Political Timber
“Can you beeeelieve our boy here?” Mad Matt was on a rave. “And they say there are no Thomas Jeffersons anymore. They say there are no Leonardo da Vincis. No more Renaissance men? Phuoa!” Matt spat into his microphone, not for real, but an impressive simulation of expectoration. “All right, he’s running for mayor of our fine city; he’s running for student body president; and, I don’t mind telling you, he’s practically running the whole show here at WRRR, because Sol over there, he’s all but usel...ess. Am I right, Sol? The kid’s gone beyond candidate already, beyond heroic. We’re sitting here with a demigod, is what we’re doing, only at station WRRR. The other guys have no demigods on staff.
“So, like, what about a social life, there, Gordie? Is there a special someone?”
I hedged. Forgot where the button was to open my microphone. Matt made a duh face at me. I located the switch.
“Sweaty Betty,” I blurted.
“Sweat—?” Matt interrupted himself. Then he hummed deliciously into the microphone.MoreLess
“So, like, what about a social life, there, Gordie? Is there a special someone?”
I hedged. Forgot where the button was to open my microphone. Matt made a duh face at me. I located the switch.
“Sweaty Betty,” I blurted.
“Sweat—?” Matt interrupted himself. Then he hummed deliciously into the microphone.MoreLess
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