GOPCon Crisis at the Talking Point Factory!

 A MeanMesa Fiction

Neo-Con "Talking Points" Campaign (Image source)

The junior executive found himself in the fifth floor restroom of the Karl Rove Memorial Information Complex.  He nervously adjusted his tie in the mirror as rubbed his moistened index finger along his teeth.  He was practicing a few variations of what he always considered to be his most confident smile when the older gentleman entered.

As his senior approached the next mirror in the elaborate room, he smiled and nodded as subserviently as possible.

The older executive spoke first.  "Gotta look sharp for the big meeting.  This one could be important for your career future here at the 'possum werks.'  I'm expecting all hell to break loose once the big boys' guy shows up."

Puzzled, the younger man hesitated, contritely remembering his junior position.  However, finally his curiosity bested his caution.  "Are you anticipating some difficulties in the conference, sir?"

After a condescending "Harumph" rolled from the mouth of the senior officer, the older man turned to say in a falsely quiet voice, "You may be too low in the organization to have much perspective about what's going on, but this whole propaganda campaign is turning into a rolling train wreck. Let's just say that a lot of your bosses, you know, middle management types, are standing in front of the train.  I hope they've got their resumes ready.  This thing's going to be a meat hook festival."

At this point, the senior advisor seemed to suddenly have a sinister look on his face, a look which would routinely follow a "strategic moment" in the old man's thoughts.  "You know, I like you, kid.  You can sit with me back in the back of the room.  We won't be out of sight, but there will be plenty of eager beaver fools jammed up close to the podium, trying to kiss ass.  When it gets dramatic, they'll be the most convenient targets for the wrath of the owners' agent."

The pair exited the relative calm of the men's room into the frantic turmoil of the corridor outside, continuing their talk.

The young man asked, "If you don't mind, sir, what did you mean by 'owners' agent' when you were talking about the meeting.  I thought we were working for the CATO Institute.  I mean, that's whose name is on my paycheck."

The older man chuckled.  "I'm talking about who owns us and the CATO Institute and the Heritage Foundation and Americans for Prosperity and the American Cross Roads and the rest of them.  Don't tell me that you actually thought we were a non-profit or something."

Fearful, the younger man replied, "I guess I hadn't ever really thought about it.  I have just tried to do my job, keep my head down and go with the flow.  I was in charge of emailing the talking points out to all the conservative radio pundits every morning.  Sometimes, I got to send encrypted messages to the Senators."

He paused for a moment, then continued.  "I mean I never made any talking points myself.  I just forwarded what was coming out of the Psychology Department.  And, what do you mean by 'train wreck?' I looked at poll numbers last week and everything looked pretty good."

The two continued toward the executive elevator.  The senior man obviously had a key.  Once within the quiet of the personal elevator, the older man continued the conversation.

"Well, for one thing, the Wisconsin thing was supposed to be done by now.  The schedule called for the power plants to already be in the hands of the Koch brothers and for the public employees' pension fund to be transferred to the state's coffers by now.  I mean, what could be simpler than that?"

"But here we are.  The Wisconsin capitol is still stuffed with the damned socialists, and their $78 billion dollar pensions fund is still in the bank where it was a month ago.  Now the thing is spreading all across the country.  All the tea bags we spent so much money electing are getting recalled.  The phony budget crises that we put together for all those states are falling apart because the facts got out into the damned blogs and Maddow and Schultz and the rest of them."

"Hell, we're even losing control of the networks we own.  The story got way too stinky for our operatives to keep it off the air, and now, millions of Americans have heard about it.  The owners are pissed, and they're ready for blood."

The younger man's face was turning a sickeningly, pre-vomit grey.  Finally, he squeaked out, "Do you mean the Koch brothers?"

The senior man chuckled again.  "Oh sure, the Koch brothers.  But you need to know that there is a covey of billionaires out there with steaming check books and no results.  Looking over the whole bunch of them, the Koch brothers come out as good guys."

"We tried the Huckabee Kenya, Kenya, Kenya, mao-mao, mao-mao, mao-mao things and it beached six hours after we put it on the air.  We tried to bury the fact that Libya was only producing 2% of the world oil supply to cover the speculators raising the gasoline prices sky high, but that thing is falling apart, too.  Hell, even the damned Muslim, Muslim, Muslim things is becoming contradictory.  If we could have gotten the President to send troops in to save his Muslim brothers, that might have worked, or even if we got him to back Gaddafi.  I mean, the opportunities were all over the place.  But no.  We had to screw around and mess up the whole thing."

Patting the perspiration on his forehead with his handkerchief, the younger man asked, "Do you mean that our 'bosses' were willing to start a war?"

His companion chuckled again.  "We could go with either way, just so long as we were able to trash Obama along with the unions.  We got the hill billies fired up enough to start shooting, but that black guy out maneuvered us on this one.  The owners have kept the economy wrecked and unemployment high getting the country ready for the 2012, but nothing seems to be sticking."

"That's why there are going to be heads rolling in this meeting.  Christ, you could get promoted.  You know, moved up to the front ranks with a big raise.  Just stick with me, kid.  Stay close and, for God's sake, don't say anything."

The uncertain younger man's face was pale as he followed his older friend past the line of guards at the door of the sub-basement, ultra-secure conference room.