by the gaffe-hungry media.
And then the miracle. The stock market had tumbled out of the blue some 500 points on a Friday. Not a game-changer in its own right, but serious. Followed up the following Tuesday by the Fed Chairman announcing an interest rate hike and sounding alarms about runaway inflation, and the result had been a full-blown recession. The economy had been weak for months, Slickman knew, but the stunning downturn had been like a gift from heaven. He’d managed to catch Chester in a private moment.
“Look, Rob. I don’t know how you managed this, but, well, I hope you didn’t bribe someone at the Fed or something. I mean, if you did, I hope you covered our tracks.”
“Geeze, Fred, I wish I could take credit. We had nothing to do with any of this.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
Inexplicably, Mush’s campaign had crumbled under the pressure, heaping error on error. First, the President had down-played the economic problems, giving a patronizing speech suggesting the media was “overreacting” to “normal market forces” that did not reflect the “underlying strength of American manufacturing.” Naturally, three automobile manufacturers announced numerous plant closings and thousands of layoffs the next day. Adding fuel to the fire, a disgruntled ex-White House staffer’s kiss-and-tell book hit the bookstores with a timely anecdote quoting Mush telling a group of bankers of the “tragedy that Herbert Hoover never received the acclaim such a great man deserved.”
“Come on, Rob. How’d you pull this off?”
“Trust me, Fred, no one could orchestrate political incompetence like this.”
Still, Mush’s lead had narrowed, but he’d remained ahead in the polls. The smart thing, Slickman figured, would have been for Mush to stop mentioning the economy entirely, arrange bland photo ops with a few heads of state to look presidential and hope his lead didn’t evaporate. Americans don’t reject an incumbent unless he goes out of his way to alienate them, after all. Which is what the “shopping expedition” had finally accomplished.
No one would ever know which adviser decided President Mush needed to do something to demonstrate his empathy for the “little guy” by going personally to a department store. If the same person was the one who’d also recommended buying boxer shorts as a way to put a “human face” on the president, Slickman wished he could find the guy to shake his hand. He doubted, though, that anyone had suggested to Mush that he ask the clerk in the men’s department if they sold garters to hold up his socks. God, the late night comedians had had a field day with that one. As one had quipped, “too bad he can’t find something to hold up his sagging poll numbers.”
And now, tonight, Mush had made the ultimate act of desperation. He’d blocked out time on the three major networks to make a “major policy announcement.” Pundits had speculated the entire day over what dramatic move the president intended to make to reverse the economic collapse and restore his position as national leader and frontrunner. Slickman had feared the worst, expecting Mush to throw away years as a dedicated free-marketer and announce a massive economic stimulus package, say something moving like “I can no longer allow empty economic ideology to stand in the way of coming to the aid of the American worker.” It’s what Slickman himself would have advised—with just weeks before the election, he could probably fool more than enough voters that he’d had an epiphany and was channeling FDR.
Mush had decided on something else. Slickman and Chester watched in disbelief.

. . . necessary steps to mobilize the United Nations and the international community to open corridors for humanitarian relief to the desperate Bulimian peoples.

“My God, Fred. He’s gone over the edge. Fucking lost it.”
“He must think he can change the subject from the economy to foreign policy, Rob. But Bulimia? People don’t even know where the fuck that is.”

American naval elements will be deployed in support of an enlarged U.N. peacekeeping operation.

“No doubt he believes this makes him look caring and compassionate, can’t see it makes him come across as even more disconnected from his own country than people had thought. This is a game changer, alright. We’re gonna murder him.”
“I’ll hammer him over this. Accuse him of wasting millions that could be spent right here helping Americans.”
“No, Fred. Use your brain for a change.” Chester was shaking his head like a teacher continually disappointed with his pupil. “You don’t need to attack him. The media will do that for you. Here’s what you’re going to say.”
He grabbed a paper and pen and scribbled. Slickman read over his shoulder. As always, Chester was absolutely right. The man was a political genius.

Let me express again my admiration for the President. At a time when so many Americans are preoccupied with the hardships tens of millions of us are facing every day in these tough economic times, he has shown compassion for hungry people in a remote country on the other side of the world.

[David]

There goes the neighbohood...

[David]

[David]

Is that you, Mistress Lantern?

[Gingerlily - The Full Wild]

I would say yes, but my lantern isn't showing!

[David]

Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "I would say yes, but my lantern isn't showing!"

Here it is.

[Gingerlily - The Full Wild]

I look very ...stern... there, don't I!

[David]

Gingerlily - Mistress Lantern wrote: "I look very ...stern... there, don't I!"

Indeed! lol

[David]

Garmin has a new pet product which includes a shock collar.

If you think shock collars are wrong, go to the link and sign the petition to get Garmin to stop selling these.

If you think shock collars are okay...what's wrong with you? Don't make me come over there and put a shock collar on YOU...


Tell Garmin to stop shocking dogs
https://www.change.org/p/tell-garmin-to-stop-shocking-dogs?recruiter=596384705&utm_campaign=signature_receipt_twitter_dialog&utm_medium=twitter&utm_source=share_petition via @Change

[David]

Noticed this on my author page. Does this mean "not one person" wants to read this? Or perhaps there is one person out there trying to wipe the book from their memory? Any ideas?

[David]

It's been awhile, but I finally published something new.
Molly Malice in Alterland: We Wake Up Screaming
When Molly Malice fell down a rabbit-hole into a land of alternative facts, she thought it might be an exciting adventure. She found out instead that reality cannot just be wished away.

[Jim]

hope it goes well :-)

[Rosemary (grooving with the Picts)]

I think we're all Molly Malice just now

[David]

Jim wrote: "hope it goes well :-)"

Thanks, Jim. I've set my expectations to "low."

[David]

Rosemary (grooving with the Picts) wrote: "I think we're all Molly Malice just now"

Indeed!