The Candidator

Note: Is the week over already? Does Paul need his stomach pumped? I think the answer to both questions is yes. Paul is busy watching Conan O' Brien while drinking right now, but he'll be back Monday. Today we have Hibbing Tribune columnist Aaron Brown as our guest columnist. Brown also wrote a guest column last year.

Scene: Boston, Summer 2004.

The delegates shift warily in their seats on the second day of the Democratic National Convention. Their presumptive nominee, Sen. John Kerry, recently suffered a Botox overdose that rendered him completely smooth. Hope appears lost.

(Cue "Terminator" theme music). But hope is not lost. In a flash of light, a naked, muscular man appears before the convention hall entrance. He walks into the side door marked "Candidates Only."

The naked man rummages a flawless dark blue suit and red tie from the wardrobe room. Putting them on, he waives off the makeup artist, pointing at the natural layer of blush and foundation evenly layered across his rugged, thoughtful face. He enters the candidate waiting room, where this year's failed Democratic contenders brood.

"I am the Candidator."

"So what?" says Howard Dean, who had been holding a lighter flame beneath his outstretched hand for six minutes. "If we wanted visitors, we'd let Clinton in here."

"I come from the year 2028," says the Candidator. "I was sent by the Democrats of the future. In my time, powerful robots that look like Donald Rumsfeld rule Earth. They are killing machines 10 times stronger than humans, fueled by softball questions about the war in Happy Freedom Land . . . I'm sorry, Iraq as you know it. We Democrats keep fighting, but we are underground. Recently, the Republicans and their robot armies developed time travel and planned to come back to 2004 to eliminate their only remaining threat, the unrealized potential of this year's Democratic candidates. I'm here to stop them."

The candidates' jaws dropped. Dennis Kucinich slaps his forehead. "Kerry, this is all your fault," he says, pointing at the smooth, ghostly figure in the corner.

"I am part human, part machine," says the Candidator, "and have been trained to absorb your best features so I can defeat George W. Bush."

"Hey, wait a minute," says Howard Dean. "If people weren't willing to vote for me, why would they vote for a machine?"

"Well, they don't have a problem electing the George W. Bush-bot in 2008," says the Candidator.

"Bush-bot? Man, that dude will try anything," says Al Sharpton.

"That's just the beginning," says the Candidator. He grasps the forehead of Kucinich, quickly downloading the Ohio Congressman's health-care plan and super-sonic hearing. From Dean, he gains the e-mail addresses of thousands of Americans. He takes Sharpton's sense of humor, John Edwards' speaking abilities, and, finally, the silvery, immovable hair of John Kerry.

"Just one question," says Kerry, struggling to speak over the sound of his glowing skin. "Are you a veteran?"

"Don't worry," says the Candidator. "Once I get the time machine fired up one more time, I will be." He disappears with a wooshing sound.

"Well, that solves one problem," says Kerry.

Suddenly, a loud pulse sounds outside the dressing room. A naked, 85-year-old Al Gore appears in the doorway. "Oh, thank God. You guys are all here. Listen, you won't believe this but I came back from the future where Republicans rule the Earth with killer robots and then they got time travel and . . ."

"Wait a minute," Clark interrupts. "Is this about the Rumsfeld robots?"

"Yeah," says Gore. "How did you know? I'm the only one who knows about that except for the Republican secret weapon, the Candidator, and I could have swore I passed him back there on the space-time continuum . . . oh, man, unless that was Dick Clark again."

The candidates' jaws drop again. "He was just here," says Kucinich. "He took all our best attributes so he could beat Bush for us."

Kerry thoughtfully touches his dazzlingly smooth head. "We don't have much time. Let's go."

Al Gore strokes his long, gray beard. "I can't believe you guys gave him all your stuff."

"Gore," says Edwards, tossing a pair of chinos. "Pants."

Meantime, on the convention floor, the Candidator makes his way toward the stage. Delegates do double takes as he walks by.

"Is that John F. Kennedy?" asks Delegate #17 of Missouri.

"No!" exclaims Delegate #32 of New York. "It's Franklin Roosevelt, only HE can walk!"

The Candidator pauses, looks slowly at the pair of delegates. "You're both wrong." Two red beams of light shoot from his eyes into the faces of the two awestruck delegates. They scream, fall to the floor, as their assailant continues walking to the front of the crowd.

Coughing, the first man rises. "Goddamn," he says. "I'm paying too much in taxes. These school kids have had it too good, too long. Let's go kick the crap out of their public school teacher."

