Blowing to Fill the Sails of Progress

 

The candidates from two major parties and two minor parties

had agreed to be introduced together. Turtle represented the Democratic

Party, Bison the Republican Party, Wolf the Independent Party,

and Coyote Business Green. The four milled on stage awkwardly,

until a reporter said Turtle was a hero and asked him to speak first.

“What, no, I’m just a simple Turtle,” Turtle said simply,

“Happy to be in his shell, comfortable with his hole, pleased to be

eating grass.” And, Turtle hung his head, “Don’t make me into a hero.

I’m just an ordinary animal, contributing to the balance of nature.”

“Don’t make my shell-shocked friend uncomfortable,” Coyote

admonished the reporter. “This balance requires shy, retiring, slow,

indecisive people like Turtle, here, and his 2 children.”

“Children are our most delicious natural resource,” said Wolf,

running his tongue across his healthy teeth.

“Precisely, Precious,” said

Coyote softly. Wolf was not going to ever get elected. “Bison, you

are recent immigrant, from Eurasia, isn’t it?” asked Coyote.

“13,000 years is recent?” Bison wondered.

“You’re the dwarf form of the steppe bison aren’t you?”

Bison towered over Coyote and answered, “I prefer

to think of myself as a keystone animal. We ate the plains to greatness

when you were eating dung. We provided for all the other animals.

Our eating stimulated grasses; our dung supported millions. Our trace

paths made the way for trains and highways.”

“What are your plans for Kansas?” Coyote asked.

“To make it part of a glorious Commons for Bison and all animals.

To bring back the tall prairie and the short prairie for all.”

“So, everyone else has to move to Chicago?”

“No, not prairie dogs or hawks; certainly not wolves. I see where

you’re going here. But, most everyone prefers big cities and crowds anyway.”

Coyote felt that had gone well.

 

Coyote bought new clothes to look more successful, or rather

the party bought the clothes. He liked being a consumer and stated

that he could represent people better now that he had shopped more

and seen how expensive designer names were.

He was trying on a vest as his campaign folks discussed strategies.

Meeker said, “It has to be an ignorance-based campaign.

The knowledge-based approach, the science-based approach has not

worked. We are not scientists, we are not wise. Let’s just bumble cautiously

together.”

“I agree,” nodded Coyote, “We know little

about the past, nothing about the present and less about the future;

and what we do know confuses us. Admitting this frees us, but it also

limits our options to radical conservation and radical change to

prevent catastrophes. Maybe a scat-based plan would have more

dignity.”

 

In his first public appearance in Powhattan, Coyote had loud music

and slides running in the background. It drowned out much of what

he said. Sadly, people only heard some of the words: “I promise to kill

high prices. Americans should not have to give their savings to

large corporations. Foreign investors have for too long benefited

without risk. Everything we work for must be protected. The food

we eat. Our homes. Too much garbage gets thrown away. We must

conserve. This is what we must try to do to avoid collapse.”

The slides of wheat fields waving in the breeze and apple pies on

the windowsills soon got out of order from the talk. Just at the word

kill was a pic of the Kansas national guard leaving for the Middle East.

Some of the voters seemed visibly upset. Possibly, Coyote had lost

that district.

 

Coyote tried to get voter lists to prepopulate the voter content

with migrating birds and insects.

 

The first television interview on Channel WHAT went well:

“And, you, Candidate Coyote. Boxers or briefs?” asked Annetta Funk.

“Neither,” said Coyote briefly.

“Well, what—? You know,

we have not caught you having sex with any of your campaigners

or prostitutes; is that because you masturbate frequently?”

“Yes, whenever I can. It relieves tension.”

“But, don’t you know—that is, I mean—”

“Next question.”

“Left or right hand?” Funk asked, smiling.

“Neither,” Coyote smiled back.

The press was frustrated. How could—

uh, uh, they decided as one, not to go in that direction. Coyote had his

mouth open ready to answer.

