Read Online Political Timber by Chris Lynch - Free Book Online Page B

and staring at them, ignoring Mosi entirely. When I looked up again, he was in the process of fitting one whole cheeseburger in his mouth at once and staring at Pocahontas again. His eyes were a glaze.
    I wrote him off, folded my arms across the table, and tucked my face into the crevice there.
    “You didn’t inhale,” he said calmly after swallowing.
    I raised my head. “What did you say?”
    “You tried smoking dope on two occasions. But you did not inhale.”
    I beamed at him, and in his reflective face the pride was back. “Mosi. Mosi, you stud. That’s so damn stupid, it’s genius. It’s the perfect wishy-washy, please-everybody-and-don’t-actually-say-a-damn-thing answer imaginable,” I said, and started scribbling. “I don’t know how you do it, Mos.”
    “Neither do I. I just get, like, visions sometimes.”
    “Cool. Let me know when you get another one.”
    “Okay. How ’bout this: With the pills, you only licked ’em.”
    “No, Mos. I think we have enough here.”
    “And with the needle—”
    “Mosi! Thank you. That’ll do, thanks. I think we got it covered. Here, here’s two bucks, go get a cherry pie.”
    He got the pie, came back, and sat down as I finished writing.
    “Do you think they’ll be interested in your thing for fabric softener?”
    “I don’t think it’ll come up, Mos. Okay, next,” I said. “Do I attend church regularly?”
    “Jesus, they’re tough,” he said.
    “Tell me about it,” I concurred. “It gets worse, even. Wait’ll you see.”
    “He’s here. He’s back. He’s hot as a pistol. Dead last in the student-body-president race, but numero uno in our hearts—boys and girls, give it up for Gordie ‘Little Fins’ Foley.”
    Mad Matt flipped some switches, cued Sol to do likewise, blew a party horn, and basically did all that jackass stuff he was great at.
    “Hi, everyone,” I said, so quietly that Matt had to signal me to speak up. “This week’s report is, yes, it appears that I am starting slowly in the school race—”
    “Slowly?” Matt jumped in. He had a control where he could not only talk over me, he could shut my mike off completely while he did it. “Slowly? Gordie, the Titanic started slowly. For you they would have just built the ship right there on the bottom of the ocean.”
    “I’m building some momentum,” I countered with no conviction. “And secondly, I don’t care for the name ‘Little Fins.’”
    “You don’t. All right, I admit, it wasn’t my best work, but some days... Wait a minute.” Matt’s face lit up. His voice rose and he got up out of his chair. “Where do we always turn when we are in need?”
    Shit, I thought. It’s gonna be a long night. Sol was laughing already, which he was now doing with more regularity than he had in the history of the show.
    “To our loyal and insightful listeners, of course. So pick up your phones, kiddies, and join in the great American political process. Let your voice be heard as we play the all-important Name the Candidate game! Help the boy out, gang. It’s no wonder he’s getting drubbed. Can’t be a decent candidate without a gripping handle.”
    “I like Gordie,” I tried.
    There was a loud buzzing sound effect that blasted my eardrums. “Nope, sorry, Gord. Doesn’t rhyme.”
    Sweaty was the first to call. “How ’bout Gord the Sword,” she moaned. She sounded like a 900 number.
    “Would you please get off the line,” I snapped. “This is hard enough.”
    “I bet,” she added before clicking.
    The Hawk, for all its greatness, is definitely no more than a four-passenger vehicle. This worked out well for the fund-raiser because I wound up squiring not only my volunteer/nonsupporter mother and her date, my nonvolunteer/nonsupporter father, but also my visionary assistant, Mosi. Sweaty refused to come after I told her to shut up over the public airwaves. She insisted on an apology over those same airwaves, and since I wouldn’t have the chance until tomorrow