An Election Carol

Nixon was dead: to begin with. Tricky Dick was as dead as a doornail. 

And yet, as Vice-President Kamala Harris rolled over in her bed in her residence at the United States Naval Observatory, she was sure that Dick was standing right there in front of her. The visage had that same five o’clock growth surrounding that famous sloping nose. But what was this that he was wearing? Oh, it was a blue suit and white shirt, of course, but there was more. He was bound up in chains. What had awakened her had been those chains clanging as Dick struggled to move, step by step.

“Mr. President, is that you?” Kamala asked in the raspy voice typical of how a person’s first words of the day came out of their throat.

“Yes,” came Dick’s response. His voice had some of the tone of the old Nixon, but it was much darker and ghastly-er. 

“It’s amazing,” Kamala said. “I just finished a biography of you. It was a great book.”

“I am not a crook.” Nixon answered.

“No, Dick. I said ‘book’, not ‘crook.’”

Dick didn’t seem to care what Kamala was saying. He just pressed on. “I am the Ghost of Elections Future,” he growled. I am here to show you what will happen if you persist on being part of the Democratic ticket for 2024.”

Kamala stared at Dick for a moment and then gave voice to the look on her face, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Like the story – Dickens, you know, the one where ghosts visit to show the guy the future.”

Kamala was still bewildered. Despite Dick’s clue, she clearly didn’t have a clue.

“Never mind,” Dick continued, “it’s not important. What is important is the future of the country. You see these chains wrapped around me? Do you have any idea why they are there?”

Kamala’s reaction strangely out of place. For no reason, she was laughing.

Dick shrugged and went on, “Well, I am wearing these chains because I greatly damaged our country. Watergate and all that. Watergate brought disgrace on the Presidency; it diminished the people’s faith in the integrity of our institutions; and it gave the term, “gate” to the end of every scandal, and I don’t get a nickel for it. So, I’m being punished, Kamala.  Do you understand that? Punished. I hope so because what you are proposing to do, shit, it makes Watergate look like passing notes in school. You are going to give the world the key for its destruction. You are going to give them The Defendant. In life, I was a selfish liar but did know politics and I can tell you that if you stay on the ticket, you will drag it down and make Trump the winner.” 

Although she was clearly shaken, Kamala was continuing to laugh.

“Do you laugh at everything?”

Kamala was able to nod her head even though she was laughing harder and harder.

And at that point, a wall in Kamala’s bedroom became a screen. A movie began to appear. “Well,” Dick said pointing to the screen, “here’s something not to laugh about. Here’s what the future will look like if you don’t drop out.”

The first scene on the wall was the inauguration of the President. Kamala immediately noticed that the man taking the oath did not look like Joe. She well knew the face, though. It was The Defendant. And Kamala saw, too, that the Chief Justice was about to deliver the oath. But wait, Kamala thought, that’s not the Chief Justice. It wasn’t John Roberts. It was Sean Hannity, and he was wearing a military uniform. Then thousands of other soldiers suddenly appeared throughout the crowd. They confronted all the people who had ever criticized The Defendant’s policies and carried them off to jail.

Then suddenly there was another scene. It was the Oval Office of the President. Only two people were present. One was The Defendant, his orange skin shining and his straw hair in place. But he wasn’t sitting behind the Resolute Desk. He was seated in front of that desk. He was clearly taking orders from the person who was where the President typically sat. As the camera closed in, it became clear that the person at the desk was Vladimir Putin. It was also clear that Putin was in charge. He was barking orders at The Defendant. The Defendant was shaking and nodding in agreement at everything Putin was saying.

Finally, another scene came into view. It was composed of quick cuts between a series of images. One was a giant wall on the Mexican border. At the top of the wall were people with machine guns. They were not soldiers. They were just civilians who were clearly enjoying their turn on the structure. They were firing indiscriminately at folks on the other side of the wall, mowing them down. Then there was a cut to a train car. People were being unloaded from it. They had arrived at what appeared to be a camp surrounded by barbed wire. The car was much too small for the number of people who had been squeezed into it. Most of the people coming out were not speaking English. The others were black. One of the black people was Kamala herself. The last image was of the Statue of Liberty. It was being torn down.

When the images were finished, Dick turned to Kamala and asked, “Do you get it, now? Do you see what is going to happen if you let that sonofabitch get control? Even I didn’t do that much damage.”

The look in Kamala’s eyes showed that she had gotten the message. She wasn’t even laughing anymore. The next day, she took herself off the ticket.

This, of course, is a fantasy. But, if for any reason, Kamala really decides to leave the picture, then it would have to be said, “God bless us, everyone.”