Post Break-Up Note #6: A Comparison
As the trials of former Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi adjourned for a month, Roman stonemason Giuseppi Luponi, was preparing the billionaire media magnate’s bust for its official unveiling in Rome’s Pincian Gardens next week.
Prosecutors’ have charged that “a relevant number of young women prostituted themselves with Silvio Berlusconi in his private residences and were paid money by him in return…”
In court this week, according to the Daily Telegraph, Melania Tumini, 26, described an evening at Berlusconi’s villa in August 2010 as “a gathering of whores.” The women, some dressed as nurses, others as police officers, “were allowing themselves to be touched by the prime minister,” Tumini told the court.
Another woman, 20-year-old Chiara Danese, testified that Berlusconi had the young women simulate oral sex with a Greek statue at his Milan mansion. The women called him “daddy” as they kissed his private parts, Danese said. Other girls nearby chanted “Thank God for Silvio.”
The 16-acre green outside the Villa Borghese is the oldest public park in Rom. It honors more than 200 famous Italian men whose lives spanned 25 centuries - statesmen, artists, scientists, writers, philosophers, anarchists, generals – all of whom also had bizarre hobbies.
Some of Italy’s towering figures whose company Berlusconi will soon keep, thanks to Giuseppi Luponi, in the Pincian Gardens:
One of Italy’s first doctors and practitioners of social pedagogy. Established the kingdom’s first teaching hospital, in Florence. Trained rare, leaf-nosed bats to hang from his pee pee.
1753 to 1788
Legal reformer whose seminal work of jurisprudence, the Science of Legislation, utilized Montesquieian separation-of-powers theories to question feudal aristocratic exploitation of the people during the rule of Charles III of Bourbon. In 1788, the polizia found 10 million lira in Filangeri’s Rome apartment, and on each 1,000-lira note was a slightly differing depiction of a nude Marie Antoinette holding a frog in one hand and some Jack Links cheddar-cherry beef jerky in the other.
1860 to 1929
Conducted Rome’s premier chamber music orchestra - La Banda Comunale di Roma - from 1881 to 1921. Taught wind music at Rome’s famous Accademia Nazionale di Santa Cecilia. Known for his devotion to Wagner’s early stage operas, Die Feen and Das Liebesverbot. Vessella was beloved in his time, not only by high society, but also by the contadini, the peasantry, which embraced the artist’s more populist compositions that dealt directly with rural life in late 19th century Italy. Songs like A-F-F-A-M-A-T-O è Qualcosa Che Sento, Ma non Può Incantesimo (“S-T-A-R-V-I-N-G Is Something I Feel, But Can’t Spell,”) Poveri Uomini Meritano il Sesso una Volta Ogni Tanto, Troppo (“Poor Men Deserve a Good Rodgering Now and Again, Too,”) and Dio Mi Stracciato a Prendere Merda Maiale Dalla Mia Scarpa di Legno e Usarlo per Insegnare ai Miei Figli Chi Regolamento Governativo di Assistenza Sanitaria (“The Lord Showed Me How to Scrape the Hog Shit Off My Wooden Shoe And Use It To Teach My Children About Government Regulation of Healthcare”) made Vessella a household name from Arsoli to Zuccarello.
1757 to 1822
Shrugged off the notion of the empty vortex core central to Baroque sculpture made famous by Bernini, and returned sculpture to the ideas of Hellenistic greats like Phidias, whose Zeus at Olympia was one of the ancient world’s Seven Wonders. Canova was the very first member of Di Spessore come Ladri-e (Thicke as Thieves), the Italian Alan Thicke Fan Club. Prego!
Wealthy Roman actor who felt poets - not churchmen - were society’s moral leaders. Accused Pope Callixtus III of taking more than his share of indulgences during Porcari’s wildly popular performances of Due Uomini e Mezzo. The tragedy, about a writer of sacred chants whose libidinous lifestyle is turned upside down when his brother - a blood-letting leechist - and young nephew move into his house on the Amalfi coast. Porcari considered himself superior to any other Roman in education, influence and battle-tested bayonets. He challenged Callixtus to fisticuffs in his octagon, and taunted the pope’s “droopy-eyed, armless children.” After repeatedly ingesting a combination of figs, turbot and honeyed herb liqueur, Porcari attempted to lead an insurrection against papal control, demanding, in appearances throughout the city, that he was a “bitchin’ count from the House of Bourbon,” with a “battalion of warlock Samurai,” whose “fire-breathing fists” coursed with “the blood of one thousand ocelots.” Hearing of Porcari’s meltdown, Callixtus banished the actor to Bologna.
