October 5, 2016
“Jacob, what the hell is this?” Lucy said, walking into the campaign office and sliding a laptop across the desk to her husband.
“It would appear to be a computer,” Jacob said, obliviously.
“No, I know that. Look at what’s on it.”
Jacob sighed, picked up the laptop, and walked it over to his desk. “Be careful. I don’t want you dropping it,” Lucy said as Jacob carried the laptop with one hand.
Jacob scoffed. “Lucy, relax. I’m not going to drop it. I’m always careful.”
“Really?” Lucy asked. “Because you dropped our oldest son twice when he was a baby.”
“That’s different. This has all my documents and stuff saved on it. I won’t drop this. This is important.”
“And our child isn’t?”
“We can always make another child. Do you have any idea how long it would take me to replace everything I have saved on here? At least two or three hours. I can make a child in like ten seconds.”
“Yeah, ten seconds for you.”
“Right, ten seconds for me. That’s who we were talking about,” Jacob said, opening the laptop and looking at the screen. “It’s a twitter account. So what?”
“It’s your twitter account.”
“Right. Again, so what?”
“So what?” Lucy said, scrolling down and pointing out a few of the tweets to Jacob. “So what are these last few tweets?”
“Some woman said something that was untrue, and I responded. What’s the problem? I thought that’s what a candidate was supposed to do.”
“Yeah, to legitimate issues from legitimate sources. This woman was a prostitute.”
“Is a prostitute.”
“You can’t allow your campaign to be sidetracked by late night twitter wars with prostitutes.”
“What was I supposed to do? Ignore her?”
“Yes. Absolutely. No one was paying attention to her to begin with. If you had ignored her, everybody would have forgotten about it by now. Instead, you go on a late night twitter rant, and now it’s all anyone is going to talk about for the next week.”
Jacob reached out his hand and touched Lucy’s shoulder. “Lucy, someone leveled a criticism of my campaign, and I responded with a measured, thought-out response.”
“You said she was a ‘fat whore with the Grand Canyon between her legs, if the Grand Canyon had herpes and also were a vagina instead of a geological formation.’ Do you see what the problem is?”
“I think so,” Jacob said, thoughtfully. “It should have been ‘was a vagina’, right?”
“No. Maybe. I don’t know,” Lucy said. “The problem is that you shouldn’t be drawing out negative news stories like that. Simply don’t engage. It takes away from your message.”
“Yeah, but I don’t really have a message.”
“Well, you have damage control to do. I’m going to try to schedule you on a late-night talk show.”
“No,” Jacob said, drawing the word out in a whiny voice the way a drunken five-year-old would. “Not one of those cookie cutter late night shows that pushes a textbook liberal agenda under the guise of shitty comedy.”
“There aren’t any other kinds at the moment, so you’re kind of out of options,” Lucy said taking her phone out of her pocket. “Besides, they’re all softball interviews anyway. What are you afraid of?”
“They’re going to play ‘gotcha’ journalism with me.”
“’Gotcha’ journalism?” Lucy said, shaking her head. “What’s that, exactly?”
“You know. It’s where they ask you questions and expect you to answer them.”
“Right, I’m making the call,” Lucy said, dialing and holding the phone to her ear as she walked out the door.