Being a Democrat in Tennessee is enough to send a girl to the chiropractor with all the cringing you have to do. Sure, it’s good fun to sit over here in Nashville cheering on the Fords–”Have another secret family who’s also not in the district you don’t live in but serve!” “Shoot some more trucks!” “Get hospitalized for mysterious reasons.” “Go to the Playboy Mansion!” “Have your wife send money to a candidate running the most bigoted campaign of the season.” I mean, shoot! I love the Fords and cannot wait for the thinly veiled fictional account of their reign. But I can sit over here and eat my popcorn and enjoy the show.
Oh my god.
Listen, Tennessee Democrats, here’s my idea. Dan Rostenkowski is not dead. If we have to have corrupt Democrats trying to throw their political weight around, can we hire ole Dan to come down and put them through some kind of corrupt Democrat trying to throw their weight around boot camp? Because this shit is mortifying.
Lesson One could be: if you want to use secret files to intimidate and bully your political enemies, don’t be so god damn lazy as to just find one corrupt State Trooper and have him give you access to THP records. No. You have folks compiling files full of old newspaper clippings, conversations recorded during trysts with hookers you got to first, unseemly photographs taken by ex-cons who need breaks. You have a lot of minor players collecting a lot of seemingly uninteresting information that you know how to bring together into a bone-chilling collection.
Lesson Two: Just because you think you’re smarter than your opponants doesn’t mean your opponants are idiots. If you deliver copies of the damning information you have against them to their offices in the middle of the night by leaving those files on their desks and if there are only three groups that have keys to that office–your opponant, the cleaning crew, and the THP–your motherfucking right they’re going to figure out in about fifteen seconds who left the files.
Let’s imagine the scene in Jason Mumpower’s office and count the seconds:
Seconds 1-5, an upset Representative bursts into Mumpower’s office: “Jason, someone left a file containing my expunged records on my desk!”
Seconds 6-8, Mumpower: “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that? I was distracted by your awesome tie.”
Seconds 9-14: “Oh, thanks. But yeah, mysterious files containing expunged arrest records arriving in my locked office blah blah blah.”
Second 15, Mumpower: “Well, shoot. Someone at the THP is fucking with us.”
Or maybe he said “messing.” They are Republicans, after all. Shoot, maybe “messing” is even too strong. Let’s revise that last line to be, “Well, shoot. Someone at the THP is fooling with us.”
My point is, even if they burst into Mumpower’s office right when he was in the middle of breakfast and he made them wait to talk to him until after he was done with his biscuits and gravy, the case practically solves itself.
Can’t we add a little finesse?
What about a letter? “Dear Representative So-and-So, I am the Lord, Your God, Jehovah Almighty, and even though the State has expunged your records, I have not forgotten. Resign immediately or I will instruct your opponants to use this information against you. Tell no one of this or I will smite thee. Love, God.”
Clearly, they’re going to see through that eventually, but if you use antique looking paper and a fancy font, they might be freaked out for a while.
Or throw some decoy files on the desks of Democrats so that it’s not so apparently partisan right away.
I mean, I don’t know. I’m just coming up with this stuff off the top of my head over breakfast and I haven’t been to any Dan Rostenkowski school of political hard ball. I’m sure he could do a lot better. So, let’s get on that.
And, to my TNGOP readers, sitting there silently, I am begging you. Please, discredit this doofus Governor of ours as fast as you can. I cannot tell you how much I would love it if he ceased to show up in NYTimes articles giving “folksy” advice to the national candidates.