Ennio Quirino Visconti
1751 to 1818
Conservator of the Capitoline Museums in Rome and catalogued antiquities for the Vatican. Foremost 18th century expert on ancient Roman sculpture, who eventually became antiquities curator of the Louvre. Visconti’s love for Hungarian busby hats, ribbon-trimmed knee breeches and silk, striped Rococo capes made him a bit favoloso for the all-male rapier fencing clubs that dominated the he-man culture of Italy’s late Baroque period. Also, he invented the sweater vest.
1728 to 1797
Satirist and economist
As a young satirist, Verri provoked Milan’s high society with his literary salon, Societa dei Pugni - the Fist Society. Later, in his work Meditazioni di economia politica (“Meditations on Economic Politics”) Verri’s arguments about the quantity theory of supply and demand echoed John Locke’s in England. In his magazine, Il Caffe, he published numerous articles that scandalized 18th century Milan. “Hey Milano, 18th secolo, si masturba!” (“Hey, 18th century Milan - You Jerks!”) did not create much of a stir. But “Milano è di circa attraente come le mie palle” (“Milan is about as attractive as my balls”) upset the local chamber of commerce, and “Hey Milano, Non mi ricordo dove ho nascosto tutte le prostitute che ho ucciso” (“Hey Milan, I can’t remember where I hid all the prostitutes I killed”) scandalized the city’s adult entertainment industry. After an outcry, Verri apologized in the Il Caffe article, “Hey Milano, placare gli animi il cazzo verso il basso. Sono un autore satirico. Hai bisogno di me per definire la parola per voi. Jeez.” (“Hey Milan, everyone calm the fuck down. I’m a satirist. Do you need me to define the word for you people? Jeez.”)
1755 to 1815
Anatomy professor at the University of Pisa whose work concentrated mostly on the lymph nodes. Foreign member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences, and president of the Fisiocritici Academy in Siena. In his free time, Mascagni entertained wealthy European opera buffs on the Grand Tour by performing - live, on stage, for cash - the central operation that produced Italy’s much-loved castrati. Mamma Mia!
1792 to 1839
Noted 19th century expert on ancient Roman art, professor at the University of Rome and consultant to the Vatican. Nibby’s knowledge about the walls of ancient Rome made him a natural choice to lead the excavation of the Roman Forum and Circus Maximus. In addition, Nibby founded a secret society on an island off the north coast of Calabria where men dressed as women, and women dressed as Hägar the Horrible.
Count Vittorio Alfieri
Considered the founder of Italian tragedy, Alfieri was brought up in an affluent household, and inherited his uncle’s vast wealth. Years spent in the gloom of Scandinavia’s forests, and atop the damp crags of its fjords, in search of inspiration for his plays altered a once bright outlook into something more melancholy and black. Early dramatic efforts like Io Non Posso Credere a Quanto Sono Felice (“I Can’t Believe How Happy I Am”) and Vi Meritate un Arcobaleno en Tua Boca Ogni Singolo Minuto (“You Deserve A Rainbow in Your Mouth Every Single Minute”) gave way to harder, searching fare such as Grigio Norvegia (“Gray Norway,”) Mi Fanno Male Per un Segno Che Tutti i vostri Blaterare Cesserà Presto (“I Ache For A Sign That All Your Blathering Will Soon Cease”) and Se C’è un Dio, Perché c’è Anche Alan Thicke? (“If There Is a God, Why Is There Also Alan Thicke?”)
