'Bushido for President!' [Bushido, Gustav Schafer]
Title: 'Bushido for President!'
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: German hip hop/Tokio Hotel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, crack!fic, profanity
Characters: Bushido, Gustav Schafer
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Renowned political strategist Gustav Schafer finds himself taking on a rather unusual client.
Author's Notes: It was Super Tuesday in that hive of political activity that is early 2008 America. that_1_incident was facing a four-hour Journalism Law & Ethics lecture which half of her class had blown off in favor of watching the election coverage on CNN. She stared down at the blank page of her notebook and suddenly, inspiration struck!
Thanks to fleursdelis for coming up with Bushido's inaugural rap. It's sehr fresh, sehr fresh (perfekt, perfekt) - as is the lovely artwork accompanying this fic, made by yours truly. Danke, danke...
---<---<---@
“The fact is, Mr Ferchichi, running for president isn’t as easy as it looks.”
Renowned political strategist Gustav Schafer settled back into the padded leather of his desk chair and folded his arms, regarding the presidential hopeful sitting on the opposite side of his desk with great seriousness.
“Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?”
“Mos def,” came the immediate answer in thickly accented English. “I gots big plans for this country, playa.”
“Alright.” Gustav nodded at him and picked up a legal pad. “Then let’s set the Bushido for President campaign in motion. I presume you want to go by that pseudonym rather than your birth name, Mr Ferchichi?”
Bushido winced a little. “Ja, ja. Bushido ist gut.”
“Excellent.” Gustav indicated a thick manila folder. “I took the liberty of conducting some polls to gauge preliminary support. Now,” he shuffled his papers, “obviously you’ll get the younger generation on board fairly easily, but you’re going to have to work hard to garner the support of some other demographics, such as women and the conservative Christian voters.”
Bushido nodded sagely. “Well, I love bitches. I’m gon' start wit dat, yo. Dat’s solid. From da heart, ya know wat I’m sayin’?” He thumped his chest twice and then shot the strategist a peace sign.
“That’s all very well,” Gustav began slightly condescendingly, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “but do you love them because they are sexualized playthings whom you see as inferior to the dominant male gender, or because they are worthy and formidable allies and adversaries, both in the political arena and in everyday life?”
“Eh.” Bushido shifted in his chair. “Dat first one.”
Gustav wagged his finger. “That’s not what the voters are going to want to hear, Bushido. Let’s try that again, shall we?”
He waited expectantly and Bushido heaved a sigh.
“I love bitch- women because dey is worthy and formidable allies and adversaries, both in da political arena and in da ghetto.” He paused. “And dey is the jewel in America’s crown. Dey keepin’ it real, yo.”
Gustav raised an eyebrow and scribbled something onto his legal pad. “I’m glad you’re getting enthusiastic, but it’s best not to ad-lib. Look at all the predicaments it’s got the current president into. And besides, America has no monarchy.”
Bushido grunted.
“But it was a noble effort and I applaud you for it!” Gustav said in a manner he thought to be encouraging. He didn’t want to anger the rapper too much. Bushido had people. “Now, back to business. The evangelical Christians-”
Bushido rolled his eyes, and Gustav purposely ignored him.
“The evangelical Christians represent 26.5 million votes.”
That got Bushido’s attention. “Ja, I’m listenin’.”
“I’ve come up with an angle that I don’t anticipate our opponents to be expecting.” Gustav paused for dramatic effect and then said reverently, “‘Schmetterling.’”
Bushido blinked. “Wat.”
“The fact that you titled a song after one of God’s creatures, especially one as delicate and beautiful as the butterfly, gives the impression that you have a true appreciation for His creatures and for the natural world, which will in turn bring in those concerned with environmental issues.”
Bushido looked impressed. “Now I know why you be wantin’ so much green fo’ all dis strategic shiznit. You a political masta, homeslice.”
Gustav permitted himself a tiny smile. “Thank you,” he said graciously, then added as an afterthought, “I think.” He looked down at the legal pad. “So, you’re going to need to memorize a particular Bible verse. Unless of course you know it alr…” He looked up at Bushido briefly, then trailed off. “…You’re going to need to memorize a particular Bible verse. Luke 12:6-7. Remind people that God loves even the sparrow. Get the butterfly in there too, whenever possible.”
Bushido nodded. “Aite.”