He paused and looked intimately into the lense: “I want to address

the viewer directly, now,” Coyote said. “I want to speak to you

intimately, more so than any author friend or family, about your

possessions and actions, your sexuality. Look at me, what a catch I am.

More than just a face to vote for. Don’t any of you women want to

write to me, go on a date, take off your clothes and mate? C’mon.

I can make like a wolf, or a rattlesnake. Unlike your Viagra-pumped mate,

I have a bone that holds up much longer. What do you think?

Ever gone a round with an immortal dog?” Coyote went wink, wink,

but the viewers could not see that, since the tape went to commercial

at ‘mate.’

 

Meanwhile, Ben Helmetstraw of UNN was asking: “Have you ever

killed anyone?”

“For justice or for a meal? Who died so that you

could get that meat stain on your tie?” Coyote asked.

Helmetstraw looked at his tie curved over his belly and thought:

‘Now how did he know what that stain was?’

Coyote smelled it of course; the cow smell lead him to the tie.

“What are you thinking about Taxes?” Helmetstraw recovered.

“I cannot decide whether to tax the ugly or the beautiful. I think

the beautiful; although there are fewer of them, they are often richer.

Look here in this college mag, Sewanee News, how all the old men

have young wives. Those are taxable assets!”

Marsha Stanwick of SNN tossed out a question, “Now that Bison

is surging in the polls, what will you do?

“My opponent claims to be a maverick,

that is, basically a stray calf, in danger of falling over the edge of a

precipice and breaking its leg or being picked off by a coyote. We

know he is more like an aging cow, but there isn’t a name for a stray

cow, unless it’s hamburger. Isn’t there something we can do to get

him safely back to the herd? Maybe by pointing out that his ideas are

strictly herd ideas? Maybe I’m wrong, maybe his ideas are different,

that is, unethical, greedy and short-sighted, and he needs to take up

the ideas and values of normal working people, those of us without

the many or free houses, without the freedom to wallow in the public

trough for money, clothing, privileges, and services. Maverick? No.

Cud-chewer in a herd? Yes.”

“Does Turtle have a chance?” asked Stanwick.

“My opponent points to his war record. We must not mistake

survival for courage; we must not think imagination is a substitute

for experience. We must not pretend that experience is a substitute

for intelligence. And we must not respect intelligence without action.

This is why I am the better candidate. I have avoided imagination,

experience, and intelligence, just to be qualified for this moment!”

 

The press had a good time with Coyote, taking quotes out of context.

Sheila Rentdrop of Fox News (the other one) asked Coyote about

Bison’s plan.

Coyote responded, “I don’t give a 10-dollar bill, I don’t

even give a buffalo nickel about that plan.”

Martha Stalwart of MSSNBC

asked Coyote to summarize his platform in one simple, direct

paragraph.

“I want you,” Coyote winked, “to join the business green

party, the party party. We can legalize pot and all drugs. We can legalize

prostitution; make it safe for everyone, with licensed medical care

and benefits for the ho’s. We can legalize gambling, and then get rid

of all the rest of the taxes, except on gambling. No tax on profits

for corporations, just salaries and stock payments, except

when they gamble. We can also get rid of schools higher than

the eighth grade. No reason to go higher, just have a lot

of apprenticeships, so professors can make as much as plumbers.”

Kathy Sweetbriar of the Wireless

News opined, “Coyote just wants the dog vote, as he is one.”

“I’m not a dog,” Coyote declared, “dogs are the sickest of species,

and recessive genes lead to a recessive species. That is one reason why

I mate with as many females as possible—to bring wholes genes

back into that sad species.”

“What are some of the problems?”

Sweetbriar asked lamely.

“Lameness, heart attacks, blindness, and

hundreds more problems. This is from the length of domestication.

Wolves, heh heh, were the first animals ever domesticated. Wolves, not

Coyotes. And, inbreeding to try to make wieners or giants has caused

these problems.”

Jim Geoni of The Raw Onion asked Coyote about

the stock market.

“Green is the new black, white is the new red,”

Coyote propounded.

