Splitting Sides Across Party Lines: Chapter 2 (cont) Ron Paul and The Bathroom Mortar

“Ron Paul, what do you think about the mistakes they made in saying you won the Iowa Caucus, and does this sour you from continuing your campaign?”

A microphone is pushed against the little man’s neck, as he is bludgeoned by reporters.

“What?!  That certainly isn’t a valid question, when I just won this thing, fair and without any help from the Super Pac’s,” he said, exasperated because he was trying to use the bathroom but the media  clumped up, blocking the way in and out.

“Please could you move? I drank a lot of water and…”

A loud abrasive voice ejects from a woman that looks like a Cuban Joan Rivers, and interrupts him.

“So why did you say you are quitting the race?”

“I never said that, now can you please,” he starts to say

“When will you give up and quit the race?”

“Why do you want to quit the race?”

“In your recent decision to quit the race have you thought about siding with candidates? Newt Gingrich or Mitt Romney?”

And on a continuous frenzied loop they question him.

“I am not quitting…”

Ron Paul looks around; weary, pushing now, becoming more violent, his bladder builds up, and the reporters keep striking him with their microphones. They question him all at once, louder and louder, like braying mules.

All news affiliates fill the halls, Fox News, CNN, MSNBC, and NPR all gather outside of the men’s room, jumping over each other to scream at the little congressmen.

Suddenly there is a gaseous exchange of angry wind. It seems to hit off the bathroom walls like a mortar, followed by a stench that might remind a farmhand of a decaying calf’s leg caught in the teeth of a radiator.

The cloud of stench follows and oozes in between the cracks of the men’s room door and sends the media scattering. Ron Paul himself walks away quickly, conveniently forgetting the need to urinate.

“Hey Paul!” A familiar voice shouted.

That voice comes from Newt Gingrich. He waddles out of the bathroom fastening his belt. He has a satisfied look, and little beads of sweat curl around his hamster cheeks, the results of great strain. Ron Paul turns and gives him a disapproving stare.

“Man oh man! I have to start eating better! What just came out outta me was more negative than Romney’s add campaigns!”

And with that he guffaws and walks the opposite direction as Paul stares down the hall after him.

“This campaign is going to be nasty,” he thinks.

Then sniffs the air and adds…

“It already has…”


Splitting Sides Across Party Lines: Chapter 2. Ron Paul or Rabid Raccoons?


I wrote this after studying the GOP race in 2012 and witnessing how both liberal and conservative media was treating Ron Paul when he won the Iowa Caucus. This was the race that everyone in the media, including the Sunday political shows agreed, was a must-win for the GOP front runner. However, when Ron Paul and his ardent supporters celebrated this incredible victory, Fox News, CNN, and MSNBC joined as one great voice of opposition and claimed that Iowa does not hold the weight it once did. That is why I portray the media as robots, or worse in this segment, refusing to accept Ron Paul. 


A silly looking women sits behind her highly polished desk as lights flicker in the background. The script is given to her hurriedly. She is wearing too much makeup, so much so that it cakes and clumps over her cheek and is starting to crawl down her neck. A guy with terrible acne dashes across the room with a tissue and collects the light brown goop before it splashes on her. She doesn’t notice.

She has a far away look in her eyes while the man behind the scenes of CNN  announces that they are ready to go on the air. She stares straight ahead, like in a trance, tar-pit eyes, not blinking.

The sludgy looking director man hollers, but has to cut it short. Maureen O’Feller is put on live TV, still in her vegetable state. The world is watching her, and she is watching them, very, very strangely. If she was a cartoon her eyes would be swirling like in a Cinnamon Toast Crunch commercial as the powder hits the milk.

“Emergency,” whispers the pudgy director behind the scenes. “Number 6 has blinked out.”

The male anchor, folding his hands beside her seems to understand. He snaps his fingers, then quickly flashes the devil- horns hand gesture. He then uses those same two protruding fingers to flick the top of her head while whispering the infamous toy company name, “Mattel.”

Just like that, she is shaken out of it.

A big, unintelligent wide smile spreads across her face, and without missing a beat, like she hasn’t been staring straight ahead for the last minute, says in a cheery artificial voice.

“News on the results of the Iowa Caucus has just been announced. And Historically this is the big one, the Super Bowl of politics. Results of this contest launches the winning candidate into future success. Some political pundits say that the winner of Iowa is spring boarded into New Hampshire with enough momentum to land at the oval office,as was the case with Barack Obama in 2008.”

“For more of this, let us go to our new political correspondent Debbie Doll. Debbie what is the good word?”

The scene changes and there are tumultuous shouts in the back ground. College-age voices mingled in celebration, but Debbie Doll, the ditsy reporter in a low cut top, is obviously worried. She furrows her brow, but then gets a signal from her ear piece, getting direction from the high celestial media tower overlords.