Mitt Romney’s Make Us Great Again. Newt Gingrich’s Winning Our Future. Ron Paul’s Endorse Liberty. Rick Santorum’s Red White and Blue Fund. Barack Obama’s PrioritiesUSA Action. They’re called Independent Expenditure Committees. They’re also called Super PACs. Six of one, a half billion of the other, they’re the result of the U.S. Supreme Court’s 2010 decision in Citizens United v. Federal Election Commission which allowed unlimited corporate funding of political campaigns in the name of the First Amendment. The rise of the Super PAC is not limited to contenders for the 2012 GOP presidential nomination. In the free-speech spirit that drove the high court’s 5-4 Citizens United decision, many ordinary Americans are filing the paperwork indicating they will accept donations of unlimited amounts for their causes. Here, a look at some of those filings:
Committeee Name: Our Country Deserves Better Boyfriends for Lindsay Applewhite
Opposed to Candidate: Lindsay Applewhite’s Previous Boyfriends
Slogan: “Get a Job. Lose the Sweatpants. Turn Off the Xbox.”
Mission: Our Committee seeks to widen the range of prospective boyfriends for Lindsay Applewhite in the public square and bring to the attention of the American public the horrible attitude and selfishness and sloppiness and rudeness and general assholeness of Lindsay Applewhite’s three previous boyfriends: Kyle Rachsenhauser (pervert), Robbie Wren Hastings (very cute, but a cheater) and Sam Farminghouse (yech). Support Lindsay Applewhite’s search for a better boyfriend. Support Freedom.
Committee Name: Patriots for Justice at the Airport Bar in Phoenix
In Support of Candidate: Scott Kipps
Slogan: “You’re Killing Me Over Here.”
Mission: Patriots for Justice at the ABP is dedicated to the singular goal of getting Scott Kipps a Dewar’s and soda before his 5:50 connection to Chicago. We understand the difficult climate at the Phoenix airport during the late afternoon/early evening rush. We understand that the bar at Dick Clark’s American Bandstand Grill is two deep, and that Judy and her swarthy bar-back, Rich, are in the weeds. But we also understand that Scott Kipps really needs a fucking drink. For the sake of Liberty, each and every American must acknowledge that Scott Kipps has been holding out his $20 bill for what seems like 25 minutes, and that Judy has looked straight into his eyes at least three times before serving someone else. It’s not too late. Final call for boarding at Gate 14A is at least ten minutes away. You can still make a difference. For Truth. For Country. The time is right for Scott Kipps in Phoenix.
Committee Name: Concerned Americans for the Theory of Quantum Decoherence
In Support of Candidate: Wave-particle energy duality
Slogan: Definitive Values. Spherically Symmetric. Right now.
Mission: If Einstein taught us anything at the Fifth Solvay Conference of 1927, it was that the quantum revolution could not be declared dead before the reasons behind space-time mechanics were satisfactorily explained. Look outside your window - any window in America - and you’re likely to see a public program. Throw a stick and it’s likely (based on its inertia [1/3]ML^2, combined with an upwards velocity KE .5mv^2v traveling on a rotational axis, and assuming basic kinematics plus government waste) to hit an entitlement or a handout. The current administration is lying to the American people with its suggestion that quantum decoherence leads inevitably to wave-function collapse. Patriots know the truth: That QD only gives the appearance of wave-function collapse. Quantum decoherence worked its way up from an impoverished, difficult early stage to an entangled state filled with uncertainty principles and electro-weak space. Its story of harnessing Gödel’s Incompleteness Theorem, and turning a total collapse of its wave packet into harmonic oscillators that reordered the phase angles in each component of the quantum superposition is the most American of stories. Wave-particle energy duality needs your help. And America needs the corpuscular theory of light. America needs Quantum decoherence now.
Committee Name: Standing Together to End Baby Showers
In Support of Candidate: Midge Rikkles
Slogan: “Stupid Games. No Booze. Wait, Seriously - No Booze?”
Mission: On September 23, 2011, Midge Rikkles opened a light blue envelope in her pile of mail. “Oh, Baby. It’s a Shower!” read the card inside. It was an invitation to celebrate the pregnancy of Gerri O’Dwyst, a horrid and very fertile woman Midge Rikkles knows from The Yoga Pit. Since 2008, Midge Rikkles has attended 312 baby showers. And today she has the guts to say “no more.” It is time that we restore our country’s Future by supporting young women like Midge Rikkles who have better things to do with their hungover Saturday early-afternoons than sit around playing “Baby Bottle Bowling,” drinking shitty mint tea and using phrases like “onesie,” “diaper cake” and “mucus plug”- the tired language of a dying ritual. Midge Rikkles believes in an America that should not be held hostage to special interest groups like Babies “R” Us, Baby Wal-Mart and Frito-Lay Baby. If you’re cool with babies, but hate the people who have them, Stand Together with Midge.
