Well I have it. A clean bill of health. My doctor felt up my junk, with what I would consider ice cubes attached to his wrists. My back will have to be dealt with later. Its muscle strain and I am not too keen on popping pills, unless I really really need to. The worst pain has passed and now it just feels like I have been working out too much. Sometimes I forget what that feels like until my back starts to act up.
I also have been reading and researching a ton of things for a book idea I have had. I interviewed a few people for it already and I wrote what you would consider a test writing of the idea. I spit it out and after much refining and re-reading of the damn article, I have decided to let you all have a peak at it.
It's nothing more than 665 characters and hopefully interesting enough for people to want to keep reading it.
Let me know what you think:
I am nothing more than a piece of furniture you toss your coat on when you get home. Always there. Never move. Reliable. You know that when you walk into the house, I will be there for you to throw your coat on.
What if one day I moved? What if one day I wasn’t there for you? What would you do? Nothing more than anyone else would. Find something else to throw your coat on. This is what happens in a political office.
For a candidate running for office, their staff is that object they throw their coat on. They are always there. They are that foundation you build a house on. No one in America is ever elected unless their staff gets them there. There is always the press person. There is always a fashion person. There is always a make-up person. There is always an assistant. They all work together, they are always there making sure their message is heard in the media, they look good on camera, and make sure they always know when his daughter’s birthday is, if it happens to fall during a campaign. It all comes full circle if they didn’t know when their own daughter’s birthday was. The press loses the message and focuses on him being a bad father, they spend all their time defending themselves publicly rather making up policy. The assistant is fired, and a new one comes. That assistant moved, so they found a new one.
There is always one job in the office that no one knows about. It lingers in the halls, away from public view. This job is the exact opposite of every job in the office. Keeping lids on things is a profession. Making sure the press doesn’t see the 14-year-old prostitute leave their apartment at 4am. Making sure his wife doesn’t smell the other woman on their clothes when they come home from a long day at the office. Making sure the tan line is always on the ring finger of their left hand. They work in anonymity. If the press catches the scent of a scandal, that person didn’t do their job.
The Secret Service did this job for every president until Kennedy was killed, assassinated, or taken out, whichever lie you want to believe. They would sneak in women from all over for romps in the White House residence. Pierre Salinger was a masterful artisan when it came to covering up a real story. One particular cover up that was nicely executed was in 1962 when the Cuban missile crisis was ramping up; Kennedy was in Seattle for the World’s Fair. Kennedy was photographed hugging old ladies and kissing babies. What we never knew was that he was also locked in a hotel room for hours with a particularly beautiful red head named Molly. She liked to be a little loud, so the Secret Service would get the rooms on each side of the president and play loud music. Big Band, Swing, anything to cover up that woman screaming and moaning into the cool northwestern night. When Kennedy needed to be whisked away back to Washington, the Secret Service had to discretely get him out of there. Pierre said that he had a cold and had to return home. Little did the American public know that two things had happened. Russia was shipping weapons to Cuba, and that the taxpayers had paid for a booty call for its president.
Not much has changed since then except that the Secret Service got out of the booty call business, at least publicly. They still get a room on each side of the President on trips for ‘security’ but once Kennedy was shot, they needed to focus on not getting their paycheck shot in the head.
Politicians still want everything from the world, but rarely give anything back.
My candidate takes everything from me day after day and all I ever get in return is this lousy paycheck.
Yarn and... teeth.
2 years ago