Hey, Mr. Vice-President. Whatcha doing?
“Retail politics, Salami-face. Putting in my two cents and not taking any wooden nickels. Later on, I’m gonna go down to the Tam-O-Shanter and get blitzed.”
I thought you didn’t drink.
“I don’t. They got a jar full of pickled eggs’ll set you reeling. Health Department keeps raiding the place, but I’ve been getting loose off those eggs for three decades now. Health Department can’t tell Joey B. where to eat.”
Uh-huh. Polls look good.
“Always. Brave men and women. First the Nazis, then the Commies. Tough row to hoe.”
Not the Poles. The polls. Where they call randos and ask ’em who they’re voting for.
“Oh, yeah. Those are coming around. Looking finer than Carolina. Big happy yay.”
SEMI-BELOVED POLITICIAN PULLING A CELL PHONE FROM HIS POCKET NOISE
“You ever see one of these? It’s a phone! But it goes in your pocket! Here, make a call. It’s not a trick.”
“There’s also something called ‘texting.’ Or ‘sexting.’ One of those. I don’t understand all of it, but my grandkids tell me it’s great.”
Dammit. Hey, Lillian Monster.
“I DEMAND ALL ABSENTEE BALLOTS BE PRINTED ON SUSTAINABLY-HARVESTED LEAVES!”
I have a bad feeling about this.