Committee Name: Voices for a Fiscally Conservative Phil Jackson-Phil Collins Alliance
In Support of Candidate: Jackson-Collins 2012
Slogan: “I Can Feel It Coming in the Mahābhūta Tonight.”
Mission: Across the cultural and political spectrum, the warning signs about a degraded, undignified, soft America are everywhere. Who will come to our rescue? Who will have the courage to engage in real, meaningful debate about what our children can expect from this country? Who cares? As Americans across this great country, from Miami to Midtown Miami, face questions about the future of healthcare or blah blah, the rest of us can concentrate on something of import: What would happen if Phil Jackson and Phil Collins got together to go jogging, or shop for radicchio at the farmer’s market, or chat over Dragon Sprout tea? First of all, where would they go for tea? Would Phil J. order first, and offer to pay for Phil C.? Would they sit near the window so passersby could see them (are The Phils sort of show-offy?), or would they find a quiet spot in back by the tea infusers and tea socks and “Rise & Grind” coffee spoons? Would they talk about music? YES. If so, would they talk about Lady Antebellum or Philip (Phil?!) Glass? Jesus Christ, it is so goddamn exciting.
Committee Name: Americans For An America Without Spacemen PAC
Opposed to Candidate: Spacemen
Slogan: Real Spacemen. They’re Coming. Holy Shit.
Mission: The Obama administration and Congress are aiming for a $17 billion NASA budget over the next five years. That might sound like a pretty penny but lawmakers haven’t considered how many Middle Class jobs will be lost when the spacemen arrive on February 16, 2012. Most Americans believe that the spacemen are coming because they’d been secretly summoned to earth 19 years ago with the Wrecksx-N-Effect song, “Rump Shaker.” Wrong. The spacemen are coming because America’s current conservative leadership has failed to devise real solutions to real problems. They are coming because the reach of Obamacare is so long that they fear the unconstitutional individual mandate will force them to buy insurance as far away as where they live: in space. Before the spacemen arrive, you can help. Join Americans For An America Without Spacemen, and together we can defeat Barack Obama and show the spacemen that Russia would be a better place to go to raise taxes and eat baby brains.
This is important art that will heal a broken world.
On the evening of May 6, 2011, Ron Hagglesoap called a press conference to announce he’d formed a Presidential Exploratory Committee. Ron Hagglesoap, a cable car operator in Patoka, Ind. had never called a press conference before, but he felt sure that calling a press conference was the correct thing to do immediately after forming a Presidential Exploratory Committee. And so he did.
Billy Furt, of the weekly Patoka Waxwing, was the only reporter to show for Ron Hagglesoap’s press conference, which Ron Hagglesoap had - perhaps somewhat rashly - called for six o’clock the next morning.
It was likely that the only reason the Waxwing sent a reporter to cover the press conference was that Billy Furt had been sitting next to Ron Hagglesoap at the bar the previous night at Ye Greene Sheepe when Ron Hagglesoap formed his Presidential Exploratory Committee and subsequently called the press conference.
Also, that next morning Billy Furt woke up on Ron Hagglesoap’s living room pull-out sofa bed, parched like you fucking read about and without his car keys, so he needed Ron Hagglesoap to give him a ride back to the Sheepe so he could get his keys back from the tavern’s proprietor, Shifty Hooker, and collect his ’88 Hyundai Zebedee.
In return, Billy Furt agreed to cover Ron Hagglesoap’s press conference, during which, it was rumored, Ron Hagglesoap would announce the formation of a Presidential Exploratory Committee.
Also, Billy Furt was, technically, the only reporter in Patoka (Roberta von Crispp was regarded by most everyone in town as a celebrity bloggist, not a proper reporter) and the only employee of the Waxwing.
