Tuesday, September 06, 2011
“It's Me in My Little Chevrolet”
Some don't gray, but age orange, rather. My opponent.
And not a Chevvie but a little one-seater tricked up in a machine shop. Like a clown's car. Orange, as he.
Features a tinny two-note horn which he blows continuously.
Researchers dig into his past, though I swear I’d never campaign on anything like that.
Anyway, they find nothing. He lives with Mother
and shuns women. And men.
I stress the issues, compromising with my advisers in that I
fashion them as simply as possible.
He drives his mini car in commercials, breaking up meetings
of villainous politicians who flee. Most slovenly absconder resembles yours truly.
They give that little horn to kids and you can’t shop
anywhere without hearing it.
On election night everyone announces too close to call. I wait for a dead moment to ask Ringo Skelly, my oldest pro, even then running numbers. “We're cooked," he announces.
"Oh well," I sigh, "you never know what makes
a good governor."
"I always do. And that sub-moron doesn't qualify. Sock puppet for the greasiest crooks over there."
I lose by a point, and some months after, with the chairman pounding for order, in putts he down the central aisle of
their national convention, cross-lit by spotlights.
Reporters envelop him and the tiny car, both florescent
orange in the brilliance.
Moira Dill of Fox proclaims "O I just LOVE you!"
Some don't gray, but age orange, rather. My opponent.
And not a Chevvie but a little one-seater tricked up in a machine shop. Like a clown's car. Orange, as he.
Features a tinny two-note horn which he blows continuously.
Researchers dig into his past, though I swear I’d never campaign on anything like that.
Anyway, they find nothing. He lives with Mother
and shuns women. And men.
I stress the issues, compromising with my advisers in that I
fashion them as simply as possible.
He drives his mini car in commercials, breaking up meetings
of villainous politicians who flee. Most slovenly absconder resembles yours truly.
They give that little horn to kids and you can’t shop
anywhere without hearing it.
On election night everyone announces too close to call. I wait for a dead moment to ask Ringo Skelly, my oldest pro, even then running numbers. “We're cooked," he announces.
"Oh well," I sigh, "you never know what makes
a good governor."
"I always do. And that sub-moron doesn't qualify. Sock puppet for the greasiest crooks over there."
I lose by a point, and some months after, with the chairman pounding for order, in putts he down the central aisle of
their national convention, cross-lit by spotlights.
Reporters envelop him and the tiny car, both florescent
orange in the brilliance.
Moira Dill of Fox proclaims "O I just LOVE you!"
Labels: political advertising
