Rex and Bunny (Chapter Two)

It took Bunny a few moments to decide to answer: “Rex came into the office one morning, still half-zonked from the night before. Sometimes he doesn’t even go to bed. He snuck up behind me. Later he said he just wanted to cheer me up with a friendly tickle.

“Anyway, he grabbed my left shoulder and tried to imitate a buzzing mosquito in the general vicinity of my right ear. Well, I was startled—anyone would be—attacked by a big goofy buzzing drunk insect.” Bunny looked up innocently.

“I jerked the left wheel of my chair back, trapping his right foot, back and forth three times, purely by accident, crunching his foot. He was woofing in pain before he got free. It must have been quite painful.

“But it was really a good lesson about setting boundaries for Rex. After all, the public side of my desk is in the front. You know, for months after, I felt a warm rush—like eating dark chocolate with an espresso chaser—every time I saw Rex limp. When Rex recovered, I actually missed that limp. Sometimes  I think it was his one endearing trait.”

Ernst relaxed for the first time in a week, laughing helplessly. Bunny watched him like a cat and said, “Don’t get too comfortable,” breaking into an expression of pure savage joy.

The Portly Twins’ Overview (Chapter Eight)

As a conservative wave threatened to undercut the foundations of the
New Deal, in the summer of the critical 1980 presidential election, two
highly-placed Republican strategists were huddled over the U.S. map,
squinting at the Midwest through their cigar smoke, dealing with the
harsh realities of electioneering.

“Rex Wrigley is a disaster,” Sam and Mort agreed, chubby, balding,
twins in expensive dark suits, known to insiders as the Portly Twins.
“He’s a small-time, state pol that locked up the primary unopposed
before we could enter a real horse in the race.” They had assured
Chairman Kruger the party would gain three senate seats, not realizing
the third depended on Wrigley, an alcoholic lecher better known in
political circles as Wriggly Rex.

In just two hours they would update their Election Forecast to
Chairman Kruger and the Executive Committee, only three short
months before the election, too late to substitute a legitimate
candidate. The Chairman cooed happily over good news, but giving
him bad news was the pointy end of a very sharp stick. He didn’t just
shoot messengers, he barbecued them over hot coals and wolfed them
down on the spot, taking the leftovers home to his Dobermans in a
doggy bag.

The unhappy pair added the numbers again and again, dreading what
Chairman Kruger would say (and knowing who he would blame) when
Wriggly Rex turned out to be the caterpillar in his Caesar salad.

“Rex might be the only Republican running as a conservative Christian
that could actually lose to a Dem named Hoogendyck,” said the first.

“In the only state in the union too backward to realize that electing
someone named Hoogendyck to the United States Senate is
ridiculous.”

“Wrigley’s first campaign aide quit—rumors of sexual harassment.”

“Well, I suppose it’s not unusual for Rex to be attracted to a pretty
woman, especially when he’s under the influence,” said the second.

“The aide was a man. And one way or another, Rex is always under the
influence.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Well, it’s not my business to judge, as long as he
doesn’t do it in public and scare the horses.”

“I wouldn’t let Wrigley near a horse of mine. He reminds me of an old
Irish setter we had who kept trying to hump the vacuum cleaner,” said
the first.

The Radio Ambush (Chapter Twelve)

“And now for a sane point of view, we continue our KNFO Spotlight
on Rex Wrigley with a live interview with his opponent, Clyde
Hoogendyck. Clyde, were you surprised when Rex Wrigley entered the
race against you, considering his colorful history?”

“The great thing about America is that everyone gets a second
chance,” Hoogendyck said, “or in Rex’s case, a third, a fourth, and I’ve
lost track of all the chances he’s gotten. You begin to wonder if it is
just a character defect, God bless his soul.”

“Clyde, how do you evaluate his economic theories?”

“Well, calling them voodoo economics would be charitable,”
Hoogendyck said. “This particular barroom myth was sketched on a
napkin with an eyebrow pencil. Conservatives who believe these
wild-eyed academic brainstorms must drink their proofs from a bottle.”

“Are you concerned about Rex’s emerging religious support?”

“Some doomsday cults masquerading as Christian fundamentalists are
blasting away at our precious constitution to destroy the wall between
church and state. Rex might get their votes, but in my Baptist
congregation, he would only demonstrate the consequences of moral
weakness to our youngsters. True conservatives believe that God
helps those who help themselves.”

“Clyde, do you have any last words for our listeners?”

“Just a question. Would you hire a drunk babysitter?”