The Politician

My daily routine is simple. I wake up and brush my teeth and shower and shave. I use Layrite pomade to sculpt and shape my debonnair blond hair into a pompadour beyond compare. I am a rebel with a cause: lower taxes for all. Perhaps, then, we’ll build a wall. My wife prepares breakfast as I adjust my suit and tie. I like to keep it simple: bacon, toast with butter, and coffee. I smoke a cigarette and down a soufleé cup of Pepto-Bismol to settle my stomach because I know I have an important day ahead.

The car is waiting out front when I grab my briefcase and say goodbye to the wife and kids. Little Tammy comes to give me a bear hug around my legs. My wife gives me a peck on the cheek. Outside in the driveway, I look up at Roger, my teenage boy, smoking a joint by the window in his room. I smile and wave. He gives me the finger in return. Charlie, my African American chauffeur, is waiting by the open rear passenger side door.

One of my assistants is waiting inside the office with a stack of briefings I promise to read. It’s important to stay on top of the issues, so I watch a lot of TV. After he blathers on for a few minutes, I excuse myself to the toilet to move my bowels. I prefer to poop on the clock. Afterwards, I have a fundraising lunch with my constituents, who nag me about this bill or that. Everyone wants a bit of pork and I promise to look out for their interests. With any luck, my re-election campaign coffers will be jingling afterwards like a pocket full of change.

Journalists sometimes stake out in the parking lot, seeking quotes and clarifications. If there’s a camera, I’ll flash a winning grin. When I go on Meet the Press or Bill O’Reilly, my statements are like bullet points. I usually avoid controversy because I am a disciplined public speaker and I believe in not making unforced errors. It’s okay to lie. I tweet because it is my patriotic duty to call out the hypocrisies happening on the other side of the aisle, but we’re all really friends behind closed doors. During committee meetings, I’ll send out a group invitation to play 18 where we can hammer out the details of this or that. It doesn’t really matter.

But legislation is important work, let me tell you. I’ve been doing this for years. That’s why every afternoon around six o’clock I hit the phones to ask Mr. Joe Q. Taxpayer for a bit more cash; really, whatever you have on hand. We are fighting for a better future for our families, even the gays. We are listening to your concerns. Yes, we also accept personal checks.

It’s dark by the time I’m home for dinner. I like steak and potatoes. Or a good juicy burger. Afterwards, I go in the study for a glass of bourbon. Okay, two glasses. The bed smells like grass and sex, and I put a reminder on my phone to fire the gardener. I turn on the TV and there’s me on the nightly news. I look good! Not a hair is out of place, even after a full day of work.