Both Ron Hagglesoap and Billy Furst arrived at the press conference nearly 18 hours late. They had been on their way to the Patoka Community Center & Ice Arena where the press conference had been scheduled, when Ron Hagglesoap realized they were passing Ye Greene Sheepe, and that Shifty Hooker’s rusted out Mitsubishi Pentateuch was parked out back. Shifty Hooker (real name was Palsy) sometimes opened for brunch on Sundays, and on this Sunday Ron Hagglesoap and Billy Furt stepped in for some caramel corn and gin.
When Ron Hagglesoap and Billy Furt finally made it to the Patoka Community Center & Ice Arena, a little after midnight, Ron Hagglesoap made the announcement that he’d formed a Presidential Exploratory Committee. And then he opened the floor to questions.
Billy Furt began with the obvious press conference opener: Did Ron Hagglesoap have Billy Furt’s winning Quick Draw Keno ticket from the night before? Ron Hagglesoap checked his pockets and announced to Patoka’s press corp that he did not now, nor did he ever, have Furt’s winning Quick Draw Keno ticket from the previous evening.
Billy Furt was a natural reporter, a curious truth-seeker who had covered Gibson County politics for three of the last seven years, and so he asked Ron Hagglesoap a follow-up: Could Ron Hagglesoap please check his jacket pockets for the Quick Draw Keno ticket?
Ron Hagglesoap produced the crumpled Quick Draw Keno ticket from the left pocket of his Pacer’s windbreaker. Veteran beat reporters like Billy Furt know that persistence pays off. When no one else in the gaggle is willing to ask the obvious, it’s sometimes that softball question that forces the source of the question itself - the act of questioning itself - to locate the root of all answers. And if some reporters are willing to plumb those depths while others stand on the edge of foamy darkness, if some reporters are willing to travel low to the dirty dirt floor of the valley and then, after that, travel way up high to the top of the much cleaner valley top, like to the clean roof of the valley…
Billy Furt sat down on the floor at the Patoka Community Center & Ice Arena. He’d had fourteen Galliano shots at the Sheepe, and he wasn’t thinking straight. It was after midnight, the tail of a six-day bender, and he was confused. He was forgetting things. He’d forgotten, in fact, what Ron Hagglesoap’s Presidential Exploratory Committee was exploring. Could Ron Hagglesoap please remind the assembled press about the reason this committee was being formed?
Ron Hagglesoap looked stricken. Ashen. White as a white, white ghost that’s has been in a bleach bath for four hours because it hadn’t been quite white enough to be so scary. For a moment Ron Hagglesoap pretended not to hear the question. Then he mumbled something about freedom and America and turkey gravy, which was confusing. But then, the entire scene at the Patoka Community Center & Ice Arena was confusing. Finally, flustered, Ron Hagglesoap left the podium, yelping about exploring Billy Furt’s dumb cranium for brain cells. Also, he threw up. And then Ron Hagglesoap drove Billy Furt back to the Sheepe in his ’97 Pontiac Pleroma for five more Galliano shots before last call.
The headline, above the fold, in the following week’s Patoka Waxwing was - most Patoka citizens agreed - unkind.
“Local cable car operator forms Presidential Exploratory Committee to test…what waters? He doesn’t really know. And then he threw up on me.”
It wasn’t one of Billy Furt’s best headlines, but he’d always had trouble editing himself, and since there were no copy editors (or any editors at all) at the Waxwing, he was left to crush his own dreams. From Ron Hagglesoap’s point of view, things didn’t really improve in the story itself. The lead of Billy Furt’s story - most Patoka citizens agreed - was cruel.
“An explorer traditionally sets out exploring for something other than his own ass. Not local cable car operator, Ronald Hagglesoap.”
Waxwing subscriber, Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle, read the paper that morning and felt horrible for Ron Hagglesoap. First of all, before they’d split three years earlier, she’d been married to Billy Furt for what seemed like fucking ages. And, secondly, Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle had once been a member of a Presidential Exploratory Committee. She knew how these things worked, and she knew the process wasn’t pretty.
She called Ron Hagglesoap. Hey, she said. I can help. I’ve got experience in the Presidential Exploratory Committee sector, and I have a friend from class who is itching to lead a Presidential Exploratory Committee. This guy has ideas, Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle said.
