Over
the weekend, I was able to sneak in to a secret meeting of Democratic
presidential candidates and actually take part in their roundtable discussion. It
was a lot easier than you might think. I told the guy at the door that I was
John Delaney, and nobody batted an eye. Just as I was settling in, Joe Biden
stood up and took the floor.
“Listen
here,” he demanded. “No one, and I mean no one can snatch defeat from
the jaws of victory like our Democratic party, and I’ll be damned if we’re
gonna drop that ball now!”
“Hey,
don’t look at me,” Bernie Sanders yelled. “I’m a Jew from Brooklyn who tells
everyone he’s a socialist! I’d be better off claiming to be a Nazi! Who’s
doing more to lose than that?!”
I
saw my chance to jump into the conversation, or at least John Delaney’s chance.
“You know,” I piped up, “I’ve always wondered about that socialist thing. I
mean, clearly, you’re not a socialist. Neither is AOC or anyone else in this
party, not even close! In socialism, the state owns the means of production.
You don’t want to own GM, do you?”
“Of
course not,” Bernie screamed back. “I just want some damn healthcare! Trump is
going to beat us to death with the socialist thing. So don’t tell me I’m not
doing my part. And I’m not even a damn Democrat!”
“Now
just a minute,” Corey Booker said with an air of righteous indignation tempered
with reasonableness that could not possibly be threatening to white people. “Democrats
of color have a unique part to play in this effort. We are proposing that all,
poor African-American children be guaranteed the opportunity to attend Pre-K.
That predominantly African-American public school districts receive extra aid
and support. That historically black colleges and universities receive enhanced
government grants. And that we make plentiful, low interest loans available to black
entrepreneurs.”
“Those
sound like great ideas,” I said. “Especially since everyone says the
African-American community is the backbone of our coalition.”
“Black
people hate me,” murmured a downcast looking 15-year old whom I hadn’t noticed
before.
“Who’s
the kid?” I whispered to the guy next to me, Beto O’Rourke.
“Buttigieg,”
he practically spat his answer.
“But
I know a sure-fire way to turn this into a loser,” the kid went on. “We group
all those programs together and call them ‘reparations.’”
“Reparations!”
Kamala Harris laughed out loud. “We’ll never hear the end of that. I
love it. It’s a winner!”
“You
mean loser,” I tried to clarify.
“Right
she said,” flashing her brilliant smile, “which makes it a winner.”
“Try
to keep up, baldy!” Amy Klobuchar screamed at me from across the table.
Just
then, the door flew open, and another bald guy strode into the room.
“¡¿Quién
es este chico?!” O’Rourke said in a bad accent.
“I’m
the real John Delaney!” the newcomer proclaimed. This guy’s name is Lemkowitz,”
he shouted, pointing at me like Uncle Sam, “and he needs to be thrown the hell
out of here!”
“Not
so fast,” Andrew Yang said, looking up from his iPad. “He’s suddenly polling
half a percentage point higher than Gillibrand!”
This
revelation ignited a storm of high volume crosstalk and general tumult, until Marianne
Williamson stood and raised both arms in a V shape, as if she were going to
deliver a benediction. Unsettled by this quasi-religious tableau, everyone quieted
down. In a strong voice, Williamson said, “The loving spirit that I feel from
every corner of our great land can warm our hearts like the sun. This is the true
solar energy that we must harness to once again be a beacon to the world.”
For
a long moment, everyone sat in stunned silence. Finally, Elizabeth Warren spoke.
“Fuck
it,” she said. “Let’s nominate her.”