Gustav massaged his temples. He was beginning to think it was a mistake to take on this particular candidate. “We’ll need to invest in some elocution lessons,” he said decisively. “Your manner of speaking at the moment is rather… shall we say, uncouth?”
“You can say wat eva you want, dawg, but I ain’t gon’ agree witchu on dat. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit da way I be articulatin’ maself.”
“Mm,” was Gustav’s only response. He underlined “elocution lessons” three times on his legal pad. “And we have to work on your accent.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit my accent, neither!” Bushido said hotly. “’Ey, it worked fo’ Schwarzenegger, ja?”
“Governor Schwarzenegger is a legend in his own right,” Gustav said stiffly. “He’s the Terminator. His accent has a place in American culture.”
“Mine gon’ have one too!” Bushido protested. “Ain’t no bigger place in American culture than da president, G, and dat’s what I’mma be!”
Gustav’s forehead throbbed a little harder. Not with that grammar, you’re not, he was tempted to say, but held back for fear of angering Bushido to the point where the presidential hopeful would seek retribution. Gustav had done some preliminary Googling after Bushido’s name had first appeared on his desk, and some of his findings were quite terrifying. Bushido appeared to have links to the neo-Nazis and the Japanese mafia, although he always thought “Yakuza” was spelt with a ‘Y’ rather than a “Ch.”
Gustav shuffled his papers. “There’s one other thing we need to work on, Bushido.”
Bushido quirked an eyebrow. “Wat.”
“Assuming you get elected, I believe you promised the people an inaugural, er… rap?”
“Ja!” Bushido’s eyes lit up. He beatboxed for a few moments to set the rhythm, and then burst out rapping. “Eastside, Westside, represent, in Amerika ich bin der Präsident! Ich-” He cut himself off as Gustav held up his hands. “Whassup, G?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Gustav said as calmly as possible, hoping Bushido wouldn’t notice the horror in his face. “Will you er, excuse me for a moment?”
Bushido looked impatient. “Ja, but hurry back, dawg. We gots work to do.”
Gustav nodded feebly. He rose from his desk and crossed the room, swiftly shutting the door behind him. It was then and only then that he leaned against the wall and put his face in his hands. This man, this… rapper was singlehandedly going to ruin his career. What on earth had he got himself into?
---<---<---@
Accompanying artwork:
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: German hip hop/Tokio Hotel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU, crack!fic, profanity
Characters: Bushido, Gustav Schafer
Word Count: ~1,000
Summary: Renowned political strategist Gustav Schafer finds himself taking on a rather unusual client.
Author's Notes: It was Super Tuesday in that hive of political activity that is early 2008 America. that_1_incident was facing a four-hour Journalism Law & Ethics lecture which half of her class had blown off in favor of watching the election coverage on CNN. She stared down at the blank page of her notebook and suddenly, inspiration struck!
Thanks to fleursdelis for coming up with Bushido's inaugural rap. It's sehr fresh, sehr fresh (perfekt, perfekt) - as is the lovely artwork accompanying this fic, made by yours truly. Danke, danke...
---<---<---@
“The fact is, Mr Ferchichi, running for president isn’t as easy as it looks.”
Renowned political strategist Gustav Schafer settled back into the padded leather of his desk chair and folded his arms, regarding the presidential hopeful sitting on the opposite side of his desk with great seriousness.
“Are you sure you’re up for the challenge?”
“Mos def,” came the immediate answer in thickly accented English. “I gots big plans for this country, playa.”
“Alright.” Gustav nodded at him and picked up a legal pad. “Then let’s set the Bushido for President campaign in motion. I presume you want to go by that pseudonym rather than your birth name, Mr Ferchichi?”
Bushido winced a little. “Ja, ja. Bushido ist gut.”
“Excellent.” Gustav indicated a thick manila folder. “I took the liberty of conducting some polls to gauge preliminary support. Now,” he shuffled his papers, “obviously you’ll get the younger generation on board fairly easily, but you’re going to have to work hard to garner the support of some other demographics, such as women and the conservative Christian voters.”
Bushido nodded sagely. “Well, I love bitches. I’m gon' start wit dat, yo. Dat’s solid. From da heart, ya know wat I’m sayin’?” He thumped his chest twice and then shot the strategist a peace sign.
“That’s all very well,” Gustav began slightly condescendingly, pushing his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, “but do you love them because they are sexualized playthings whom you see as inferior to the dominant male gender, or because they are worthy and formidable allies and adversaries, both in the political arena and in everyday life?”