Ron Hagglesoap appreciated the sympathy, and even the offer for help, but he wasn’t sure. After all, he’d already been humiliated in the media. Why put himself out there again, when - if he was honest with himself - Billy Furt was right? He really didn’t have anything worthy of presidential exploration in mind.
I read the Waxwing story about your press conference, and from what I understand, it sounds like your passions have something to do with freedom and America and rabbits and chalk, Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle said. Those are ideas I can get behind. I believe in you, she said. I believe that you believe. As long as you believe, then I believe in you and your campaign for chalky American rabbit gravy.
This is crazy, thought Ron Hagglesoap. A week earlier he’d decided to form a Presidential Exploratory Committee, then he called the press together to announce his intentions…of nothing. And now here he was, on the cusp of really forming a Presidential Exploratory Commitee; of having believers. Yes, it was crazy. But if there was never a crazy, Ron Hagglesoap thought, then Thomas Edison would never have been a member of Mumenchanz.
Let’s do it! he said to Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle. But she had hung up while he was trying to remember the difference between Thomas Edison and Benjamin Franklin. So he called her back and said, Let’s Do It! very loudly into her ear. What the fuck?!! Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle asked. And then Ron Hagglesoap apologized for screeching like that.
So Shemmie St. Yachtthrottle brokered a meeting between Ron Hagglesoap and her friend, Morris Kraptost, whom she’d met in continuing-education crystal calligraphy class at Patoka College, and who was studying for an advanced degree in Panda Math - the discipline of teaching linear algebra and (later) game theory to pandas. The Chinese bears.
Morris Kraptost had, indeed, led a Presidential Exploratory Committee, he told Ron Hagglesoap. The year was 1987, and the candidate was Heather Skrylbottum who had launched a campaign for election to the Eleventh Presidency of the World Garlic Council.
It had been Morris Kraptost’s idea to set up a fake organization, Pelt Children with Garlic - or PCwG (pronounced “pee see smalldoubleyou jee”) - which advocated throwing bulbs of garlic at children whenever that opportunity presented itself to one.
In its fake mission statement, PCwG said garlic “should be thrown at children because children represent innocence and who wants to look at that anymore?” Morris Kraptost’s strategy had been to heighten, then corral, parents’ anger against the PCwG, and finally provide an anodyne to their pain via Heather Skrylbottum. A mother herself, Heather Skrylbottum - in remarks during the committee exploration phase of her bid for the Eleventh Seat of the World Garlic Council presidency - denounced, in no uncertain terms or words or phrases or other words, the irresponsible assault on American children by anti-garlic forces whose only goal was to eliminate a child’s basic right to grow up without bulb bruises.
The disintegration of Heather Skrylbottum’s Presidential Exploratory Committee came after garlic-industry beat reporters were tipped off to Morris Kraptost’s scheme by children in his own neighborhood whom Morris Kraptost had been pelting with garlic as he “hid” behind a small spruce in his front yard.
This was exactly what Ron Hagglesoap had been hoping to hear. Morris Kraptost was the kind of leader who could bring together an effective Presidential Exploratory Committee. More importantly, Morris Kraptost had the experience to be able to find some kind of presidency for which Ron Hagglesoap could form an exploratory committee.
Ron Hagglesoap threw a fist in the air. Rock ‘n Roll-a! he said. He’d never said Rock ‘n Roll-a! before, and he wasn’t quite sure where he’d first heard it. But things were coming together for his Presidential Exploratory Committee, and it felt great to yell Rock ‘n Roll-a! as he threw a fist in the air. It was energizing and it gave him the kind of morale boost he’d need to make it through what was sure to be a brutal campaign.
At that moment, Ron Hagglesoap determined that Rock ‘n Roll-a! - with not one, but four fist throws (one for each syllable) - would be the official motto/arm movement for his Presidential Exploratory Committee.
Since veteran political consultant Morris Kraptost was sitting right there, Ron Hagglesoap consulted with him on the motto/arm movement idea. Morris Kraptost said he loved it, especially the throwing of the fists straight up in the air, above one’s head, rather than straight out in front of one’s chest - horizontally, parallel to one’s shoes. Or parallel to, say, a bottle of Galliano tipped on its side on the Sheepe’s floor and in danger of being stepped on, it’s long, delicate neck shattered and all the syrupy, golden liqueur seeping into the months of grime, vomit residue and dried urine coating the floor to the right of the bar next to the Golden Tee Golf coin-operated video game.