Madonna Lumplumpinini asked Coyote to deliver

a ringing metaphor for his campaign.

Coyote obliged: “We must fight the good

race, sell the ball to the goal and light fires to fill the sails of progress.

We must stay the course and dream the unbearable dream to nurture

the strength of many to reward the sustainability of the few.”

 

In Citibank Arena, Coyote gave his final speech the night before

the vote, challenging the people with true honesty and false modesty:

“What is the political truth of this campaign? That we are great

selfless leaders? Or, that both of us are power-hungry grubs looking

for a body to infest, to further fulfill our own self-interest? Why

nothing could be further from the truth. That is why I am willing to

give everything I have to charity, and I urge my opponent to do the

same. Only when I am as poor as the poorest of the people, will I be

qualified to capture your trust and to lead you into a shining future. I

will be the glue that holds together our towering inferno. I will be the

rope that hangs us to the tree, I will be the balloon that rises on our

hot air. Trust me and the trillions of dollars will be our debt forever.

I am here only out of crass self-interest. I will not do anything

that will not benefit me first. Why? Because, I need to try things first.

That is the genius of a leader—to test massive wealth first to make sure

it is safe and desirable for everyone!”

Coyote paused for effect.

“Let’s sing: To speak the unspeakable truth, to dare the undareable path.

That is my quest, to be richer than you, to … ahh, you know what

I mean—never mind.”

Coyote paused again and became seriouser.

“Everyone needs to be special, to be completely unique. Why, when

I gaze over you, milling in the lowing herd, chewing your cuds, I see

how really different you are, how some of you have been branded

yourselves with tattoos that use different color inks and have different

kinds of wings or words, how others have cut and dyed your hair

differently with purple and pink, and how many of you wear your

jeans with your sport coats or tee-shirts and some of you keep wearing

them even with gaping rips and tears made by machines. You are not

losers! You are not normal! You are special! You should not need to

work, to do anything productive. You should not have to contribute

to the bland horizon of society. You are valuable as you and your

life should be dedicated to cultivating that difference so others can

appreciate the unique perspective of the universe that is you. And, as

your senator, I will work tastelessly and effortlessly to promote you on

your behalf.

My opponent says you are lemmings, drawn to the sea

by the taste of salt, but I say you are tasteless and don’t even know

the sea is there! My opponent says you are ants in a hill droning on

with your chores, but I say you are all queens and should be waited

on by machines with heated cushions. My opponent says you have

failed miserably to be responsible, hard-working, ethical individuals,

but I say you have failed spectacularly! Don’t be desperate to succeed,

you have already succeeded beyond any ant or cow. Don’t be afraid

to do what you want, others are working to support you. So, let’s

come up with good ideas for ruling the earth. Let’s work on Web4 or

Gameboy9! Let’s design a better recliner and a faster car to put it in!

I am for a positive future, one not shackled by the dead hand of the

past, one not limited by the blindered eye of the present. Let’s go!

Now!! Vote Coyote!!!”

The herd mooed and surged towards Coyote,

and he basked in their worship.

 

Coyote was careful to appear to be working dramatically hard

in the final days, wiping his brow and tossing pieces of paper to

underlings or coworkers, sitting with his tie loose and threadbare feet

on the desk.

Then, he won by 844 votes.

He gave his victory speech; he was so

excited, he could barely remember what he said: “Winning is never

enough! You have to look forward to … more winning, to the other

rewards, not just money, but houses and jewels … But, these guys

here on the podium with me, these fine political warriors [sniff] need

someone to lead [sniff] them — that would be me. And, you, little

people, thank you for your love and support. Good night! [sniff]”

 

He took off the Johnny Depp mask and relaxed. He looked over at

the Al Gore plaster mask and wished that it had come in latex—

perhaps it might have been too expressive. Finally, he was going

to Washington, well, after the mandatory recount anyway. The bull

was his! He had the horns in his hands. He would make laws

and funnel wealth where it was meant to go. Now, if he could just

survive the next two months!