D'Amato delivers New York.
Dole claims the GOP banner for the World War II generation.
"Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
-- Sledge Hammer
Right! That's what my editor said when he suggested I smuggle myself aboard Forbes' chartered "Simpsons" airliner. I'm stowed away in the victory supplies compartment surviving on caviar, cognac and Cuban cigars. While I make breakfast out of one of these Russian Easter Eggs, I'll explain why it will be a while before they unlock the hatch.
Dole is running this railroad. Coming out of Junior and "Senior" Super Tuesday with a clean sweep, Dole's got himself a private car. Al D'Amato is running the engine and Texas Governor George W. Bush, son of former President Bush, is backing him up as fireman. Bob, running as the anti-Buchanan candidate, will get the nomination but just running against Buchanan doesn't beat Clinton. Hopefully, his campaign has a better plan than simply running as a liberal.
Forbes has grabs a rail on the caboose and is hanging on for dear life. He tries to snag one drunk New York delegate who staggered to the end of the train. Al D'Amato appears and leads the delegate back to the Dole car. Steve has realized, not only does he not want to be politician, he doesn't even want to be around them. He'll go to the convention and he won't shut up until there is a flat tax plank in the platform.
Buchanan, much like the Zulu during the Zulu Wars, has wrapped himself tightly in the Confederate flag and is taking 45 caliber bullets to the body but keeps coming. Pat hopes to pickup some delegates in California and some of the northern industrial states. No doubt, he'll be at the convention with enough pitchforks to get some attention.
Keys is in the dining car explaining the rather obscure rules to his hunger strike to his new found friends in the media. While cutting into a sirloin steak, he explains between bites, "No fluids. That's the main thing." Alan would make a great keynote speaker to start the Republican Presidential Campaign on an exciting upbeat note. Exciting? Upbeat? Just doesn't sound like Dole's style, does it?
Alexander and Lugar threw themselves off the train as it pulled out of Atlanta before it picked up speed. Lamar and Dick almost came to blows over who would kiss Dole's ass first. Only Gramm's seniority kept the peace.
Taylor got off as the train went though New York. Morry, despite his opinion of the current candidates, realized he's a lot better businessman than he is a politician.
Dornan didn't even show up at the station. He's been declared a "Three day no show" and has been dismissed. Bob, having mistaken this for a California Senate race, is keeping his mouth shut to avoid further embarrassment.
Gramm is home with his feet up to the fireplace enjoying the company of his dog. (Don't even think about it!) His wife is rubbing his feet. Phil, after a fine speech about his wonderful dog and loving wife, has decided Dole is better company. When they're campaigning together, there is a simple trick to tell them apart. Gramm always stands to the right of Dole.
Ross Perot pulls along side the train in his convertible Cadillac Eldorado Coupe with the bull horns hood ornament and cowhide seat covers. He faces the train and shouts, "I know you're in there Buchanan. You stay away from my voters. They're mine. You hear me? I'm telling you they're mine!" The crazy aunt stands up in the back seat. Her manacles clink and clang as she shakes a bone finger at Forbes. "And you. Yes, you. My nephew didn't inherit his business, right? So you keep your hands off my nephew's voters."
Dole's remaining rivals, swearing "it's not over 'til it's over," leave New York empty handed for the debate in Dallas. Dole doesn't do Dallas.
Buchanan takes his first pot shot at his very old friend "Beltway Bob" calling Dole "our fugitive candidate." Keeping with his "I'm Ronald Reagan" strategy, Pat calls for the restoration of "Star Wars."
Keyes, in an attempt to pickup some of the fringe votes, declares himself a trekkie.
A reporter full of more liberal platitudes than common sense asks, "What experience does a magazine publisher, television commentator and radio talk host have for being president?"
Keyes, a man who makes a living eating liberals like a sideshow geek eats chickens, shouts, "You lazy, arrogant ignoramus! If you did any research, you'd know I have 'ambassador' in front of my name." As Keyes continues to list his years of experience in government and foreign affairs, he rips the reporter's head off and shits down his throat.
Buchanan greets the reporter with "Welcome to Crossfire." He begins by listing his years in the White House and finishes by tearing off the reporter's arms.
Forbes, in calm soothing tones, begins to explain foreign policy as if to a child. Selecting China as an example, Forbes continues to explain the proper deployment of military force. Reaching out and savagely breaking the reporter's ankles, Forbes excitedly sums up with "and that is how the US should deal with aggression around the world."
Saturday, in the Missouri caucuses, Buchanan surprised everyone, including himself because he didn't campaign there, by beating Dole. Dole dismissed Missouri as he had Dallas, "If I wasn't there, it doesn't count. How can a candidate win a state without negative commercials and 'push polls?' If you think it's so easy you try it"
Forbes, after accepting Kemp's half-hearted endorsement, told him not to let his ugly ass darken his campaign doorway again. In a show of support unseen since Benedict Arnold, Kemp offered to shutdown the Forbes campaign if Dole would support a flat tax.
Super Tuesday was kind to Bob Dole giving him 350 of 362 delegates. Dole again suggests his rivals should go home and eat worms leaving him to the battle Clinton in the arena of flipping and flopping.
With the smell of victory in the air, Dole works on his acceptance speech.
"Thank you, fellow moderates. I'd like to welcome my former rivals and their traitorous supporters back into the fold. Forbes and his flat earthers, I mean taxers, are always welcome.
"I extend a hand in peace to my old friend, bitter rival, anti-Semitic, racist, right-wing extremist, xenophobic, misogynist, homophobic, fascist, white supremacist, private militia group supporting, gun control opposing, sexist, a man who hates Jews and Blacks, isolationist, arch-conservative, extreme right Nazi propagandist, anti-abortionist, anti-homosexual, anti-gay, anti-free-trade, anti-big business, anti-Washington establishment, anti-immigrant, fiery populist, fundamentalist Christian, anti-Mexico, Asia-scapegoating, bigot, pundit, abortion foe, national socialist, least palatable candidate, anti-United Nations, anti-NATO, unelectable feisty right-wing economic hard line nationalist, protest candidate, Nazi war criminal defending, supply-side economist, (did I mention anti-Semitic?), conservative commentator Pat Buchanan and his pitchfork armed peasants."
In a convention hall in San Diego, a group of peasants, decked out like walking campaign ads for Buchanan, continue to sharpen their pitchforks.
Corrections to last week's column:
Next week's episode: "Dole: Is that victory I smell or did I step in something?" or "Perot challenges Keyes for last place in Ohio."
Late breaking news:
Unnamed sources in the White House today admitted to a coverup.
It seems the White House is more afraid of a new web site than
the apparent GOP candidate. The new web site, www.whitehouse.net,
has become a bigger embarrassment for this administration than
Whitewater. The unnamed source admitted to a continuing war to
alias the rogue site to their own web page, www.whitehouse.gov,
by "whatever means it takes." This reporter was able to obtain the
IP address of the now infamous
lampoon site during a temporary breakdown in the White House attack.
The unnamed source also suggested the announcement today by a well
known radio talk show host may have caused "the shit to hit the fan."