“The” good word” is that there has been over fifteen rabid raccoon sightings in the past two weeks in this lovely state of Iowa, Maureen.”

She says this and the scene cuts back to Maureen O Feller, or “Barbie number 6” to her handlers, who also has received some instruction by her silent co-anchor, a block shaped man with an overly ripe face full of strange blushes. He pinches her leg strangely under the desk.

“Raccoon sightings. Incredible news Debbie. Have any of them been harmed by any of the republican candidates?”

“No, not at this moment, but there is a celebration going on…you can hear how loud it is from where I am. There are also..alot of people standing, some howling, raising their hands and shuffling around, so it is impossible to tell if there are any rabid raccoons in the auditorium at the time. Everyone in that room could be getting their ankles nibbled by disease carrying critters.”

“Amazing, Debbie,” the male anchor says, smugly.

The female reporter shakes her head enthusiastically. The male anchor, puts a pencil to his pursed lips, above an overly greasy looking upper lip.

He tilts his head and retorts.

“Debbie, uh, is there some reason for this random, and sporadic celebration?”

“Well, nothing that I can tell. The only thing that has happened in the last ten minutes is Ron Paul winning the Iowa Caucus, but that can’t possibly be the reason. I  also heard reports that Newt Gingrich has a wonderful singing voice. Perhaps he is performing for the crowd in there. Perhaps Newt Gingrich has been bitten by the raccoon.”

“It is disconcerting. Whatever the reason, I know you will get to the bottom of it Debbie,” Maureen adds and the scene at Iowa cuts off.

“Rabid raccoons….”, the male anchor trails off and shakes his head. Then adds..

“they can be some nasty things.”

Maureen looks at the camera with glassy eyes. She twitches when hearing the word, “nasty”, then goes into a transition.

“For more about the recent events let us turn to our distinguished political panel. Dr. Arty Van Phallus, professor of political sciences at Yale, Janice Landry, vice president of the organization, Clinton for Kittens, and Barry Golly, a gay man who works at a Ruby Tuesdays in Sarasota Florida. All experts in the field.Let us start with Dr. Phallus.”

“Doctor, for years we have heard that Iowa is such a powerful representative of the United States voting machine…but…is this truly the case? Isn’t this a matter of culture changing in the last four years, and Iowa not being such a great indicator anymore, and in fact, the candidate that wins Iowa has even less of a chance to win the rest of the country, because of Iowa being so backwards in their progressive thinking?”

The professor, who is wearing a monocle, a black and white checkered bow tie, and a sweater under a swede coat, clears his throat with confidence.

“Good question Maureen, with the implied answer not lying in the question at all. Yes, in my expertise, studying the political situation for over a half an hour each day for a month as I read the Huffington Post, I have to conclude that it is a matter of culture changing in the last four years.”

“Very inciteful,” the male anchor nods. All nod after that like on cue.

“Yes, and in fact, Iowa is not such a great indicator anymore, and in fact, I would go so far as to say, the candidate that wins Iowa has even less of a chance to win the remaining portions of the country.”

“And why is this Doctor Phallus?” Maureen asks.

“I ascertain that it is because of Iowa being so backward in their progressive thinking. ”

“Amazing!” Maureen shouts, extra loud, like she was stung under her seat.


“Incredible”, says the male anchor.

“Indeed,” the doctor repeats.

So what do you think about it Barry Golly?”

Barry Golly throws his head quickly to the side, as his back is extra sharp and arched, sitting in his chair with his legs crossed. He flings out his hands in a loose gesture of disapproval. His vest is too tight to his chest, which causes him to lisp apparently.

“Iowa needs to get with it! What an epic fail job! When somebody gets snippy with me at the Ruby Tuesdays, I tell them that maybe they should go to the kitchen and cook their own food.”

“What a great point.” Maureen adds leaning over and resting her hand on Barry’s shoulder.

“And then I tell Iowa that If I were a dog, and you were a flower, I’d lift up my leg and give you a shower…IOWA!!!”, Barry golly yells.

“And did you know that Hillary Clinton has personally breast fed two hundred sickened kittens to health in the last four years,” added Janice Landry.

“Indeed,” the doctor breathed, leaning forward with peaked interest..

“Well this has been very informative, from all of you. What can we conclude then about Ron Paul winning the Iowa Caucus?” questions Maureen. Now that the broadcast is coming to a close, she starts slurring her speech.

“That Iowa should be ashamed of themselves with their backwoods ways, and that it is no longer considered the influence it was in the far away past, four years ago. Thank you for tuning in and lets put this horrible incident behind us. Goodnight.”

The male anchor concludes the broadcast. He utters the word, “mummy” and suddenly Maureen slumps in her seat, eyes shut, make up dripping to her calves.

The pudgy director watches the progress of his broadcast, proud, smug, knowing that he runs a program that practices objective journalism, or at least that is what he tells himself when he curls up to sleep at night.