CHAPTER EIGHT
Before the election, negotiations were intense over whether the Cult would or would not endorse Senator Kerry. They met in a basement room in Cult headquarters, where reporters were unlikely to snoop.
"You must understand," Cult representatives said cryptically to the candidate. "There are people . . . out there. People who. . . ."
The woman with long hair and longer fingernails didn't finish her sentence. Her psychotic eyes glanced knowingly around. It was assumed the Senator knew of what she spoke.
"Will I get to meet-- him?" the candidate asked.
"Oh no!" the woman exclaimed, showing anxiety at the thought. Minions around her nervously murmured. The Senator, though like all politicos not the sharpest of dudes, was increasingly creeped out.
The witch woman nodded to one of her flunkies, who pulled out a folder of drawings.
"We'll have you on the cover of our #2 publication, with glowing rays shooting out," the flunkie said with facile enthusiasm.
The Senator was surprised. "I don't think you understand," he said. "That's not why I'm here."
The witch woman stared at him as he endeavored to clarify himself.
"We," the Senator said, "Want you to NOT endorse my candidacy."
But, the cover went through anyway. The rest is history. The Senator's campaign crashed and burned like a collapsing skyscraper. Now we know why.
(To be continued.)
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1 comment:
Cheer up man! Literature isn't dead it has just limped back into our hands in a very shit-kicked state. I see this as a good thing for the small presses. No competition from the mainstream---two different worlds, and theirs has nothing to do with genuine literature!
-Pat
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