“Eh.” Bushido shifted in his chair. “Dat first one.”
Gustav wagged his finger. “That’s not what the voters are going to want to hear, Bushido. Let’s try that again, shall we?”
He waited expectantly and Bushido heaved a sigh.
“I love bitch- women because dey is worthy and formidable allies and adversaries, both in da political arena and in da ghetto.” He paused. “And dey is the jewel in America’s crown. Dey keepin’ it real, yo.”
Gustav raised an eyebrow and scribbled something onto his legal pad. “I’m glad you’re getting enthusiastic, but it’s best not to ad-lib. Look at all the predicaments it’s got the current president into. And besides, America has no monarchy.”
Bushido grunted.
“But it was a noble effort and I applaud you for it!” Gustav said in a manner he thought to be encouraging. He didn’t want to anger the rapper too much. Bushido had people. “Now, back to business. The evangelical Christians-”
Bushido rolled his eyes, and Gustav purposely ignored him.
“The evangelical Christians represent 26.5 million votes.”
That got Bushido’s attention. “Ja, I’m listenin’.”
“I’ve come up with an angle that I don’t anticipate our opponents to be expecting.” Gustav paused for dramatic effect and then said reverently, “‘Schmetterling.’”
Bushido blinked. “Wat.”
“The fact that you titled a song after one of God’s creatures, especially one as delicate and beautiful as the butterfly, gives the impression that you have a true appreciation for His creatures and for the natural world, which will in turn bring in those concerned with environmental issues.”
Bushido looked impressed. “Now I know why you be wantin’ so much green fo’ all dis strategic shiznit. You a political masta, homeslice.”
Gustav permitted himself a tiny smile. “Thank you,” he said graciously, then added as an afterthought, “I think.” He looked down at the legal pad. “So, you’re going to need to memorize a particular Bible verse. Unless of course you know it alr…” He looked up at Bushido briefly, then trailed off. “…You’re going to need to memorize a particular Bible verse. Luke 12:6-7. Remind people that God loves even the sparrow. Get the butterfly in there too, whenever possible.”
Bushido nodded. “Aite.”
Gustav massaged his temples. He was beginning to think it was a mistake to take on this particular candidate. “We’ll need to invest in some elocution lessons,” he said decisively. “Your manner of speaking at the moment is rather… shall we say, uncouth?”
“You can say wat eva you want, dawg, but I ain’t gon’ agree witchu on dat. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit da way I be articulatin’ maself.”
“Mm,” was Gustav’s only response. He underlined “elocution lessons” three times on his legal pad. “And we have to work on your accent.”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit my accent, neither!” Bushido said hotly. “’Ey, it worked fo’ Schwarzenegger, ja?”
“Governor Schwarzenegger is a legend in his own right,” Gustav said stiffly. “He’s the Terminator. His accent has a place in American culture.”
“Mine gon’ have one too!” Bushido protested. “Ain’t no bigger place in American culture than da president, G, and dat’s what I’mma be!”
Gustav’s forehead throbbed a little harder. Not with that grammar, you’re not, he was tempted to say, but held back for fear of angering Bushido to the point where the presidential hopeful would seek retribution. Gustav had done some preliminary Googling after Bushido’s name had first appeared on his desk, and some of his findings were quite terrifying. Bushido appeared to have links to the neo-Nazis and the Japanese mafia, although he always thought “Yakuza” was spelt with a ‘Y’ rather than a “Ch.”
Gustav shuffled his papers. “There’s one other thing we need to work on, Bushido.”
Bushido quirked an eyebrow. “Wat.”
“Assuming you get elected, I believe you promised the people an inaugural, er… rap?”
“Ja!” Bushido’s eyes lit up. He beatboxed for a few moments to set the rhythm, and then burst out rapping. “Eastside, Westside, represent, in Amerika ich bin der Präsident! Ich-” He cut himself off as Gustav held up his hands. “Whassup, G?”
“Nothing, nothing,” Gustav said as calmly as possible, hoping Bushido wouldn’t notice the horror in his face. “Will you er, excuse me for a moment?”
Bushido looked impatient. “Ja, but hurry back, dawg. We gots work to do.”
Gustav nodded feebly. He rose from his desk and crossed the room, swiftly shutting the door behind him. It was then and only then that he leaned against the wall and put his face in his hands. This man, this… rapper was singlehandedly going to ruin his career. What on earth had he got himself into?
---<---<---@
Accompanying artwork: