|Small Campaign, Big Dreams.|
The bus had rolled up before daybreak, with Notsocrazy still snoozing away and BillBlogins deep in an all-night strategy session with a bottle of Jose Cuervo and the three female advisers he met the night previously. Party unity definitely on everyone’s minds... except for those already passed out in a tequila-induced slumber. It would still be a few hours until this Campaign appearance would get started, so when the driver abandoned the Party and the bus - to never be seen again - no one even noticed.
Candidate Notsocrazy, after waiting in line hours for cheese steaks, finally held one from Geno’s in his left hand and one from Pat’s in his right. The crowd that had gathered was eagerly awaiting his words, anxious to hear where the WTF Party would land on the decades old issue of who was the king of cheese steaks in the world capital of cheese steak, Philadelphia.
A woman stood, hands resting on the handles of her baby’s stroller; her aged mother in a wheel chair breathing oxygen through a tube attached to a small tank. Three generations standing with hope in their hearts and cheese steaks on their brains. Walking in circles, a dirty, foul smelling man groped at himself.
“Where did Bill and the women go? That bottle is half mine!” he yelled while banging on the bus. He then came over to see if Notsocrazy was going to finish off the sandwiches. Notsocrazy took a bite from each and then spoke...
“Wheawal wov Whilwhawhelweia.”
“Don’t talk with food in your mouth, dumbass!” screamed the lady in the wheelchair.
The baby began to cry as the old woman took a long, hissing draw off the tube. Notsocrazy began to speak again once his mouth cleared.
“People of Philadelphia, you might be asking yourself ‘WTF? What is WTF doing here?”
“We really just can't decide which line to get in..." The mother chimed, "We’re only here for cheese steak sandwiches.”
“You got any change, man?” came the question from the still circling bum.
“You came to the right place then, all of you. This is the time for change. This is the time to decide. This is the time when we get out of the usual party lines to stand together in our own line and have our own party." The Candidate said to people trapped on line.
“We came to this city, this place, because we were hungry. Hungry for new leadership. Right now everyone in Washington is flip-flopping and stabbing each other in the back. Scurrying to sell themselves as the right choice but selling more of the same.
|"Lady Harriet" A close friend of Bill.|
“This country is heading into even more dire straits, and this new album is much better than Brothers in Arms from what I am told. We as a country need to listen, listen to our hearts and minds. We need to ask ourselves WTF can we do different. Well, it’s simple. Write in WTF for Wicked Theory Faction when you go to your polling places. Don’t ask for more of the same.”
At that moment, BillBlogins bursts from the door of the bus. Disheveled.
“Hey, I heard someone mention party out here. You got something going on? The last chic finally passed out. And by the way, we are out of toilet paper in there.” He dizzily leans against the van to brace his swaying.
“You see, when needed, my running mate BillBlogins, rises to the occasion. We don’t back down. We take things head on - no matter how much it hurts. We listen to what you have to say - even if it makes no sense. So go, tell your friends, your neighbors, your families. Tell your bookies, your mistresses, your dealer: Write in WTF on your ballot on election day, support the real change by supporting Wicked Theory Faction!”
The Campaign Bus travels onward. Night descends. To decompress, Notsocrazy knits a hockey jersey for his nephew. Up in the front, BillBlogins steers with his knee while typing on his laptop. He's using Google Maps in "real time" trying to find the closest drive-through Liquor Hut/Dairy Queen.
It's going to be a long, swervy trip....
Email The Campaign: WTFcampaign@gmail.com
See how all this started: right here.