One wouldn’t want to throw one’s fists straight out in front of one on the campaign trail - lest one punch a baby, or a member of a minority group in the head, Morris Kraptost said. The support of mothers and Buddhists is crucial in the exploration phase of any presidential run, he explained to Ron Hagglesoap.
Ron Hagglesoap was uncomfortable with all of Morris Kraptost’s talk about Hindu fist babies, and he was really weirded out when Morris Kraptost started in on how “one” would do this, and “lest” this happened. What was he, Dutch?
So Ron Hagglesoap fired Morris Kraptost on the spot and determined he’d turn spilled milk into lemons by basing his first Presidential Exploratory Committee television ad on the bold move of firing Morris Kraptost. Better the devil you know than bark up the wrong tree, he figured. A house divided against itself paints a thousand words. And then he asked Morris Kraptost to pay the $6.95 for the fancy grapefruit he’d just eaten at Froederich’s Fancy Cafe while listening to Morris Kraptost’s pitch.
I totally understand, Morris Kraptost told Ron Hagglesoap after his job had been eliminated from Hagglesoap’s Presidential Exploratory Committee after recent streamlining. It would be difficult for the American people to get beyond the fact that in my past I fired hard-necked rocamboles at children for political gain, he said.
But Morris Kraptost had become a believer in Ron Hagglesoap’s cause. You need help. That’s much is clear, Morris Kraptost said. Let me introduce you to my Presidential Exploratory Committee network. They’re good people.
The list wasn’t long, but it was gamy. It was nosey. It was all sun-boiled tartar sauce and cigarette butts. Morris Kraptost kept that list hidden under the passenger seat of a ‘03 Suzuki Sheol that had been abandoned - windows down - by the overpass at Interstate 41, near the airport. The two men walked out of Froederich’s arm-in-arm to retrieve the document, and to make a dream come true.
Ron Hagglesoap, Ron Hagglesoap thought, was on his way in the zippy, kaleidoscopic world of Presidential Exploratory Committees.
EXPERIENCE: Selection of Indiana’s first Presidential Exploratory Committee in 1978, when his son’s Little League team - the Palmyra Phantoms - was absent a coach. Refused to be called “coach” because of his aversion to “faux-thority,” but embraced the prospect of exploiting his new position to bang Rose Marble, shortstop Richie Marble’s divorced mom, who came to all the games in a black Corvette with a white rose painted on the hood. Yes, Sir!
DRIVES: ’88 Subaru Parousia
“Spaghetti” John Cazzpouge
EXPERIENCE: Gathered members of the famous Rensselaer Riggle Piggle Six carpool team together before the 2007 decision to name Rita Schweart coordinator (ie. president) of all Riggle Piggle carpool schedules for the 2007-2008 school year.
DRIVES: ’06 Honda Chrysostom
EXPERIENCE: As the first female butcher in Indiana to win three of the five competitions (stunning, exsanguination, dehairing) at the annual Indiana Great Slaughter of Animals Festival in North Vernon in 1996, Horfle led the search for the next head of the state’s Hot-bone Slaughterhouse Oversight Board.
DRIVES: ’85 Buick Jebusite
EXPERIENCE: Consistently decided who would go first in shuffle board during a family Puta Hermosa Cruise Lines vacation from Panama City to Cancun.
DRIVES: Mom’s ’99 Ford Apostasy
EXPERIENCE: In 1993, voted Most Likely to Fall Over Because She’s So Dumb by her sisters at Alpha Epsilon Theta Delta Epsilon at Indiana University.
REDEMPTION: First woman in Indiana to sit on fourteen Presidential Exploratory Committees, including for Youth Cigar Team in Covington, Hop Scotch and More Scotch Club for nurse practitioners at St. Vincent Catholic Hospital in Terre Haute, and Radial Rotations Day at the Tire Rack in Elkhart.
DRIVES: ’04 Lincoln Ecclesiastic