The New Yorker stands next. "Yeah, think of all the bombs we could have bought with that money. We could have taken out France, Germany, Canada, the Netherlands, China, Russia and all those countries directly involved in the Sept. 11 attacks."

"They were involved in 9/11?"

"Damn straight. Why else would they have opposed the Iraq war?

"I don't know, conscience," says the Missourian. Suddenly, he shudders, collapses with his hands held over his eyes as they glow purple with some sort of supernatural force. His shrieking fills the air for 30 seconds before the pain subsides. He stands up. "Yeah, let's blow up some shit."

The Candidator approaches the stairs leading to the stage, where Ted Kennedy tells the crowd limericks to bide time. A party leader stops the dapper man from taking the stage.

"I wish to speak," says the Candidator. "I wish to be nominated so I can beat George W. Bush."

"Hey now," says the party leader. "We won't nominate just anyone."

With a flash, the Candidator draws a USA Today front page from his left pocket, holding it before the party leader. "Candidator crushes Bush, Dems take Congress" reads the headline.

"This is from the future," says the Candidator. "Now what do you say?"

Mesmerized, the party leader mutters "Anything you wish," standing aside as the strapping futuristic man-bot takes the stage.

Ted Kennedy remains oblivious on stage. "See if you, ah, know this one," says the large purple senator. "There, ah, once was a man from Nantucket . . ."

Kennedy stumbles as he is pushed away.

"Democrats," says the Candidator into the microphone. "You face a crisis. I am electable. You will nominate me."

"Where are you from?" calls out one delegate.

"I am from America of the future," responds the Candidator. "I am half man, half machine, programmed to run for office with laser-guided efficiency."

"What's your stance on NAFTA, the war, jobs?" asks another delegate.

"I am for NAFTA. I am for war. Your jobs will soon be taken by man-droids who feast on your flesh for fuel."

Silence enveloped the massive hall.

"But poll numbers indicate I will easily defeat Bush."

Thousands of delegates erupted into cheers, dancing for joy.

BUT WAIT, WHO'S THAT UP IN THE RAFTERS?

Kucinich, dressed in secret ninja garb, floats from light fixture to light fixture using the ancient art of human flight. (think "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"). Poised over the podium, he drops down onto the Candidator with complete stealth.

"This reminds me of when I was mayor of Cleveland," he says, grasping the man-bot in a sleeper hold.

Kerry, Edwards, Dean and Sharpton emerge from the wings. Using futuristic light sabers that Gore claimed to have invented back stage, they slice the right-wing imposter to pieces before a stunned audience.

Kerry and Edwards approached the microphone. "This machine was sent by Republicans to dilute our message and destroy our party," says Kerry, whose ghostly smooth appearance had been cured (another Gore "invention)."

"I grew up a poor son of a mill worker," says Edwards. "And if I know anything from that, it's that we need to be strong as a party and stand up for what we believe. Millions of people depend on us to do the right thing for America. That's why I'm happy to say that John Kerry and I will stand together on one ticket to defeat George W. Bush the right way . . . the way that involves not selling out to a fascist android sent from the future."

The crowd cheers, even louder than before.

"Hey," says Kucinich, folding his arms. "I'm the one who performed ninja moves on him. I should be the nominee."

Everyone throws back their heads for a belly laugh. (FREEZE FRAME, cue "Eye of the Tiger").

In honor of Aaron Brown, who looks like a smelly Eskimo in his column picture, today's drink is a "Brain Fart". It's a harsh drink that almost matches the smell of Aaron Brown. 1 part Everclear 1 part Smirnoff red label 1 part Mountain Dew 1 part Sundrop soda 1 part run Few splashes of lemon juice Mix all the ingredients together slowly. And gently. Add ice. Then enjoy. I SAID ENJOY, DAMNIT! Drink archives

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Reader Comments

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mindwalker      Dec 31, 1969 • 4:00pm   This column was freakin\' awesome. zam      Dec 31, 1969 • 4:00pm   I bow to your talents, Mr. Brown. Maybe we should allow Paul\'s drunken stupor to continue.... Anna      Dec 31, 1969 • 4:00pm   I thought the Bush-bot was an interesting take on our monkey-ass friend. Katers      Dec 31, 1969 • 4:00pm   I think the best part was naked Gore. Incredibly random, yet incredibly good. Ending with \"Eye of the Tiger\" is what got me, though. You are a masta storyteller, Mr. Brown. Quality. Scapegoat      Dec 31, 1969 • 4:00pm   Wow man, that was beautiful.

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