I can visualize this now, the new reality series featuring former Gov. Edwin Edwards, appropriately titled, “Silver Zipper: The Real Resurrection” …
EWE walks into Anna’s house. She shoots him a dirty look while silently handing him a stack of messages, some of the ubiquitous phone call kind, others more personalized with the outline on their envelopes of red lips. He saunters into an anteroom and sits down behind an enormous desk flanked by a safe even bigger than his ego. “That Leach sure is a slave driver,” he remarks as the cameras continue to roll, his feeling as if he needs to say something – after all, he is supposed to be the star of this show. “All of that consulting, wait, I mean advising on Democrat, sorry, I mean his business activities, and at minimum wage. At least it won’t be for much longer.”
Cut to some well-dressed men filing through the door. EWE sits as Socrates must have in the good old days, his students standing all around, waiting for profundity to happen.
“Governor,” one finally finds enough courage to speak, “things are getting more desperate by the day. This guy Jindal, he’s so squeaky clean, he takes all the fun out of politics. Trouble is, he keeps winning elections, especially now with those Tea Party folks …”
Laughing, EWE observes. “Yeah, it’s sad, these Tea Party folks just don’t represent the average American citizen. Those fanatics pay taxes, they aren’t interested in government benefits or using government to redistribute wealth. If only they knew what it was like to be an average American, who milks the system for all it’s worth and depends on people like us to use government to redress the results of life’s lottery that favors the exploitative creators of wealth.” He shakes his head, which serves to mess up the shot of his expensive couture, well-groomed appearance, and other signs of wealth on display in the room, but that’s the risk of reality TV. “Clueless,” he mutters, “but how did we get so many of them out there in the electorate?”
“Sir,” another interjects, “we need your help. It’s clear when the best we can do is two-bit mayors and other wannabe power players taking the rap on penny-ante garbage schemes real and imagined, not only do we have small-time corruption, it’s incompetent corruption. To make this state great again, we need big-time, competent corruption.” He paused, then cleared his throat, and searchingly announced, “We need … you.”
EWE chuckled, obviously happy that the serfs still felt the attraction. “You know I can’t do it, boys,” he reminded. “But let me offer a strategy. Why don’t you find some cute babe, not too bright but, say, who has enough together to pass the bar. And make sure her family has a lot of money ….” He trailed off, noticing their frowns.
“We tried that, sir,” one said. “For a special election, while you were still in ….”
“Yes, I suppose you did,” he admitted, his face showing that when it came to women, they could disrupt his usual razor-sharp mind. But only for an instant as the wheels in his head spun – and coming up three bars. “Boys,” he pontificated, “we have to recognize the times are changing. Our core constituency has changed. If we are to pull this off, we’ve got to head in a new direction. Which, of course, in my political brilliancy, means going to an old source, one who has proven he can get the job done both electorally and politically.”
Over the faces of those assembled the audience sees a change wash across, from glum to giddy as the realization sinks in about who this savior to their fortunes could be. EWE continues, “Whose constituency is so loyal that they’ll vote for him even if he gets caught with a live ….” Dramatically standing – it is TV, after all – and spreading out his arms wide, palms open so you can almost imagine the blood being there, he barks to his nearby stenographer, “Honeycutt! Put in a call to Urkel, and tell him to bring a paper bag …”
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