The blathering idiot had not done well in the one debate held on a public access channel in North Dakota. It had gone so poorly that nobody, even among the few Pro-Accordion Party supports in North Dakota remembered seeing him on the stage. Even the green Party candidate received more recognition.
The most notable thing that anybody could remember about the blathering idiot’s performance was that he had vowed to have accordion jazz music played at his inauguration. But even the one reporter covering the debate could not remember that it was him, the blathering idiot, who had said it. Only that somebody had said it and that it was the funniest line of the entire debate.
The blathering idiot had not intended for it to be funny.
But even Lydia had said it sounded funny to her, at least the way he had said it. Xenia said she had laughed out loud, time and time again, when she watched that clip of the debate on YouTube. That part of the debated was about t go viral, she said.
The blathering idiot did not think viral sounded good. He was pretty sure that meant terrible, but he was too afraid to ask. He was afraid that it would mean that his off-again, on-again girlfriend, Zoey, was right – that he would never amount to much.
That thought was still running through his head when the consultant walked into his motel room. He walked right up to the blathering idiot and said, “I have the answer.”
Lydia looked excited. Even Xenia looked a little excited. The blathering idiot did not feel excited.
“We don’t have much time, so we have to strike out in a new direction so we can stand out. You have to have a whole new image. Something that says: rugged, ready, pro-gun, pro-self-defense, professional in everything you do, which will appeal to the men, but also something that says, ‘I’m a man’s man.’ Chiseled features, rugged good looks. Something that will appeal to the ladies. And after all, they are the ones you really need to impress to get elected to the highest office in the land.”
The blathering idiot glanced at Lydia who nodded slightly. He glanced at Xenia who shrugged her shoulders as if to say all this boy-girl stuff was boring her.
The blathering idiot swallowed and said, “Okay. What do you have in mind?”
“A complete makeover.”
“Complete?”
“Exactly.”
“What will I look like when you’re done?”
“We’re done,” the consultant said. “You have to believe in this, too, or it won’t work.”
“Okay. What will I look like?”
“Do you believe in this?”
“I guess.”
“Do you believe in this?” The consultant’s voice was louder.
“Yes.”
“Say it again.”
“Yes,” the blathering idiot said.
“Louder.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, I believe!” the consultant shouted.
“Yes, I believe!” the blathering idiot shouted.
“Here, then,” the consultant said, “is what you will look like as a candidate after I … I mean … we complete your makeover.”
He slapped a photo in the blathering idiot’s lad.
For a second, the blathering idiot was afraid to look, but then slowly he tilted his head down and looked at the photo. What he saw in his lap surprised him, shocked him, and then sent a shiver down his spine.
He closed his eyes and hoped he would awaken in Oz or even Kansas.
The blathering idiot’s new image.
