Middleweight Boxing Champion of Brigham Young University, Scene 4
Title: Middleweight Boxing Champion of Brigham Young University, Scene 4
Author: modernotica
Rating: PG-13 overall
Word count: <1000
Characters: John McCain (POV), Mitt Romney
Author's Note: If it isn't screamingly obvious, this whole thing is a spoof of McCain's obsession with Hemingway. I've basically turned John McCain into Jake whats-his-name and Cindy into Brett from 'The Sun Also Rises.' Jindal is Romero and the Republican National Convention is the bullfighting festival of Pamplona. It's imperfect given the plot, but Romney is basically Cohn.
"This doesn't make any sense. Palin is a disaster. I thought we had a deal, John. I thought we had a deal."
Mitt Romney glared at me across the table. The table full of drunk lobbyists next to us erupted in cheers and a toast to something or other. Mitt looked at them and seemed angrier still.
"I changed my mind."
I wished that Mitt would have a drink. A man should drink at a time like this. It wasn't natural for him to be sober right now.
"Cindy's not going to forgive you for hitting Bobby. She doesn't want you around. If you're on the ticket then you're around. So now you've got nothing."
"I shouldn't have hit him."
"Maybe you could have done it just once."
"Maybe."
"It was decking him again and again every time he tried to stand up. That was too much, Mitt."
"I know."
"And he has to go out there in front of the crowd and give a speech looking like that."
"What do I do now?"
"You'd better go."
"Leave the convention?"
"Yes. Just leave. Nobody wants you here."
The moustached owner of the restaurant interrupted us.
"It's an honor to have you here with us, sir."
"Well thank you for finding room for us," I told him.
He leaned in close and furrowed his brow.
"Did you see the speakers lined up for tomorrow? What did you think of them?"
"They're good speakers."
The proprietor nodded at me solemnly. We understood each other. He knew me to be an aficionado, which is everything.
"You know I spent the night with Cindy?" Mitt said after the proprietor had left. "The whole night."
"So what?"
"That meant something."
"No it didn't. It didn't mean anything to her. She wants you to leave now."
The lobbyists were doing jello shots now. Mitt stared at the table. I sipped my gin and tonic.
"You don't understand, John. You can't understand. Not with your... condition. Since the war and all."
I clenched my teeth and tried not to throw the glass at him.
"You'd better go, my friend."
Author: modernotica
Rating: PG-13 overall
Word count: <1000
Characters: John McCain (POV), Mitt Romney
Author's Note: If it isn't screamingly obvious, this whole thing is a spoof of McCain's obsession with Hemingway. I've basically turned John McCain into Jake whats-his-name and Cindy into Brett from 'The Sun Also Rises.' Jindal is Romero and the Republican National Convention is the bullfighting festival of Pamplona. It's imperfect given the plot, but Romney is basically Cohn.
"This doesn't make any sense. Palin is a disaster. I thought we had a deal, John. I thought we had a deal."
Mitt Romney glared at me across the table. The table full of drunk lobbyists next to us erupted in cheers and a toast to something or other. Mitt looked at them and seemed angrier still.
"I changed my mind."
I wished that Mitt would have a drink. A man should drink at a time like this. It wasn't natural for him to be sober right now.
"Cindy's not going to forgive you for hitting Bobby. She doesn't want you around. If you're on the ticket then you're around. So now you've got nothing."
"I shouldn't have hit him."
"Maybe you could have done it just once."
"Maybe."
"It was decking him again and again every time he tried to stand up. That was too much, Mitt."
"I know."
"And he has to go out there in front of the crowd and give a speech looking like that."
"What do I do now?"
"You'd better go."
"Leave the convention?"
"Yes. Just leave. Nobody wants you here."
The moustached owner of the restaurant interrupted us.
"It's an honor to have you here with us, sir."
"Well thank you for finding room for us," I told him.
He leaned in close and furrowed his brow.
"Did you see the speakers lined up for tomorrow? What did you think of them?"
"They're good speakers."
The proprietor nodded at me solemnly. We understood each other. He knew me to be an aficionado, which is everything.
"You know I spent the night with Cindy?" Mitt said after the proprietor had left. "The whole night."
"So what?"
"That meant something."
"No it didn't. It didn't mean anything to her. She wants you to leave now."
The lobbyists were doing jello shots now. Mitt stared at the table. I sipped my gin and tonic.
"You don't understand, John. You can't understand. Not with your... condition. Since the war and all."
I clenched my teeth and tried not to throw the glass at him.
"You'd better go, my friend."